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 heartily 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 in 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 inhumanity, 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 plungeing 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 misfortunes come; when they are unfortunate they deserve compassion: and 'tis my maxim never to ridicule the frailties of

the wretched of my own sex. You have 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 melancholy 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.
2

Του

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 ridicuJous 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 and then we'll talk over you next summer, 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 sone 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 coart 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 muffs 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 follow'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 curse my stars, that never sends me an inclination with

out

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.

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 upon a pleasant expedition, and will give an account of it in iny next. The miller told the queen, er 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 travel; 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 a very generous friend, to be as much pleased with Mrs. Banks's 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 aunum 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 out of the croud I am in; my particular pleasure would be, in despising the censure of fools, and shutting the doors upon three parts of my acquaintance, who should never see me afterwards. I would no longer visit the Dutchesse of Fiddicfaddle, for fear of being called rude, and go regularly to my Lady Tattle's visiting night, to avoid being the subject of her malice. In short, I would shew all that sincerity so natural to me, and keep no comsany 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, Scoffton, Nottinghamshire.

I AM very glad you continue in your beliefe that perfect happynesse is not (as some wildly think it) a chimæra: 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 fortune-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 that 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 envious 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 eternal 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 me, upon many occasions, to make use of the admirable proverb, "Make the best of a bad bargain." This consideration makes me move up and down town, and endeavour to make my life 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 gold, 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 neat, 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

-'Ere your heart be quite resign'd, Forget he's fair, and think upon his mind. There is a question-Can a handsome well-bred young fellow be constant? You're a better judge of this than I am; but by my truly I think there is a list of more good qualitys than ever fell to one mortal's share; but if any body can fix the inconstant animal man, I will suppose it in your power.

I have been ready to hang my selfe, to think I shan't be at Miss Banks' wedding.

Since I can't, prithee do you what 1 would do in your case-you know what I mean-put off your shoes and-write me the history of all the whole affair, without disguise, from the Yes pronounced in church, to the soft No, which signifies Yes, in the bedchamber. Lord, Lord, what would I give to be with you, and rattle away a night or two, as your lover says. Ha! my dear maid of honour, we'd dance, and talk, and sing, and be as merry, if not so well pleas'd, as the bride; the bride, and thereby hangs

PRIZE OXEN AND COWS.

the tale. I hope she is well. I have writ to her this post; but did not tell her you gave me the information, because I did not positively know whether you'd care she should be told it or no. Sweet soul, your humble servant.

I would fill this side, but the post bell rings.

To Mrs. Anne Justice, York.

To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine.

SIR,

Club, for the best fat cattle, sheep HE prizes offered by the Smithfield and pigs, were this year left to the decision of Mr. William Walker, of Woolsthorp, Lincolnshire; Mr. William Watkins, of Brinsop, Herefordshire; and Mr. John Roper, of Potter's Pury, Buckinghamshire; who considered the following to have improved the most in flesh and fatness, for the quantity and kind of food consumed by each respectively, when due allowance had been made for age, labour performed, and other circumstances, viz.

1360 146 122 56 28

74

1130) 120 91

35 21 82

35 24

70

1532 217 126 56

$4

64

760 108 86

31

20

58