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ing. I would to God I was with you reading the Atalantis! I know the book, and 'twould be a vast pleasure to me to read some of the story3 with you, which are realy very pritty: some part of Eleonora's I like mightily, and all Diana's, which is the more moving because 'tis all true. It" you and I was together now we should be very good company, for I'm in a very pritty garden with a book of charming verses in my hand. 1 don't know when we shall sec Mrs. B. hut when we do come into that country, is it quite impossible for you to stay a week or so with 119? I only hint this, fori know people's inclinations must submit to their conveniencys; only tell me how far it may be possible on your side, anil then I'll endeavour it on mine; though a thousand things may happen to make it impossible as to my part. You know you should be allwaies welcome to me, and 'tis none of my fault if I don't see yuu.
Remember your promise concerning the letters.
To Mrs. Ann Justice, ut York.
her I never desire to see again, for I never saw such a monster in my life.
"I am very sorry for your sore eyes. By this time I hope all's over, and you can see as well as ever. Adieu, my dear. When you drink tea with Mrs. B. drink my health, and do me the justice to believe I wish my selfe with you.
Yes, yes, my dear, here is woods, and shades, and groves, in abundance. You are in the right ou't; 'tis not the place, but the solitude of the place, that is intolerable, 'lis a horrid thing to see nothing but trees in a wood, and to walk by a purling stream to ugle the gudgeons in it. I'm glad you conti-. nue your inclination to reading; 'tis the most improving and most pleasant of all employments, and helps to wear away many melancholy hours. I hear from some Nottinghamshire people, that Mrs. B. is not at all concern'd at the breaking off her match. I wonder at her courage if she is not, and at her prudence in dissembling it if she is. Prudent people are very happy. 'lis an exceeding fine thing, that's certain; but I was born without it, and shall retain to my day of death' the humour of saying what I think ; therefore you may believe me, when I protest I am much mortify'd at not seeing the North this year, for a hundred and fifty reasons; amongst the rest, I should have been heartily glad to have seen my Lord lloldernesse. In this hideous country 'tis not the fashion to visit; and the few neighbours there are keep as far from one another as ever they can. The diversion here is walking; which indeed are very pritty all about the house; but then you may walk two mile without meeting a living creature but a few straggling cows. We have been here near this month, and seen but one visitor, and
I Am very glad you divert yourselfe m> well. I endeavour to make my solitude as agreeable as I can. Most things of that kind arc in the power of the mind: we may make ourselves easy, if we cannot perfectly happy. The news you tell me very much surprizes me. I wish Mrs. B. extremely well, and hope she designs better for her sell'e than a stolen wedding, with a man who (you know) no have reason to believe not the most sincere lover upon earth; and since Ins estate is in such very bad order, I am clearly of your opinion, his best course would be to the army, for I suppose six or seven thousand pound (if he should get that with his mistrisse) would not set him up again, and there he might possibly establish his fortune, at least better it, and at worst be rid of all his cares. I wonder all the young men in England don't take that method; certainly the most profitable as well the noblest. I confess I cannot believe Mrs. B. so imprudent to keep on any private correspondence with him. I much doubt her perfect happiness if she runs away with him. I fear she will have more reason than ever to say there is no such thing. I have just now received the numbers ol the great lottery which is drawing: I find my selfe (as yet) among the unlucky; but, thank God. the great prize is not come out, and there's room for hopes, still. Prithee, dear child, pray heartdy for me. If I win, I don't question (in spite of all our disputes; to rind my selfe perfectly happy. My heart goes very much pit-a-pat about it; but I've a horrid ill bodeing mind, that tells me ( shan't win a farthing. I should be very very glad to he mistaken in that case. I hear Mrs. B. has been at the Spaw. I wonder you don't mention it. Adieu, my dear. Pray make no more excuses about long letters, and believe your\ never seem so to me. August 7.
To Mrs. Anne. Justice, York.
I J>.m glad dear Mrs. Ellys finds so much happynesse in the stale she has cntei'd into. 1 wish Airs, U. had been so happy to have so pritty a place, joyn'd with so pnttr a gentleman as all the world calls Mr. Vane. She dines here to-day with her family. I intend to roillv her about Sir William. She is a good-natur'd young woman, and I heartily wish she may find (if that can be) a recnmpence for the disappointment she has met with in this routing world. Every mortal hxs their share; and tho' I persist in my notions of happynesse, I beinn to believe nobody ever yet experienced it. What think you? My present entertainment is rideing, which I grow very fond of, and endeavour to lav up a stock of good health, the better to endure the fingues of lite. I hope you are situated in an agreeable place, unci good air. You know me, and that I wish you all sorts of pleasures ; the world affords few, hot such as they are, dear Mrs. Ellys, auv you enjoy them all.
Sept. 10. To tin. Ellyt, at Beverly, Yorkthirc. »' *-» ,«.
Tm Lonl save us! what wretches tire men! 1 know that Lord Castlcconiare intimately well, and have been very gay io hn cwnpunv. That 'us passible there should le so inhumane a creature! I fiity the poor young; lady to the last de!?ee. A man must have a compound of ill-nature, barbarou-niesse, and inhumanity, to be able to do such an action. I can nut believe there are mainly would be goihy of it. 1 could declaim tour boon upon this subject—'tis something highly ingrateful and perfidious. 1 know several Lord Castlecomnrc has made love to, bat should have never believ'd him, or any man, so utterly void of all tenderness*-and compassion. Hud them mm women to their mothers! I -can hardly believe «. I am of your mind, the young lady is happy if she Hies. 1 f he sent her same ratsbane in a letter, 'tis all the lindnesse he can now do, all the recomuence he can now make her. 1 don't question but there are some of our own sea inhumane enough to make a je-it of bar misfortunes. £apecialfy being a beamy,4faavjmolic mark of malice, next to plunitwmitople into misery (as that ttMaMaajCml uasdeaomare has done) a»jdjpjn)ajttajij^,e£j|tantare is insulting ■tariHMJj(b|^Qlsifcfoibnse ruin'd for hxre, p«^SS^S<aa<$Bvby vowavand untjjjjfc^jJHfciajhtCBiaWy,'*! nlwaies pitylheunhapwy, iapl||l lliiidy looking «»<•, their |M, iMper^dscir mismrtbey are urtfort u nate MaMOB: and 'lis my
■1» j&cak the ftnUues of
the wretched of my own sex. You have done me a sensible pleasure in wriieiug an account of your own affairs; and I desire to know how they proceed; and depend upon it your interests cannot he indifferent to me. If you like Mr. Heber I advise you to take him, if the match is agreeable- to your relations. We must do something for the world; and I don't question but your own good humour and his love will make you very happy. 'TtS more prudent to marry to money with nothing else, than every thing else without money, for there's nothing so hard to come by; but that is not your case, since Mr.'Heber has money and is agreeable too.—What would you have more ?— Prithee, dear child, don't stand in your own light, and let your next letter be sign'd, A. Heber.
Fray tell me the name of that unfortunate young lady whom you and I pity so much.
I Wish heartily for the snccesse of your affair, because 1 wish heartily for every thing that pleases you. I agree with you, there is no misfortune so uneasy as uncertainty; and 1 had rather he sure of never having my wishes, than be perpetually tossing between hope and fear. I pity poor Mrs. Kidsdale, and am glad her family has so just a sense of her misfortunes, not to encrt a-e 'em by ill usage. If my Lord Castlecomare had any small retnainsof honesty or good-nature, he would marry her. I am surprised she has no relation that has spirit enough to take a public revenge for a public affront; though no revenge can come up to the nature of the injurv. If I was in the poor lady's lamentable case, instead of crying and sighing in n chimney corner, wasting tears and breath to no purpose, I would e'en pluck up a stout heart, go to London, and—poyson him—that's all. Out of an excesse of humanity, I would not poyson all his family; his uncles and aunts should rest in pence; but I don't think she can do less in honour: and if I was she, I should be uverjoy'd tn be hang'd upon such an occasion, for I think she has no fartlier busynesse iu this world.
I am sorry you can't go to Scoffton, for I pity the poor young woman's melancholy there extremely, and know no company more proper to chase it away than that of my dear Nanny, who baa a i constant well-wi3lwr in me
... October %&.
To Mn.JnneJtutic*, tor*
You are very happy, dear Nanny, and I'll swear I think you are very wise. People have uncasynesses enough in this world that they can't help, and therefore they ought to help all they can. I hope Mrs. B. follows these prudent maxims, and am glad to hear she is forgetting all former disquiets. A new lire always fetches out an old one—and one may learn that from a burnt finger—and, as you say, there is no medicine like it. I stay in the country longer than 1 intend* eri, for fear of that confounded distemper the small-pox, which happens to be next door to our house in London, I coinmend you mightily for not thinking of coming; for tho' this world is a ridicu. lous impertinent place, yet, as long as one lives in it, one must conform to the humours of other people: and tho' I persist, and shall do to my dying day, in' asserting that perfect happynesse may be in this life, yet I hardly believe any body has ever found it yet; but I commend you, all wise people, make the best of n bad bargain; if one's gone, ne're keep a pother, get another, get another—'tis the best advice in the world. I hope to see you next summer, and then we'll talk over old storys again. I don't think you to be much lamented for not comeing to town, (except you had some particular reason for't), for realy 1 have had experience of both, and ifyou'l take my judgment, was I to chuse for alwaies, 1 .should prefer a country life, not out of a romantick fancy, but pure reflection on which is happyest. Every body goes out of mourning this Christmas, and the grand affair of cloaths employs all the tongues and fingers of womankind. When I'm in London (if you desire it) you shall have as exact an account as I can give of the dresso of the head, number of ribands, and cut of the manteau a lamode, tho' one milliner is worth ten of me at those nicetys; lazynesse and carelessucsse raakeing great part of my compound; the first of these, at this minute, has so much power, as to make my pen drop out of my hand before 1 have told you how much 1 am your's.
Direct your next to London, for 'tis to be hop'd I shall be there by that time.
all in readynesse, whip, there comes some impertinent visitor or another and puts all into confusion again. So that—you must forgive me—that's the short on't. I ain heartily sorry for the misfortune* of Oroonoko, and liopc he'll find as much mercy in the cojrt of heaven as in the court marshall. As to dresse, 'tis divided into partys: all the high church ladies affect to wear heads in imitation of the steeples, and on their inuifs roses exactly like those in the parsons' hats. On the other side, the low party (of which I declare my selfc) wear little low heads and long ribands to their mutfs. This a full account of the important busvnesse dress, which is at present much talk'd of against the birth-night, where every body is endeav'ring to outshine the other. The town is very full, and diversion more followed than ever I knew it. 1 am invited to a hall to-night. I believe I shall dance with some of the same company I did at Mrs. Banks's. Now we talk of Mrs. Banks, pray does the match go on, or is it only a false report? The best way to make sure of an old lover, is certainly to engage to a new one. I wish her extremely well, as I dare say you do, and hope next summer we shall see her again. I long mightily to see dear Nottinghamshire, and dear Nanny, who has a most faithfull friend of inc. To Mrs. Anne Justice, at York.
I Hope, dear Nanny, you do not think I forget you; but I'll swear this town issuch a place, and one is so hurryM about, 'tis with vast difficulty I can get pen, ink, and paper; and perhaps when they ore
Let me die, my dear, and all that, if I have been so well pleas'd since 1 came to London as with your two letters. Tis true, I'm often diverted, and sometimes pleas'd, but never happy. You know these distinctions are just, tho' they may sound odly. Don't mistake mc, child: pray love Mr. Crotchrode, he has wit, and a man of wit cannot be a villain.
I have sent you a knot by the Mansfield carrier, and am your very humble servant.
Junuary. To Mrs. Justice, Scofton,Nottinghamshire.
I Have got a cursed cold, that lies so consuuiedly in my head (I suppose you'l hear how I got it) I can't write such a letter as I wou'd do, if I had my eyes I wou'd write a better—take the will for the deed my dear. I congratulate your good fortune. Would to Gud, John may be at lucky to me- You need not fear I should forget Friday: thouuli I knock my head against the wall every time I think on't, and cur>e mv stars, that never sends me an inclination uithoat » disappointment. Well, I hope we shall meet again at ScofFton—it can be for no long time—halfadny is very short; bat however it is better than nothing, and that will be soon.
I don't mention jour accident: you may suppose 1 nm sorry for your fright, »ini glad of your 'scape.
Tis a cursed condition of humanity, •e have lomyentire weeks to give to meUncholy, and so few Hceting minutes to pleasure.
Tq Mn. Justice, York.
KxowlNG experimentally, my dear, the plague of sore eyes, I'm sure you will thmk it sufficient excuse for not sooner cundolcing with you for the losse of your mother, which I am truly and heartily sorry for, ns I am for any thing that gives you trouble. The greatest I have u> the weakness of my sight, which is enou.:h of all conscience. I have sat a food while in n dark room, and am indeed not now in n condition of writing; but could not he any longer without letling you hear from me. Diversions are none to me at my present; and my miserable eyes take from me all the recreations of my life, both in company and irish you may he at Scoffton this summer, for I dare say we shall be in that country, and then L may have the pleasure of seeing you again, which you know will be much to my satisfaction. I am afraid you'll hardly be able to read this; but indeed I hardly see what I write, and ray eyes so, I must conclude; but 1 hope won't binfleryou from writing to me since 'tis none of my fault I did write sooner.or don't write more now.
Mr?Ami Jtatict, York.
Miss Justice there? He assur'd me he did, and said a thousand pritty things df you. Good buy te'e my dear, I wish you all the happynesse you wish yourselfe, and I hat you may be perfectly, perfectly so; and let people say what they will, that is possible. I am going to day upon a pleasant expedition, and will give an account of it in my next. The miller told the queen, her majesty should be in. great danger of drowning in December, whereat her majesty laugh'd very much, and was plens'd to call him a blockhead, and say she should never he in danger of drowning, because she should never travel; but she has writ us word, that, going to Nottingham, the chaise Dversiirn'ri in a deep ditch full of water, and she very narrowly escap'dwith her life, which confirms us in the opinion of his being a conjuror. I wish to tiod he was, for then—yon know.
Yod nro a very generous friend, to be as much pleased with Mrs. Hunks's wedding ns if it was your own; ami I am not leise obliged to vou for your kind wishes about the lottery. I wonder you don't think of putting in yourselfe: a thousand pounds per aniitun is worth trying for, though the odds he never so great. Prithee do, my dear, imagine to yourselfe, how agreeable a surprize 'tvtill he to have so large an estate, to come to I«udon in your own coach and six bora* s, be the celebrated toast of the town, and at last make 9ome true lover happy, to the utter disappointment of all fortunehunters, who would allmost stilTle vou with their troublesome assiduities. These shining ideas, if 1 was in your place, would perswade me to venture a ticket or two. My prospect is very different: if I win I intend to retire out of the crocjrf I am in; my particular pleasure would he, in despising the censure of fools, Und shutting the doors upon three parts ot my acquaintance, who should never sec mc afterwards. 1 would no longer visit the DiitcheSse of Kiddlefoddle, for fear of being called rude, and go regularly to mv Lady Tattle's visiting night, to nvoid hiding the subject of her malice. In short, I would shew all that sincerity so natural to me, and keep no company out'-of tear, nor cringe to detestable prudes to acquire a reputation. I would live (vou won't believe it)—but I woultf live in the country. I would have a little neat bouse, which nobody should enter that did' not in some degree enter into* my heart too. 1 would be ulnars my owl), or people's
I Am very glad you continue in your beliefc thai perfect liappyncsse is not (as some wildly ihink it) a chimara: tho' I never met any body told me they had it, tha'. does not deter my pursuit of it, nay even hopes 'The blessed lottery was open'd tins day. There is a croud at the Bank; there is no approaching within halt a nnle of it. The Karl of Pembroke puts in three thousand pounds, and all the world talks of nothing else} so I suppose they all hope at least to add considerably to their happynesse, if not attain it, by that means, I write to Mrs. Banks this very day, so you'l see in her letter what reports 1 have heard concerning her matrimony. The undertaking I spoke of (like most undertakings) was not half so pleasant in the action as in the prospect; it was much such another as the miller's, but not half so satisfactory. The pretended lortune-teller was so iguorant as to take my sifter for the elder, and several other absurdity?, which provok'd me to an utter contempt of all those creatures and their ridiculous predictions. My sister is very well recovered, and we go to the play to-night. Lord Chamberlain danced last night at Lady Hide's, where there was a vast deal of company. You do me wrong in fancying I should be weary of the length of your's; Til assure you I think them the more obliging. The knots begin their journey to-day; I'm afraid you have thought of them so long they won't answer your expectations. Pray do me the favour to wear it at Miss Banks' wedding, if 'tis not yet over. I never thiak of the solemnity without wishing myselfe at it; but I won't be so ill-natur'd to Mr. Vane to wish it delay*d till spring; tho' I hope you'l stay till that time. I fancy we shall come down about May: whenever I do, all the diversions I leave here will not give me so much regret, as the seeing my agreeable country friends will pleasure.
You are infinitely obliging. I pretend no value in my letters, but they come from a heart very much devoted to your service. If you hear I have the lot (as I beseech heaven I may) you will hear
in a few posts afterwards that I desire your company. You observe just, tliere is no charm like liberty, and liberty is never m a croud; tliere is a vast, a solid pleasure, in having one's tune at one's o»ti disposal, and not to be ty'd up to the forms that are more troublesome tliau servitude; a servant has nobody to please but his master; we time live in the world, have all the world—every creature is tree to be both oui Judge anu accuser. What a happiness then lo be out ol Hie hurry, to passe the days unheeded, without the malicious remarks of formal prudes, or the insipid railleries of curious coquettes. I infinitely approve vo'ur
generous resolution of making Mr.
(tor I Suppose you mean him) nappy. I cannot suppose you so unfortunate as yon fancy your selfe. Prithee try—who would not venture for eternal happy* nis-e ?—perfect happynesse—tho' Miss Banks will allow of no such thing. Pray ask her Hie question again, a week alter her wedding: I'll be hang'd it she does not look down and cry, she's perfectly happy, 'lis a strange cruelty in my fortune, that I am not to be at that charming solemnity. If it was some aukward disagreeable place, Tin sure I should be there, tho' 1 study'd all ways and means to avoid it. But destiny cannot be struggled with; and 'tis tit lor me, upon many occasions, to make use of the admirable proverb, "Make the best of a bad bargain." 1 his consideration makes mc move up and down town, and endeavour to make my lite pass as tolerably as I can. The Gazette, I suppose, has told you of the magnificent ball of Count Turucca: there was a great manny uiasqueraders—viie two Mr Molcsworths was some of the mostgahmt there, one dress'd like a Dutch skipper, and the other in a suit trim'd with green and gold, and made themselves very remarkable bv their tine dancing. But Mr. O'Arcie every way excelled all the rest: he was like a shepherd, but so shining with jewels, so near, so lovely, he surpriz'd and chaim'd every body. Good buy te'e my dear—if the bell did not rmg I would write out my paper.
To Mrs. Justice, at Scoffton,
You are very obliging, ray dear. Of all things I like your lover's letter, gay, kind, and airy, as you say he is in his conversation. People say be is very handsome; his stile shews he has wit and gaiety. These are very fine charming qualifications, but consider my dear