rance to act for myself. I know your partiality for your Harriet too well, to doubt the merit of your recommendation.

As Mr and Mrs Reeves require me to shew them what I write, they are fond of indulging me in the employment: you will, therefore, be the less surprised that I write so much in so little a time. Miss Byron is in her closet; Miss Byron is writing; is an excuse sufficient, they seem to think, to everybody, because they allow it to be one to them: but besides, I know they believe they oblige you all, by the opportunity they so kindly give me of shewing my duty and love where so justly due.

I am, however, surprised at casting my eye back. Two sheets! and such a quantity before! -Unconscionable ! say; and let me, echo-like,

Well; with all my heart. As long as I can contribute to his amusement; as long as my grandmainina is pleased and diverted with what I write, as well as with his pleasantries on her girl; I will proceed.

Well, but will you not, my Harriet, methinks you ask, write with less openness, with more reserve, in apprehension of the rod which you know hangs over your head?

Indeed I will not. It is my glory, that I have not a thought in my heart which I would conceal from any one whom it imported to know it, and who would be gratified by the revealing of it. And yet I am a little chagrined at the wager which you tell me my uncle has actually laid with my grandmamma, that I shall not return from London with a sound heart.

And does he teaze you, my Lucy, on this subject, with reminding you of your young partia

lity for Captain Duncan, in order to make good his assertion of the susceptibility of us all?

Why, so let him. And why should you deny, that you were susceptible of a natural passion? You must not be prudish, Lucy. If you are not, all his raillery will lose its force.

What better assurance can I give to my uncle, and to all my friends, that, if I were caught, I would own it, than by advising you not to be ashamed to confess a sensibility which is no disgrace, when duty and prudence are our guides, and the object worthy?

Your man, indeed, was not worthy, as it proved: but he was a very specious creature; and you knew not his bad character, when you suffered liking to grow into love.

But when the love fever was at the height, did you make anybody uneasy with your passion? Did you run to the woods and groves, to record it on the barks of trees?-No!-You sighed in silence, indeed: but it was but for a little while. I got your secret from you; not, however, till it betrayed itself in your pined countenance; and then the man's discovered unworthiness, and your own discretion, enabled you to conquer a passion to which you had given way, supposing it unconquerable, because you thought it would cost you pains to contend with it.

As to myself, you know I have hitherto been on my guard. I have been careful ever to shut the door of my heart against the blind deity, the moment I could imagine him setting his encroaching foot on the threshold, which I think liking may be called. Had he once gained entrance, perhaps I might have come off but simply.

But I hope I am in the less danger of falling in love with any man, as I can be civil and courteous to all. When a stream is sluiced off into several channels, there is the less fear that it will overflow its banks. I really think I never shall be in love with anybody, till duty directs incli

nation.

Excuse me, Lucy. I do now and then, you know, get into a boasting humour. But then my punishment, as in most other cases, follows my fault: my uncle pulls me down, and shews me, that I am not half so good as the rest of my friends think me.

You tell me, that Mr Greville will be in London in a very few days. I can't help it. He pretends business, you say; and, since that calls him up, intends to give himself a month's pleasure in town, and to take his share of the public entertainments. Well, so let him. But I hope that I am not to be either his business or entertainment. After a civil neighbourly visit, or so, I hope I shall not be tormented with him.

What happened once betwixt Mr Fenwick and him, gave me pain enough; exposed me enough, surely! A young woman, though without her own fault, made the occasion of a ren

counter between two men of fortune, must be talked of too much for her own liking, or she must be a strange creature. What numbers of people has the unhappy rashness of those two men brought to stare at me! And with what difficulty did my uncle and Mr Deane bring them into so odd a compromise, as they at last came into, to torment me, as I may call it, by joint consent, notwithstanding all I could say to them; which was the only probable way, shocking creatures! to prevent murder!

But, Lucy, what an odd thing is it in my uncle, to take hold of what I said in one of my letters, that I had a good mind to give you a sketch of what I might suppose the company at Lady Betty's would say of your Harriet, were each to write her character to their confidants or correspondents, as she has done theirs to you! I think there is a little concealed malice in my uncle's command: but I obey.

To begin then-Lady Betty, who owns she thinks favourably of me, I will suppose would write to her Lucy, in such terms as these: but shall I suppose every one to be so happy, as to have her Lucy?

"Miss Byron, of whom you have heard Mr Reeves talk so much, discredits not, in the main, the character he has given her. We must allow a little, you know, for the fondness of relationship.

"The girl has had a good education, and owes all her advantages to it. But it is a country and a bookish one; and that won't do everything for one of our sex, if anything. Poor thing! she never was in town before!-But she seems docile, and, for a country girl, is tolerably genteel: I think, therefore, I shall receive no discredit by introducing her into the beau monde."

Miss Clements, perhaps, agreeably to the goodness of her kind heart, would have written thus:

"Miss Byron is an agreeable girl: she has invited me to visit her; and I hope I shall like her better and better. She has, one may see, kept worthy persons company: and, I dare say, will deserve the improvement she has gained by it. She is lively and obliging: she is young; not more than twenty; yet looks rather younger, by reason of a country bloom, which, however, misbecomes her not; and gives a modesty to her first appearance, that possesses one in her favour. What a castaway would Miss Byron be, if, knowing so well, as she seems to know, what the duty of others is, she should forget her own!"

Miss Cantillon would perhaps thus write:

"There was Miss Harriet Byron of Northamptonshire; a young woman in whose favour

report has been very lavish. I can't say that I think her so very extraordinary: yet she is well enough for a country girl. But though I do not impute to her a very pert look, yet if she had not been set up for something beyond what she is, by all her friends, who, it seems, are excessively fond of her, she might have had a more humble opinion of herself than she seems to have when she is set a-talking. She may, indeed, make a figure in a country assembly: but in the London world she must not be a little awkward, having never been here before.

"I take her to have a great deal of art. But, to do her justice, she has no bad complexion: that, you know, is a striking advantage: but to me she has a babyish look, especially when she smiles; yet I suppose she has been told that her smiles become her; for she is always smilingso like a simpleton, I was going to say!

Upon the whole, I see nothing so engaging in her, as to have made her the idol she is with everybody-and what little beauty she has, it cannot last. For my part, were I a man, the clear brunette-but you will think I am praising myself."

Miss Barnevelt would perhaps thus write to her Lucy-To her Lucy-upon my word I will not let her have a Lucy-she shall have a brother man to write to, not a woman, and he shall have a fierce name.

We will suppose, that she also had been describing the rest of the company:

"Well but, my dear Bombardino, I am now to give you a description of Miss Byron. "Tis the softest, gentlest, smiling rogue of a girl-I protest, I could five or six times have kissed her, for what she said, and for the manner she spoke in-for she has been used to prate; a favoured child in her own family, one may easily see that. Yet so prettily loath to speak till spoken to!Such a blushing little rogue !-'Tis a dear girl! and I wished twenty times, as I sat by her, that I had been a man for her sake-Upon my honour, Bombardino, I believe, if I had, I should have caught her up, popt her under one of my arms, and run away with her.”

Something like this, my Lucy, did Miss Barnevelt once say.

Having now dismissed the women, I come to Mr Singleton, Mr Walden, and Sir Hargrave.

Mr Walden (himself a Pasquin) would thus perhaps have written to his Marforio :

-

"The first lady, whom, as the greatest stranger, I shall take upon me to describe, is Miss Harriet Byron of Northamptonshire. In her person she is not disagreeable; and most people think her pretty. But what is prettiness? Why,

nevertheless, in a woman, prettiness is-pretty: what other word can I so fitly use of a person, who, though a little sightly, cannot be called a beauty?

"I will allow, that we men are not wrong in admiring modest women for the graces of their persons: but let them be modest; let them return the compliment; and revere us for our capaciousness of mind: and so they will, if they are brought up to know their own weakness, and that they are but domestic animals of a su perior order. Even ignorance, let me tell you, my Marforio, is pretty in a woman. Humility is one of their principal graces. Women hardly ever set themselves to acquire the knowledge that is proper to men, but they neglect for it, what more indispensably belongs to women. To have them come to their husbands, to their brothers, and even to their lovers, when they have a mind to know anything out of the way, and beg to be instructed and informed, inspireth them with the becoming humility which I have touched upon, and giveth us importance with them.

"Indeed, my Marforio, there are very few topics that arise in conversation among men, upon which women ought to open their lips. Silence becomes them. Let them therefore hear, wonder, and improve, in silence. They are naturally contentious, and lovers of contradiction:" [something like this Mr Walden once threw out; and you know who, my Lucy-but I am afraid -has said as much:]" and shall we qualify them to be disputants against ourselves?

"These reflections, Marforio, are not foreign to my subject. This girl, this Harriet Byron, is applauded for a young woman of reading and observation. But there was another lady present, Miss Clements, who (if there be any merit to a woman in it) appeareth to me to excel her in the compass of her reading; and that upon the strength of her own diligence and abilities which is not the case with this Miss Harriet; for she, truly, hath had some pains taken with her by her late grandfather, a man of erudition, who had his education among us. This old gentleman, I am told, took it into his head, having no grandson, to give this girl a bookish turn: but he wisely stopt at her mother-tongue; only giving her a smattering of French and Italian.

"As I saw that the eyes of every one were upon her, I was willing to hear what she had to say for herself. Poor girl! she will suffer, I doubt, for her speciousness. Yet I cannot say, all things considered, that she was very malapert: that quality is yet to come. She is young. "I therefore trifled a little with her went farther than I generally choose to go with the reading species of women, in order to divert an inundation of nonsense and foppery breaking in from one of the company, Sir Hargrave Pollexfen: of whom more anon.

and

"You know, Marforio, that a man, when he

is provoked to fight with an overgrown boy, hath everybody against him: so hath a scholar who engageth on learned topics with a woman. The sex must be flattered at the expense of truth. Many things are thought to be pretty from the mouth of a woman, which would be egregiously weak and silly proceeding from that of a man. His very eminence in learning, on such a contention, would tend only to exalt her, and depreciate himself. As the girl was everybody's favourite, and as the baronet seemed to eye her with particular regard, I spared her. A man would not, you know, spoil a girl's fortune.”

But how, Lucy, shall I be able to tell you what I imagine Sir Hargrave would have written? Can I do it, if I place him in the light of a lover, and not either underdo his character as such, or incur the censure of vanity and conceit?

Well, but are you sure, Harriet, methinks my uncle asks, that the baronet is really and truly so egregiously smitten with you, as he pretended he was?

Why, ay! That's the thing, sir!

You girls are so apt to take in earnest the compliments made you by men !

And so we are. But our credulity, my dear sir, is a greater proof of our innocence, than men's professions are of their sincerity. So, let losers speak, and winners laugh.

But let him be in jest, if he will. In jest or in earnest, Sir Hargrave must be extravagant, I ween, in love-speeches. And that I may not be thought wholly to decline this part of my task, I will suppose him professing with Hudibras, after he has praised me beyond measure, for graces of his own creation :

The Sun shall now no more dispense
His own, but Harriet's influence.
Where'er she treads, her feet shall set
The primrose and the violet:

All spices, perfumes, and sweet powders,
Shall borrow from her breath their odours:
Worlds shall depend upon her eye,

And, when she frowns upon them, die.

And what if I make him address me, by way of apostrophe, shall I say? (writing to his friend) in the following strain?

My faith [my friend] is adamantine,
As chains of destiny, I'll maintain;
True, as Apollo ever spoke,
Or oracle, from heart of oak:
Then shine upon me but benignly,
With that one, and that other pigsnye:
The sun and day shall sooner part,

Than Love or you shake off my heart.

Well, but what, my Harriet, would honest Mr Singleton have written, had he written about you?

Why thus, perhaps, my Lucy: and to his grandmother; for she is living:

"We had rare fun, at dinner, and after dinner, my grandmother.

"There was one Miss Barnevelt, a fine tall portly young lady.

"There was Miss Clements, not handsome, but very learned, and who, as was easy to perceive, could hold a good argument, on occasion.

"There was Miss Cantillon; as pretty a young lady as one would wish to behold in a summer's day.

"And there was one Miss Byron, a Northamptonshire lady, whom I never saw before in my born days.

"There was Mr Walden, a most famous scholar. I thought him very entertaining; for he talked of learning, and such-like things; which I know not so much of as I wish I did; because my want of knowing a little Latin and Greek has made my understanding look less than other men's. O my grandmother! what a wise man would the being able to talk Latin and Greek have made me!-And yet I thought that now and then Mr Walden made too great a fuss

about his.

"But there was a rich and noble baronet ; richer than me, as they say, a great deal; Sir Hargrove Pollexfun, if I spell his name right. A charming man! and charmingly dressed! And so many fine things he said, and was so merry, and so facetious, that he did nothing but laugh, as a man may say! And I was as merry as him to the full. Why not?

"O my grandmother! What with the talk of the young country lady, that same Miss Byron; for they put her upon talking a great deal; what with the famous scholar, who, however, being a learned man, could not be so merry as us; what with Sir Hargrave, (I could live and die with Sir Hargrave: you never knew, my grandmother, such a bright man as Sir Hargrave,) and what with one thing, and what with another, we boxed it about, and had rare fun, as I told you so that when I got home, and went to bed, I did nothing but dream of being in the same company, and three or four times waked myself with laughing."

There, Lucy!-Will this do for Mr Single ton? It is not much out of character, I assure you.

Monday Night Tuesday Morning,
Feb. 6-7.

SIR ROWLAND and his nephew, tea being not quite ready, sat down with my cousins; and the Knight, leaving Mr Fowler little to say, expatiated so handsomely on his nephew's good qualities, and great passion for me, and on what he himself proposed to do for him in addition to his own fortune, that my cousins, knowing I liked not the gentlemen in our neighbourhood, and thought very indifferently of Sir Hargrave, were more than half inclined to promote the addresses of Mr Fowler; and gave them both room to think so.

This favourable disposition set the two gentlemen up. They were impatient for tea, that they might see me.

By the time I had sealed up my letters, word was brought me that tea was ready; and I went down.

The Knight, it seems, as soon as they heard me coming, jogged Mr Fowler.-Nephew, said he, pointing to the door, see what you can say to the primrose of your heart! This is now the primrose season with us in Caermarthen, Mr Reeves.

Mr Fowler, by a stretch of complaisance, came to meet and introduce me to the company, though at home. The Knight nodded his head after him, smiling; as if he had said, let my nephew alone to gallant the lady to her seat.

I was a little surprised at Mr Fowler's approaching me the moment I appeared, and with his taking my hand, and conducting me to my seat, with an air; not knowing how much he had been raised by the conversation that had passed before.

He bowed. I courtesied, and looked a little sillier than ordinary, I believe.

Your servant, young lady, said the Knight. Lovelier, and lovelier, by mercy! How these blushes become that sweet face!-But, forgive me, madam, it is not my intent to dash you. Writing, Miss Byron, all day! said Mrs Reeves. We have greatly missed you.

My cousin seemed to say this, on purpose to give me time to recover myself.

I have blotted several sheets of paper, said I, and had just concluded.

I hope, madam, said the Knight, leaning forward his whole body, and peering in my face under his bent brows, that we have not been the cause of hastening you down.

I stared. But as he seemed not to mean anything, I would not help him to a meaning by my own over-quickness.

Mr Fowler had done an extraordinary thing, and sat down, hemmed, and said nothing: looking, however, as if he was at a loss to know whether he or his uncle was expected to speak.

The cold weather was then the subject; and the two gentlemen rubbed their hands, and drew nearer the fire, as if they were the colder for talking of it. Many hems passed between them, now the uncle looking on the nephew, now the nephew on the uncle: at last they fell into talk of their new-built house at Caermarthen, and the furnishing of it.

They mentioned afterwards their genteel neighbourhood, and gave the characters of half a dozen people, of whom none present but themselves ever heard; but all tending to shew how much they were valued by the best gentry in Caermarthenshire.

The Knight then related a conversation that had once passed between himself and the late Lord Mansell, in which that nobleman had complimented him on an estate of a clear 30007. a-year, besides a good deal of ready cash, and with supposing that he would set up his nephew, when of age, (for it was some years ago,) as a representative for the county. And he repeated the prudent answer he gave his lordship, disavowing such a design, as no better than a gaming propensity, as he called it, which had ruined many a fair estate.

This sort of talk, in which his nephew could bear a part, (and, indeed, they had it all between them,) held the tea-time; and then having given themselves the consequence they had seemed to intend, the Knight, drawing his chair nearer to me, and winking to his nephew, who withdrew, began to set forth to me the young gentleman's good qualities; to declare the passion he had for me; and to beg my encouragement of so worthy, so proper, and so well-favoured a young man; who was to be his sole heir; and for whom he would do such things, on my account, as, during his life, he would not do for any other woman breathing.

There was no answering a discourse so serious, with the air of levity which it was hardly possible to avoid assuming on the first visit of the Knight.

I was vexed that I found myself almost as bashful, as silly, and as silent, as if I had thoughts of encouraging Mr Fowler's addresses. My cousins seemed pleased with my bashfulness. The Knight, I once thought, by the tone of his voice, and his hum, would have struck up a Welsh tune, and danced for joy.

Shall I call in my kinsman, madam, to confirm all I have said, and to pour out his whole soul at your feet? My boy is bashful; but a little favour from that sweet countenance will

make a man of him. Let me, let me, call in my boy. I will go for him myself; and was going.

Let me say one word, Sir Rowland-before Mr Fowler comes in-before you speak to him -you have explained yourself unexceptionably. I am obliged to you and Mr Fowler for your good opinion; but this can never be.

How, madam? Can never be !-I will allow that you shall take time for half-a-dozen visits, or so, that you may be able to judge of my nephew's qualities and understanding, and be convinced from his own mouth, and heart, and soul, as I may say, of his love for you. No need of time for him. He, poor man! is fixed, immovably fixed; but say you will take a week's time, or so, to consider what you can do, what you will do and that's all I at present crave, or, indeed, madam, can allow you.

I cannot doubt now, Sir Rowland, of what my mind will be a week hence, as to this mat

ter.

How, madam!-Why, we are all in the suds, then!-Why, Mr Reeves, Mrs Reeves! -Whew! with a half-whistle-Why, madam, we shall, at this rate, be all untwisted! But (after a pause,) by mercy I will not be thus answered!-Why, madam, would you have the conscience to break my poor boy's heart?Come, be as gracious as you look to be-Give me your hand-[he snatched my hand; in respect to his years I withdrew it not-and give my boy your heart.-Sweet soul! such sensible, such good-natured mantlings!-Why you can't be cruel if you would!-Dear lady! say you will take a little time to consider of this matter; don't repeat those cruel words, "it can never be."-What have you to object to my boy?

Mr Fowler, both by character and appearance, Sir Rowland, is a worthy man. He is a modest man; and modestyWell, and so he is-Mercy! I was afraid that his modesty would be an objection

It cannot, Sir Rowland, with a modest woman. I love, I revere a modest man; but, indeed, I cannot give hope, where I mean not to encourage any.

Your objection, madam, to my nephew?— You must have seen something in him you dislike.

I'do not easily dislike, sir; but then I do not easily like; and never will marry any man, to whom I cannot be more than indifferent.

Why, madam, he adores you-He

That, sir, is an objection, unless I could return his love. My gratitude would be endangered.

Excellent notions !-With these notions, madam, you could not be ungrateful.

That, sir, is a risk I will never run. How many bad wives are there, who would have been good ones, had they not married either to