There are not so many people in the world who love me that I can afford to pain them for any object of ambition which it contains.

If this assurance be not sufficient, clothe it in what language you please, and believe me to express myself in those words which you think the strongest and most solemn.

Affectionate love to my mother and sisters.

Farewell.
T.B.M.
Cambridge: January 5, 1820.
My dear Father,--Nothing that gives you disquietude can give me amusement.

Otherwise I should have been excessively diverted by the dialogue which you have reported with so much vivacity; the accusation; the predictions; and the elegant agnomen of "the novel-reader" for which I am indebted to this incognito.