eight or ten letters. When I grew uneafy, it was in vain, as I faid in my last, that I endeavoured to find your friend who brought the parcel (for I would certainly have feen him, and asked him about you). What is become of all my letters for this last month? Did you get what I returned by your friend? Do friend? Do you like the purfe? The book you mentioned, is just the only book you should never read. On my knees, I beg you never, never read it! Perhaps you have read it-Perhaps !-I am distracted.Heaven only knows to whom I may be writing this letter.

Madam, or Sir !

If you are a woman, I think you will; if you are a man, and ever loved, I am fure you will, oblige me with one line to say what is come of Mr. of the regiment. Direct to Mrs. -, D. ftreet, London.-Any perfon whofe hands my letter may fall into, will not think this much trouble; and, if they fend me good news, Heaven knows how a woman, who loyes, if poffible, too well, will thank them.

LETTER

XXXIV.

To Mifs

Ireland, 10 Sept. 1776.

As I am no fportfman, there is no merit, you may think, in devoting a morning to this employment. Nor do I claim any merit. 'Tis only making myself happy.

Now, I hope, you are quite at ease about me. My health, upon my honour! upon our love! is almoft re-established-Were I not determined to keep on this fide the truth, I would fay quite. The four letters I have written to you, fince I received your frantic fheet of paper, have explained and made up every thing. How can I fufficiently thank you for all your letters? Efpecially for that of this week? Never did you pen a better. Did I know any body employed in a work, where that letter could properly appear, fhould insert it in your own words.

,he

Excuse me, I am unwillingly called away.— What I faid this morning about your letter, brings to my recollection fomething of that fort. fhall I tell it you? I will.

James Hirft, in the year 1711, lived fervant

with

with the honourable Edward Wortley. It hap pened, one day, in re-delivering a parcel of letters to his master, by mistake he gave him one which he had written to his fweetheart, and kept back one of Mr. Wortley's. He foon discovered the mistake, and hurried back to his master; but unfortunately for poor James, it happened to be the first that presented itself to Mr. Wortley, and, before James returned, he had given way to a curiofity which led him to open it, and read the love-told story of an enamoured footman. It was in vain that James begged to have it returned. No," fays Mr. Wortley, "James, 661 you shall be a great man, this letter shall ap"pear in the Spectator."

Mr. Wortley communicated the letter to his friend Sir Richard Steel.-It was accordingly published in his own words, and is that letter, No. 71, volume the firft of the Spectator, be- ginning "Dear Betty."

James found means to remove that unkindness of which he complains in his letter; but, alas! before their wishes were compleated, a fpeedy end was put to a paffion which would not difcredit much fuperior rank, by the unexpected death of Betty James, out of the great regard and love he bore to Betty, after her death, married the fifter..

H. 3.

fifter. He died, not many years fince, in the neighbourhood of Wortley, near Leeds, York

fhire.

To marry you is the utmost of my wishes; but, remember, I don't engage to marry your fifter in cafe of your death.-Death! How can I think of fuch a thing, though it be but in joke.

LETTER XXXV.

To the Same.

Ireland, 15 Sept. 1776.

THE Commands of your laft letter, for the reafons you give, I have immediately obeyed.. -Myenquiries about the young Englishman you mention, amount to this. He is liked tolerably well here. He would be liked more, if he took more pains to be liked. His contempt for fome people in the world, whom others defpife perhaps as well as he, is fometimes too confpicu

ous.

Accident has given me an opportunity to fee and know a great deal of him; and with certainty. His heart is certainly not bad. His abilities are as certainly not equal to what he once confeffes to have thought them; per

haps

haps they are fuperior to the opinion he now entertains of them. He has ambition and emulation enough to have almost supplied any want of genius, and to have made him almost any thing, had he fallen into proper hands. But his fchoolmasters knew nothing of the human heart, nor over much of the head. Though indolent to a degree, a keen eye might have discovered, may ftill discover, industry at the bottom; a good cultivator might have turned it, may ftill turn it, to good account. His friendships are warm, fincere, decided-his enmities the fame. He complains, now and then, that fome of his friends will pretend to know him better than they know themselves, and better than they know any thing elfe. "They would play upon "him; they would feem to know his flops; << they pretend to be able to found him from "his lowest note, to the top of his compafs; "and there is much mufic, excellent voice, in

a little pipe, yet cannot they make it speak. "Do they think," he demands, "that he is "easier to be play'd than a pipe ?"—Why, really, I do not think this is the cafe at prefent, whatever it may have been. Secrefy is not brought into the world, it is acquired in the world. An honeft heart can only acquire it

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