I this moment receive your too kind letter, and tho it is late, and tho it is not a writing day,^[1] and tho I have been so unusually ill the whole week , I could not sleep if I did not send you a line. I cannot express the vexation the mortification, I feel at your not having got the book from me. ^[2] I directed not Hatchard, but Cadell the Publisher who is always the dispenser of presents because they are sent a few days before publication to send one the very first hour to Bruton Street – and you have not had it – I should have ordered it to Huntingdon with the Bishop's but you my dearest Lady preferred your town House. Such a thing ought not to vex me so much as it does. If you do not find it in Bruton Street – which you will be charitable enough to tell me, I will order Hatchard /Cadell/ to send you the very first of the 2^d. Edition, which as the delay has been already so great will I hope put you in possession of a more correct copy. Believe me, it is not that I overrate the Book, by laying so much stress on this disappointment, but that I cannot bear the suspicion of neglect, where both my affections, my esteem and my gratitude are equally concerned.

I hope you got a letter from me a few days ago; thanking you for the reviving Squish [sic]. Of The books to which you allude I know nothing. I will send to the Hotel. How can you be so good and kind? – I know not what they are but I am sure they are a fresh instance of your unwearied generous friendship I have not allowed myself to read your letter to the very end, but snatched up my pen to ease my mind. I will now finish it.

I commend you my dear Lady Olivia to the protection and blessing of Him^[3] whose you are and whom you serve. May he smooth your path thro' this rugged world as much as is consistent with the security of your eternal pr[os]pects! [tear] May your dear children be comforts to you here, and your crown of rejoycing hereafter is the fervent and frequent prayer of dearest Madam