I have lately received a piece of intelligence that gives me very great concern: I know you will be very sorry to hear that Mr. Chapone is dead. This was a match of such entire affection, and a plan of happiness which had been concerting for so many years, that one cannot imagine a more melancholy separation. My poor friend is enabled, God be thanked, to behave upon this trying occasion, in a manner conformable to the excellence of her character and principles, and is absolutely calm and resigned. But with so much strength of affection and weakness of constitution, it is much to be dreaded what effect so terrible a shock may have upon her health. I first had this news from Tunbridge from the Miss Burrow's, who came there a few days after we left. I wish they had come sooner, as I should have had a real pleasure in introducing them to you there, as a family distinguished by a most undeviating rectitude of principle, and by an indefatigable activity of virtue. Miss Burrows left Tunbridge as soon as she heard of Mrs. Chapone's sad situation, and has been with her ever since, of which I am extremely glad.