which is the certain signal for a fresh attack. Mortimer maliciously vindicates you, by suggesting the irresistible charms and attractions of your present residence, adding, that as Gray has observed of Cambridge, that "it is a delight of a place when there is "nobody in it; and that it is the inhabitants who spoil "all, and give it a bad name,” the same remark may perhaps be applicable to your great city, in which case you have chosen the proper season for being in

town.

Poor Modely, who dined here on the day that this defence was made, expressed surprize at learning that you were in town, declaring he had heard nothing of your leaving Ireland; and that he would have troubled you with a commission for London if he had known of your going there. On this nonsense our host animadverted with a pshaw! partly from dislike of such frivolous affectation; and partly because he was too seriously disconcerted by your absence to join in turning the matter to a jest. This (muttered) correction was neither unmerited nor harsh; yet our worthy and kind-hearted friend spent a considerable part of the evening in atoning for it, by the most gratifying attentions to his guest. *

This paragraph alludes to a mode, which in Ireland may be considered as an affectation, of giving to London exclusively the title, xar' oxy, of Town.

I have wandered from my subject, as both you and I are apt to do when Sir Everard comes across our path. To return to my reproaches, and execute my scolding functions without farther digression. Mrs. Notable has had fires in your bed-room and dressingroom for this month. Your green table, pens, ink, and paper, are in their place; and the Bible, which she generally takes possession of in your absence, has twice or thrice resumed and quitted its station on your shelf. The only way in which she gives vent to her disappointment and vexation, is by expressing, while she gives Edward and Perceval their luncheon, a doubt which she does not feel, whether you mean to come down at all. By the way, the boys are very assiduous at chess; and Edward, who you know is sanguine, conceives that you could no longer afford to give him a queen. In the mean time he practises on Mortimer; who, having played the game well for half an hour, gets weary and inattentive, and having lost all the ground that he had gained, calls on me to succeed him, and repair his errors. Against this, Edward protests loudly, maintaining that to abdicate is to give in. We always decide for him, partly from a sense of justice, and partly (so far as I am concerned) from malice towards his opponent; for you remember Mortimer used to say, "he handed over ❝his stale mates and cast-off games to me."

Your three old women are pining for your return ; and the paralytic man frequently inquires when I "heard from your Honour?" The Founder persuades himself that his school and alms-house stand sadly in need of your visitatorial correction; and as for the Juvenile Institute, it is nearly stifled in its cradle. The Balfours are come to Manorvill. They all (more reproaches!) including your favourite Lætitia, and her aunt, came to dinner here on Sunday, in expectation of meeting you. The niece is as gentle, as modest, and as beautiful as ever; and the aunt. is as attractive in her own way. Sir Everard says, that she contradicts all the aspersions which have been cast upon old maids, and that this is the only contradictory thing she says or does. In fact she is a thoroughly amiable and respectable woman.

I officiated on Sunday in the Chapel, which is completed. The east window has an extremely good effect, and casts a gleam upon the aisle, which would not disgrace Melrose. Not a pane of the stained glass has been broken in the carriage; and the former fragments (the " red and blue Saints without head or tail" *) are given to Lætitia, for her oratory at Manorvill. The organ is in its place; and the chaunts which you have procured us are pronounced to be divine. Our provisional organist (for she threa

* Gray.

tens to resign in favour of her niece) acquitted herself à merveilles; and the anthem was extremely well sung by Lætitia, Perceval, and his blind protege, Terence, (or, as Mortimer calls him, Tiresias,) whose ear and memory seem to supply all deficiencies of sight. 'Opañμv μév àμepos: &c. &c. His young patron was very amiably proud of his performance; and not the less so for my assuring him, that part of the melody brought tears into his uncle's eyes. I will not answer for it however that the words "he is despised and rejected; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: he was wounded for our transgressions," &c. had not as much to say to their production as the music. This involuntary melting beneath the influence of religious emotion-at the view or recital of a generous sentiment or heroic action-at the sight of misery, especially if attended with pious resignationindeed at all distress except his own--this Sir Everard calls weakness. Perhaps it is so: but if it be, who could desire to have it exchanged for strength? What a friend I have acquired! I thank God, my blotted paper will bear witness for me, that if I cannot emulate his other virtues, I participate in his noble infirmity.

The Gothic furniture for the drawing-room, library, &c. is arrived; but no part of it has been unpacked, except the side-board (a plan of Mortimer's,)

which is a richly decorated shrine of oak. All would before this time have been arranged, but our friend has been engrossed in disposing in their places certain other articles of furniture and accommodation which have also been received, viz. the beds, stoves, couches, arm-chairs, &c. &c. which he had ordered for his alms-house.

Lastly, Hamilton has at length sent down his picture of the death of Sir Roger de Coverley. It hangs opposite to Kneller's full length of the old knight, and is worthy the talents of the great painter whose work it is. The introduction of the mother and her orphan children, to the care of whose rights our friend's ancestor was supposed to have sacrificed his life, is a happy and well-executed thought. You know that I sat for the Chaplain, and I am not dissatisfied with the figure that I make. Certain sad associations assailed me so powerfully while I was under the painter's hands, that the sorrowful and forsaken expression of countenance which this has given me, suits well with the character and situation that I have assumed. As for the old butler (who represents his houshold ancestor,) I doubt whether during his whole life (with a salvo for shaving times,) he has looked at himself as often in the glass as he has done in this picture, since its arrival here.

Farewell, my dear Sir. Do come to us as soon as

* A celebrated Painter.