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sir Philip is a protestant, he may reform her. Alas! it is not in my power, every thing that vexes me gives her pleasure.'

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Nay, sir,' replied I, she has not in the material point, the 'choice of a husband, run counter to your wishes.'

It is the only thing,' said he, I ever knew her fail in. If I wish her to stay at home, she goes out; if I wish her to go out, she stays at home; and so on. But I love her as I do myself. She has many suitors and admirers whereever she goes.'

We will excuse, then,' replied I, her vanity universal admiration is too apt to create it in the most sensible minds.'

My curiosity to see this lady was now wound to the highest pitch. The next day I was rejoiced to see her alight from the carriage with sir Philip, who led her into the room, where was my uncle and myself ready to receive her. Now for a poet's pen to describe a complete Venus! but as I am not a poet, nor the lady a complete Venus, I crave your excuse for the omission. I will, however, inform you, that my cousin is the most beautiful girl I ever saw, and wants nothing but a good shape to make her perfectly lovely. I will venture to say, no one that ever looked in her face regretted that she was not quite so tall or straight as a painter would wish her; and, I can speak for myself, it was some hours before I could take my eyes from her countenance to observe her figure. Her father embraced her with transport, and presented her to me, with joy sparkling in his eyes. I told her I had waited for that moment with impatience. I know nothing of you, good air,' said she, with a

most charming vivacity, but I felt impatient to see you. Sir Philip knows I have talked of nothing but you the whole way.' Sir Philip smiled, and confirmed her assertion. You may suppose I said all that politeness could dictate on the occasion, and in a few minutes my fair cousin and I were perfectly well acquainted, and engrossed most of the conversation. The old gentleman seemed to regard us with much satisfaction, and it was hard to say which felt the happiest. Sir Philip seemed not so perfectly at ease. He, lover like, did not wish his mistress's attention to be so wholly engrossed from himself. I saw his dissatisfaction, and proposed a walk in the gardens. There we entered into general discourse on England and its customs; and my young cousin made many remarks which convinced me that she had a good understanding joined to a playfulness of disposition, at her years not unpleasing. She says many witty things unwittingly, as I may express it; for she does not give herself time to think, and it must be a very good heart and head not to err sometimes by such volubility and spirits. I believe, rather than lose her repartee, she would affront her best friend. I plainly see she is a coquet too; and poor sir Philip, who I think is really fond of her, often looks grave, and knows not what to think of her behaviour. One hour all complaisance, the next hiding herself and sighing, as she says, for her dear lady Amaranth, and declaring a resolution to take the veil. This lady Amaranth is daughter of a lord Amaranth, an Irish family come here about two years since, on the decease of a brother who left large property. They are to return to

Ireland when the affairs are settled. This gentleman's house my cousin often goes to, and a violent friendship is formed between the young ladies all the family are zealous catholics, and, I suppose, found it no very difficult task to convert my sprightly cousin. This young lady Amaranth having lost by death a favoured lover, a few weeks before their nuptials were to take place, became so overwhelmed with grief that she formed a resolution to take the veil. Her family and my cousin are concerned at it; but the friendship of the latter is so strong, that she frequently expresses a wish to accompany her in her retirement. Her father and lover are terrified with the idea; but I can discover very plainly, nothing is more remote from her intentions, or less congenial to her disposition. My cousin has received the best education this country can afford, but it falls short of that bestowed on the higher rank of females in ours. My uncle has taken pains to instruct her in useful knowledge, and has, in a good degree, succeeded; more from her quickness of parts than attention; for she is so extremely giddy that it is diffcult to fix her attention to any subject. She dances well, and has. a good ear for music; but for want of proper masters will never excel. Upon the whole she is a charming woman, and was she introduced in England, would draw a crowd of admirers. My uncle is not fond of her forming acquaintance with the English ladies; he thinks (and in my opinion very justly) they must be devoid of delicacy ere they could quit their native country in quest of a husband, whose fortune, perhaps, only could make him acceptable. I attended a ball some time since, given on the arrival of

some European ladies. I was much entertained, but at the same time sorry to see so many of my lovely countrywomen exposed to sale at a market, as I may call it: to say the best of it, it is indelicate and disgusting. Had they heard the remarks and witticisms uttered at their expense by the ungracious bidders, I am certain they would have quitted the room. They must be well recommended to respectable families, or they would stand a bad chance for their matrimonial success; and I am informed that if they refuse the first offer, have ` little chance of a second, unless their persons and manners are above mediocrity; and many there are who die, or return to England without their errand. I was introduced to several, and being now looked on as a young man of consequence, I dared not behave gallantly, for fear of raising false hopes. O ye fair votaries of ambition! think of the little chance you give yourselves for happiness, when, by leaving your country in quest of a rich husband, you renounce friends, sentiment, and delicacy, the bulwarks on which true happiness are built. But you will laugh at my rhapsody; it arose naturally to my mind on sight of the fair victims.

As I know you dislike the subject of business, and I may add, ' would not understand it,'I will not trouble you with explaining the nature of my uncle's. I have the happiness to grow daily in his favour and affection, and feel myself much attached to him; I have only to regret that his health is such, that I fear his life will not be long continued. But of course whilst he lives I shall not revisit England. I do not like this country, and shall reside in it no longer than is

necessary. Can I ever be thank ful enough to that Providence for throwing me in the way of the only relation I had? What a singular and happy lot is mine! The circumstances are so extraordinary as scarcely to gain belief. Thus blessed and thus situated, ought I to entertain any sentiment but gratitude? Is it not criminal to sigh, or suffer a repining thought? I blush to write I am not happy, but from my friend I will conceal nothing. Ah, Johnson! ere this colonel Ambrose is blessed with the hand of miss Vernon, the only woman in which my happiness is centered. Time and distance has not erased her from my memory and affections. I am now in a situation to ask her hand, and from a thousand circumstances I conjecture it might have been accepted; but she is lost to me ;tormenting thought!-and it is now criminal to think of her. Had I but risked an avowal of my passion before I left her! But yet I cannot on reflection blame myself! How could I with honour act otherwise? I would fly from the subject, but my pen will not find another. I expect the next ships will bring me a confirmation of the colonel's marriage. O fortune! thou art but half kind! Impious observation!--I recall it, and conclude with subscribing myself your ever faithful friend,

CHARLES WENTWORTH.

LETTER XXXVII.

Miss Winstanley to Lady Amaranth.

FORBIDDEN to write to my dearest, my only friend! what does my father mean? Why truly he is afraid I shall adopt your senti

ments, and bury myself alive in a convent. No, no, my good sir, that will never be the case, though I love sometimes to frighten you aud sir Philip with the threat. Why these fathers, wise as they would be thought in the manage ment of their daughters, are strangely out sometimes. We all love contradiction; as for me, it is my chief delight. Were I ordered to write to you, I should hate it of all things; or, had I been com→ manded, with the sternness of parental authority, to be a Roman catholic, I should have remained a protestant, and so on in a hundred instances. Now it is my firm opinion, if I and the rest of your friends had not have made such a rout about your taking the veil, you would at this time have been figuring away at a ball, and-but hold, I must not touch on this topic, lest I should make you angry.-You desired me, when I took leave of you, to send you a full account of my new-found relation; I comply the more readily, because he is a fine, handsome, young fellow, and really worth writing about. It would have been horrid provoking to have had a stupid, plain, English monkey rise from the dead and run away with half one's fortune; but as it is, I have no objection to alteration in wills, as you know I value not money.Well, but the picture of this charming fel-low, and first his name-Charles Wentworth, about twenty-five, very tall, with the handsomest leg you ever saw; a manner peculiarly graceful. Sir Philip, you know, is thought graceful and elegant in his deportment and address, but he is nothing to him, I assure you. His face I think not so completely handsome as his figure; but his

countenance is manly and pleasing, and very expressive. His features are good, and, my father says, strongly resemble those of his mother. So much for his person and manners; now for his faults. The greatest I have yet discovered is, his not having yet professed himself my slave. He even seems in sensible to my charms, which I have been ever told are irresistible. He talks to me with as much indifference as though I were his grandmother; and yet his countenance is sensibility itself. Another fault he has too, he is too grave. What has such a fine fellow to be grave about? and in my presence too, whose smiles all have told me dispel every gloom, and brighten the face of nature. Now he is the first man that was ever two days in my company without professing himself my admirer. Ought I not to resent it? But I feel a greater desire to enslave him than any youth I ever saw; and a very good punishment too, I am sure. Sir Philip is, miserable enough. Yonder I see him and my cousin walking in the gardens. They are mighty sociable. I won der the former is not jealous. But I will go down and make him so. O the joy to wound a lover!'

[In continuation.]

WELL, I have succeeded most charmingly in my plan. But this insensible Wentworth ! I am puzzled to know what to make of him. I entered the garden with a stately walk, and was soon espied by the gentlemen-Sir Philip offered me his arm; I took my cousin's I hope,' said I, you approve the mode of laying out these gardens; my father says they are quite in the English taste

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Every thing here is English', replied he, even you are an English woman in your manners, your person, and I think your taste. Partial as I am to my native country, it is extremely gra tifying to me to observe my uncle. adopt its customs. I observe wa live totally different from the other European inhabitants here. And where do you think I strolled this morning? into your library! and was delighted to see every English author of note had a place there'.

I am very glad,' said I, ⚫ that our mode of living pleases you 2 and if you can find entertainment in my library it is very much at your service. Are you fond of reading?' I am', said he; and will ask you in return the same question'. I like it sometimes', said I, and if you have no objection we will read together; perhaps you may be able to point out some beauties I have overlooked'. With all my heart', said he, it will give me the highest pleasure; and if sir Philip will join us it. cannot but be pleasing to you'. It is an honour, said sir Philip, I have frequently petitioned for

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I looked at him with a haughty air, but made no answer; went on with my cousin, and asked him which of the English poets her liked best; it required much. judgment', he said, 'to determine. the many beauties in almost all the English poets; it was a tasku he was unequal to; but he be. lieved Milton, Pope, and Young, were in general in the highest es-. timation; he discovered many: beauties in Thomson, particularly. in his 'Seasons'; and a poet of the present day, Cowper, he highly esteemned'.

I was almost tired with this grave conversation, when sir Phi

lip observed that it threatened a storm, and proposed returning to the house. We did so, and I, at my cousin's request, sat down to the harpsichord. Sir Philip took the violin-I desired him to lay it down as I did not like the instrument; he did so, and sighed.

I asked Wentworth to sing, which he readily complied with, and although he does not sing half so well as sir Philip, I affected to be in raptures, and declared that I had never heard so fine a voice.

In this manner did we go on, I endeavouring to exclude sir Philip from any share in the conversation, and paying Mr. Wentworth every attention. At length what did my favoured beau do but leave the room. What could I say; I could not call him back to be sure; so strum, strum, went I on at the harpsichord. Sir Philip sat by me, and entreated I would inform him what he had done to displease me. I affected not to hear him for some time; and expected he would throw himself at my feet, as he ought to have done; but in stead of that he threw himself in a passion. Such usage, he said, was not to be borne; he would go to my father, and demand an explanation from him. I stopped iny music, and rising, dropped a courtesy, with 'Pray, sir, what do you want to say to me?' Provoking angel!' he called me.-I went on-I thought I was mistress of my actions-I thought I might, when I pleased, play on this hariless instrument; but I find I was mistaken :-'Pray, sir, who are you? What right have you, sir, to interrupt my amusements, or intrude on my retirement?'

What a question!' replied he; am I not your favoured lover? Have you not promised to give me

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your hand?-that hand- (and he would have taken it, but I snatched it away) and think you I can be unconcerned at the treatment you have this day, and I may say the whole week, given me ? Let me entreat you to explain yourself. If I have offended you there is no concession I will not make to regain your favour. But I am conscious of no fault- I wonder,' said I, with great composure, where my cousin is-I want to speak with him.' This speech completed the mortification. He paced across the room in a violent passion, and opening the door

Seek him, madam!' said he, 'I doubt not he is in the house.' I dropped him another courtesy, and thanked him for his permission to retire; but I was not his provoking angel again. I tripped up stairs, and scribbled thus far to you. I long to see how the wretch will behave at dinner. To be sure he will not presume to be angry! if he should I must relax a little of my severity; for I must not lose him neither, at least not until I am sure of another. But I am resolved to conquer the insensibility of Wentworth, and sir Philip, I suppose, must be the sacrifice; my engagements to another would be no obstacle to any one else; but Wentworth has such refined notions. I must lay down my pen to prepare for the dinner hour, so adieu for the present.

[In continuation.]

QUITE irresistible from the ele gance of my dress, and with a countenance arrayed in smiles, I entered the dining-room, where was my father and Wentworth ;but no sir Philip. The former looked grave, and displeased, and

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