mild and timid, carried through her part of that business, with a heart of iron and face of brass, and found occasion for both.

You are too happy and too lazy to visit me here; and yet you have done many idler things, and I should be so thankful! With love to all your dear fireside, believe that I shall always be much yours,

ANNE GRANT.

LETTER XLIX.

TO MRS. F—R,

Woodend, Oct. 4, 1803.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

It is not easy to describe the joy I felt on reading your letter. I cannot bear the cruel indelicacy of aggravating the disadvantages one can't possibly remedy. Yet I was by no means satisfied with your situation. It seemed so very uncongenial, especially now that the chief ties that first held you there are broken. This new arrangement does

my

my heart good. The place, society, and the footing on which you are to stand, are quite to my mind. My spirit sunk at the thought of your living always where. you had no particular attachment, no kindred mind, none who thoroughly understood your cha

racter. I think I could not desire to live a day longer, than while my heart was warmed. by an affectionate intercourse with those I love. The languor, which is the very worst consequence of the decline of life, checks that eagerness in cherishing our connexions with the absent, which youth and enthusiasm » produce; and to be completely blended, nay, kneaded, into the mass of beings who, live merely for themselves, and look not out: of that narrow circle, is a most unnatural state for you. It would indeed be losing you. to those that love you best..

Here you have, I fear, a repetition, for I think I sketched my parting pilgrimage before.-Our large family is managed with more. order and ease, than you could expect. But indeed we have the advantage of abundant. scope; our house is large as well as pleasant;: and

it

and the inhabitants are very willing to please each other, which is a material point.

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I have my poor dear Charlotte's little boy with me, and it pleases me to cherish her memory in him. He is lively and good tempered; what more he will be, time must shew.-I was highly gratified lately by a letter from a person I never saw or heard of, conveying to me a compliment on the work you wot of, most flattering to me, for my principles were as much applauded as my abilities. It contained moreover. If I could find in my heart to part with it, I would send you the letter, that you might admire its simple elegance.

"Blush, grandeur, blush !-proud courts withdraw your blaze!"

Adieu! dear, very dear friend.

LETTER L.

TO MRS. FR.

Glasgow, Jan. 9, 1804.

THE cheerful tenor of your last letter was a great cordial to my spirits. I rejoice exceedingly at the prospect of your removal ; not that I expect, or would have you expect, that every thing and every body will be quite to your wish where you are going. In vain would we encircle the globe by successive removals, in search of an accumulation of comforts; those comforts, which the frugal, though bountiful hand of Providence, has scattered in various proportions, to alleviate the sorrows and sufferings of a state only meant as the pathway to felicity. Yet of these ingredients of happiness, on which an elegant and sensible mind is most dependent, I am confident many await you; and, amidst all the wealth of Flora, which your industrious ingenuity had lavished round, and all

the

the softness of a genial climate, I always thought of you with an anxious and desponding tenderness, well knowing your heart was not at home, could not be at home, among people who so little comprehended you. Your warmth of heart and energy of character were quite beyond them, and you would have continued a stranger after fifty years residence. I would carefully banish from my mind the absurd and silly fastidiousness of working myself up to relish no conversation but that of wits and scavans; it would be a regimen of pickles and marmalades, without bread or water. Common sense, and common integrity, with some degree of heart, I insist on in my companions. Knaves and fools I will positively have nothing to do with. Some one mind that thinks and feels as I do myself, is indispensable. "Tis like my morning tea, the only luxury I care for, which habit has made necessary, morally necessary, because this favourite indulgence, this mental banquet, meliorates my temper and expands my heart. I do not pity any person merely for being deprived of pleasure, however innocent,