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ing. I would to God I was with you read ing the Atalantis! I know the book, and 'twould be a vast pleasure to me to read some of the storys 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. If 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. I don't know when we shall see Mrs. B. but when we do come into that country, is it quite impossible for you to stay a week or so with us? I only hint this, for I know people's inclinations must submit to their conveniencys; only tell me how far it may be possible on your side, and 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 you.

Remember your promise concerning the letters.

To Mrs. Ann Justice, at York.

YES, yes, my dear, here is woods, and shades, and groves, in abundance. You are in the right on't; 'tis not the place, but the solitude of the place, that is in tolerable. 'Tis a horrid thing to see nothing but trees in a wood, and to walk by a purling stream to ogle 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. 'Tis 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 Holdernesse. 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

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. July 7.

To Mrs. Anne Justice, York.

I AM very glad you divert yourselfe so well. I endeavour to make my solitude as agreeable as I can. Most things of that kind are 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 selfe than a stolen wedding, with a man who (you know) we have reason to believe not the most sincere lover upon earth; and since his 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 of 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 heartily for me. If I win, I don't question (in spite of all our disputes) to find 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 I shan't win a farthing. I should be very very glad to be 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's never seem so to ine. August 7.

To Mrs. Anne Justice, York.

I AM glad dear Mrs. Ellys finds se much happynesse in the state she has enter'd into. I wish Mrs. B. had been

so happy to have so pritty a place, joyn'd with so pritty a gentleman as all the world calls Mr. Vane. She dines here to-day with her family. I intend to railly her about Sir William. She is a good-natur'd young woman, and I hearbly wish she may find (if that can be) a recompence for the disappointment she has met with in this rouling world. Every mortal has their share; and tho' I persist in my notions of happynesse, I begin to believe nobody ever yet experienced it. What think you? My present entertainment is rideing, which I grow very fond of, and endeavour to lay up a stock of good health, the better to endure the fatigues of life. I hope you are situated m an agreeable place, and good air. You know me, and that I wish you all sorts of pleasures; the world affords few, but such as they are, dear Mrs. Ellys, may you enjoy them all.

Sept. 10.

To Mrs. Ellys, at Beverly, Yorkshire.

THE Lord save us! what wretches are men! I know that Lord Castlecomare

intimately well, and have been very gay in his company. That 'tis possible there should be so inhumane a creature! I pity the poor young lady to the last degree. A man must have a compound of ill-nature, barbarousnesse, and inhoma nity, to be able to do such an action. I cannot believe there are manny would be guilty of it. I could declaim four hours upon this subject-'tis something highly ingrateful and perfidious. I know several Lord Castlecomare has made love to, but should have never believ'd him, or any man, so utterly void of all tendernesse and compassion. Had them men women to their mothers! I can hardly believe it. I am of your mind, the young lady is happy if she dies. If he sent her some ratsbane in a letter, 'tis all the kindnesse he can now do, all the recompence he can now make her. I don't question but there are some of our own sex inhumane enough to make a jest of her misfortunes. Especially being a beauty, the public mark of malice, next to plungemg people into misery (as that barbarous Lord Castlecomare has done) the greatest piece of ill-nature is insulting them under it. Chiefly those ruin'd for love, perhaps ensnar'd by vows and undone by too much credulity, I alwaies pity the unhappy, without strictly looking into their merit, however their misfortumes come; when they are unfortunate they deserve compassion: and 'tis my maxim never to ridicule the frailties of

You have

the wretched of my own sex. done me a sensible pleasure in writeing an account of your own affairs; and I desire to know how they proceed; and depend upon it your interests cannot be 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. 'Tis 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.

Pray tell me the name of that unfortunate young lady whom you and I pity so much.

Sept. 22.

To Mrs. A. Justice, at York.

I WISH heartily for the successe of your affair, because I wish heartily for every thing that pleases you. I agree with you, there is no misfortune so uneasy as uncertainty; and I had rather be sure of never having my wishes, than be perpetually tossing between hope and fear. I pity poor Mrs. Ridsdale, and am glad her family has so just a sense of her misfortunes, not to encrease 'em by ill usage. If my Lord Castlecomare had any small remains of 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 injury. If I was in the poor lady's lamentable case, instead of crying and sighing in a 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 peace; but I don't think she can do less in honour: and if I was she, I should be overjoy'd to be hang'd upon such an occasion, for I think she has no farther busynesse in this world.

I am sorry you can't go to Scoffton, for I pity the poor young woman's melarcholy there extremely, and know no company more proper to chase it away than that of my dear Nanny, who has a most constant well-wisher in me.

October 25.

To Mrs. Anne Justice, York.

You are very happy, dear Nanny, and I'll swear I think you are very wise. People have uneasynesses 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 fire 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 I intend ed, for fear of that confounded distemper the small-pox, which happens to be next door to our house in London. I commend you mightily for not thinking of coming; for tho' this world is a ridiculous 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 a 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 I have had experience of both, and if you'l take my judgment, was I to chuse for alwaies, I 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 dresse 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 carelessnesse makeing 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 I have told you how much I am your's.

Direct your next to London, for 'tis to be hop'd I shall be there by that time.

Dec. 27..

To Mrs. Anne Justice, at York.

I HOPE, dear Nanny, you do not think I forget you; but I'll swear this town is such a place, and one is so hurry'd about, 'tis with vast difficulty I can get pen, ink, and paper; and perhaps when they are

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 am heartily sorry for the misfortunes of Oroonoko, and hope he'll find as much mercy in the court 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 muts roses exactly like those in the parsons' hats. On the other side, the low party (of which I declare my selfe) wear little low heads and long ribands to their muffs. This a full account of the important busynesse 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 fol low'd than ever I knew it. I am invited to a ball 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 me. To Mrs. Anne Justice, at York.

LET me die, my dear, and all that, if I have been so well pleas'd since I 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 me, 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.

January.

To Mrs. Justice, Scofton, Nottinghamshire.

I HAVE got a cursed cold, that lies so consumedly 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 God, John may be as lucky to me. You need not fear I should forget Friday; though I knock my head against the wall every time I think on't, and corse my stars, that never sends me an inclination with

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out a disappointment. Well, I hope we shall meet again at Scoffton-it can be for no long time-half a day is very short; but however it is better than nothing, and that will be soon.

I don't mention your accident: you may suppose I am sorry for your fright, and glad of your 'scape.

Tis a cursed condition of humanity, we have long entire weeks to give to melancholy, and so few fleeting minutes to pleasure.

To Mrs. Justice, York.

KNOWING experimentally, my dear, the plague of sore eyes, I'm sure you will think it sufficient excuse for not sooner condoleing with you for the losse of your mother, which I am truly and heartily sorry for, as I am for any thing that gives you trouble. The greatest I have is the weaknesse of my sight, which is enough of all conscience. I have sat a good while in a dark room, and am indeed not now in a condition of writing; but could not be any longer without letting 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 solitude. I wish you may be at Scoffton some part of this summer, for I dare say we shall be in that country, and then I 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 my eyes water so, I must conclude; but I hope that won't hinder you from writing to me soon, since 'tis none of my fault I did not write sooner,or don't write more now. August.

To Mrs. Ann Justice, York.

You see I follow my orders, and write what I have to say in a bit that may be burnt without questions. I am glad of the happynesse of the couple you know, but have malice enough to wish it defer'd till we came to be witnesses: tho' I reckon my selfe in part there since you are, and am overjoy'd at your obliging promise of an account of all passages. You never was in the wrong in your life but in one thing, and that is asking my pardon for a freedom that plenses and obliges me beyond all things. I hope they are to live at Mr. Banks, and that you'l stay all summer. I saw a very pritty northern gentleman t'other day: be was talking in great commendations of York. I ask'd him if he knew one

Miss Justice there? He assur'd me he did, and said a thousand pritty things of you. Good buy te'e my dear, I wish you all the happynesse you wish yourselfe, and that you may be perfectly, perfectly so; and let people say what they will, that is possible. I am going to day apon 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 pleas'd to call him a blockhead, and say she should never be in danger of drowning, because she should never trarel; but she has writ us word, that, going to Nottingham, the chaise overturn'd in a deep ditch full of water, and she very narrowly escap'd with her life, which confirms us in the opinion of his being a conjuror. I wish to God he was, for then-you know.

You are be as much pleased with Mrs. Banks's a very generous friend, to wedding as if it was your own; and I am not lesse obliged to you for your kind wishes about the lottery. I wonder you don't think of putting in yourselfe: a thousand pounds per annum is worth trying for, though the odds be never so great. Prithee do, my dear, imagine to yourselfe, how agreeable a surprize 'twill be to have so large an estate, to come to London in your own coach and six horses, be the celebrated toast of the town, and at last make some true lover happy, to the utter disappointment of all fortunehunters, who would allmost stiffle you with their troublesome assiduities. These shining ideas, if I 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 ont of the crocs. be, in despising the censure of fools, and I am in; my particular pleasure would shutting the doors upon three parts of my acquaintance, who should never see me afterwards. the Dutchesse of Fiddlefaddle, for fear of I would no longer visit being called rude, and go regularly to my Lady Tattle's visiting night, to avoid be ing the subject of her malice. In short, I would shew all that sincerity so natural to me, and keep no company out of fear, nor cringe to detestable prudes to acquire a reputation. I would live (you won't believe it)—but I would live in the coun❤ try. I would have a little neat house, which nobody should enter that did not in some degree enter into my heart too. I would be always my own, or people's that I thought part of my selfe.-This

scene

scene delights me; though I fear, like all my other pleasing ideas, 'twill vanish into air, and leave me, as I was, but still your's. Jan. 31.

To Mrs. Justice, Scoffion, Nottinghamshire.

I AM very glad you continue in your beliefe that perfect happynesse is not (as some wildly think it) a chimera: tho' I never met any body told me they had it, that does not deter my pursuit of it, nay even hopes The blessed lottery was open'd this day. There is a croud at the Bank; there is no approaching within half a mile of it. The Earl 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 I 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 tortune-teller was so ignorant as to take my sister for the elder, and several other absurditys, 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; I'll 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 think 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.

Jan. 16.

To Mrs. Justice, at Scoffton,

Nottinghamshire.

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, there is no charm like liberty, and liberty is never in a croud; there is a vast, a solid pleasure, in having one's time at one's own disposal, and not to be ty'd up to the forms that are more troublesome than servitude; a servant has nobody to please but his master; we thac live in the world, have all the world-every creature is free to be both our judge and accuser. What a happiness then to be out of the hurry, to passe the days unheeded, without the malicious remarks of formal prudes, or the insipid railleries of enrious coquettes. I infinitely approve your generous resolution of making Mr. (for I suppose you mean him) happy. I cannot suppose you so unfortunate as you fancy your selfe. Prithee try-who would not venture for cternal happynesse?-perfect happynesse-tho' Miss Banks will allow of no such thing. Pray ask her the question again, a week after her wedding: I'll be hang'd if she does not look down and cry, she's perfectly happy. 'Tis a strange cruelty in my fortune, that I am not to be at that charming solemnity. If it was some aukward disagreeable place, I'm sure I should be there, tho' I study'd all ways and means to avoid it. But destiny cannot be struggled with; and 'tis fit for ine, upon many occasions, to make use of the admirable proverb, “Make the best of a bad bargam." This consideration makes me move up and down town, and endeayour to make my lite pass as tolerably as I can. The Gazette, I suppose, has told you of the magnificent bail of Count Turucca: there was a great manny masqueraders-the two Mr. Molesworths was some of the most galant there, one dress'd like a Dutch skipper, and the other in a suit trim'd with green and goid, and made themselves very remarkable by their fine dancing. But Mr. D'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 charm'd every body. Good buy te'e my dear-if the bell did not ring I would write out my paper.

To Mrs. Justice, at Scoffton,
Nottinghamshire.

You are very obliging, my dear. Of all things I like your lover's letter, gay, kind, and airy, as you say he is in his conversation. People say he is very handsome; his stile shews he has wit and gaiety. These are very fine charming qualifications, but consider my dear

-'Ere

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