LETTER I. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

THE whirl of wheels, a fine flow of ſpirits, the elyſium of expectation, and the vigour of freſh horſes at every ſtage, brought me, in leſs than twenty hours, from Cavendiſh-ſquare to the place of date. Having no unneceſſary luggage [2] to retard me, no trifling petit maitre, who, at two miles diſtance from the ſhifting-place, drives back for his gloves, his cane, his ſnuff-box, or his white handkerchief; I rolled, THORNTON, on the ſprings of expedition; and I ſit down, unſubdued by fatigue, to tell thee of my ſafety.

Richardſon's a child, his Grandiſon is a monſter, his Lovelace a bungler:— ſince the days of Adam, Nature hath pro⯑duced but one man of pleaſure; and that wonder was reſerved to adorn the age be⯑fore us.

Oh, CHESTERFIELD! CHESTERFIELD! thou, only thou, kneweſt the ſcience of joy; thou only hadſt the ſkill to cover the rug⯑gedneſſes of life with roſes, that bloom from being preſſed. Deign then, im⯑mortal ſhade! to look with a gentle eye upon thy pupil; teach me to emulate [3] thy genius, to practiſe thy precepts, to hit, with a felicity like thine, the true ſpirit of diſſimulation—ſoften my features to the blandiſhments of delight— attune my tongue to the thrillings of perſuaſion— enrich my ſentiments with ſo verſatile a ductility, that I may obey the occaſions of the minute—endue me with perſeve⯑rance of ſoul, and condeſcend to guide me (with all thy attendant graces; aſſi⯑duities, and elegant attentions,) into the boſom of voluptuouſneſs, my Friend, my Mentor, my Genius, and my God!

THORNTON, I am inſpired! the rhap⯑ſody of my invocation is throbbing al⯑ready at my heart—it is working its way to the very marrow in the bones. The divine Letters of our Earl are this inſtant brought in by the poſtilion, who is un⯑conſcious of the treaſure with which he is freighted; and I dare not proceed till I [4] have unlocked my hoard, and, with a more than Perſian proſtration, paid to the maxims by which I am to be conducted the incenſe of my idolatry.

LETTER II. Mr. THORNTON to Mr. SEDLEY.

TAKE care: it is eaſier to ad⯑viſe than to act. I wiſh you joy of your ſyſtem, which I approve: let it not, how⯑ever, appear to be imitation; and the deities of bliſs throw objects in your way!

Be explicit in your letters.

LETTER III. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

DULL THORNTON!—circum⯑ſpect citizen! at what art thou alarmed, and "why is thy ſpirit troubled within thee?" How canſt thou entertain ſo contemptible a notion of thy SEDLEY? Imitation! Curſe thee for the thought Haſt thou, in the courſe of ſeven enter⯑prizing years, ever known me ſtoop from the originality of ſelf to the ſlavery of another? 'Tis true, I admire the Lord of CHESTERFIELD: his epiſtles are, in the reading hour, always in my hand; at night they repoſe behind my pillow, and they at preſent conſtitute all my tra⯑velling library. But I ſcorn to be fet⯑tered, [7] either in body or ſoul. The li⯑berty of the underſtanding is as dear to me as the liberty of the perſon; and I have too much pride, too much dignity, to become a plagiary. No, THORNTON, the Earl is, as it were, my tutor; his ſentiments are ſuch as I have long felt, but ſuch as, till now, I was cautious of avowing. Hitherto I have been reſtrained in my actions, and loſt half the joy of voluptuouſneſs, becauſe, forſooth, nobody had either reputation or ingenuity enough to keep me in countenance. I ſwam the ſtream of pleaſure, but was always afraid of going out of my depth. For the herd of men are contented to be libertines in the ordinary ſhallow way, and, before the appearance of theſe enchanting Letters, we wanted the imprimatur of a man of celebrity, to give credit to the efforts of an enterprizing ſpirit. But now the im⯑pediment is removed,—the avenue is [8] opened, and the proſpect of pleaſure is palpable. The repoſitory of STANHOPE, the cabinet of CHESTERFIELD, the Earl's arcanum, are all diſcloſed:—EUGENIA— bear, bear the name, ye roſy-winged deities of joy, in gratitude to heaven!—EUGENIA has given to mankind the invaluable re⯑mains of her father, and in that preſent —(Oh, THORNTON, echo EUGENIA!)— hath diſcovered, to every elegant character, freſh roads to the temple of felicity, and virgin, untaſted reſources of perſonal ex⯑tacy.

My deſign then, is to indulge my prin⯑ciples, by improving upon thoſe maxims which his elegant pen hath made faſhion⯑able. Let others content themſelves with the vulgar happineſs of yielding beauty, entrapt ſimplicity, and the mere deflora⯑tion of female youth,—I cannot be cir⯑cumſcribed by ſuch common, animal ſen⯑ſations: [9] —give me delicacy, give me diffi⯑culty, give me refinement,—give me in⯑novation,—or take from me exiſtence.

"To beat the beaten track,—to taſte the taſted,"—Oh, ſhocking!—inſup⯑portable! I am above it. I ſcorn it.

In a word then, THORNTON, what our GARRICK is to SHAKESPEARE, I am re⯑ſolved to be to CHESTERFIELD,—the living comment upon the dead text. The youth to whom the Earl's Letters were originally addreſſed, thou knoweſt, is dead; and it ſhould ſeem that he wanted ſoul to reliſh them, had he continued amongſt us. Peace to his uncongenial manes! I claim the inheritance, THORNTON, and deſire you will conſider me as his ſon, by the adoption of his ſentiment. Nay, had theſe veins been filled with the rich ſtream [10] that fed the heart of STANHOPE, I could not have been more like himſelf.—God forgive me! but, were it not ſaid that my mother was the Diana of her day, I ſhould ſuſpect ſhe played my father the Alderman falſe, and that ſhe threw her⯑ſelf into the conquering and accompliſhed arms of CHESTERFIELD.—Earth and ſkies! Mr. THORNTON, canſt thou think I was the product of a plethoric Alder⯑man, and that Alderman a dealer in hops? —Baſtardize me, dear friend, in pity to my feelings; and rather than ſuppoſe me the offspring of ſuch a conjunction, make me the by-blow of ſome deity in diſguiſe, and let me catch a ray of comfort from illegitimacy.

So much for the introduction to our correſpondence. Of preface no more— Prepare for immediate action—A face [11] paſſes my window that throws attrac⯑tions worth purſuing. I preſs the wafer with my ſeal, that I may riſe to recon⯑noitre.

LETTER IV. From the Same to the Same.

THE Earl's abſent man has al⯑ready exhibited himſelf. He is of the name of HOMESPUN, and is the butt of the bath. His ſoul is contemplative, and his body pedantic. Never ſaw I ſo per⯑pendicular, or thoughtful a figure: a very walking ſoliloquy; and his wife, or, at leaſt, the beautiful She who hangs upon his arm—O THORNTON! THORNTON! —I have an object before me already, young, elegant, graceful, and (I warmly hope) a wife—If ſhe ſhould prove indeed the property of this pedant—if the ſtars ſhould have thrown a hoop of gold in my way, my fortune is made.—Soft a little [13] —my landlord enters—his eye looks com⯑munication—there is intelligence in every feature. I am poſitive he will prove the Daily Advertiſer of the bath.

Pray, Mr.—I forget your name— Mr.— Wyngood is my name, Sir.— Pray, Mr. Wyngood, what fine young lady is that now walking with the ſtraight, well-made gentleman in raven-grey?

She is wife to the gentleman, Sir; and his name is Mr. HORACE HOMES⯑PUN, a miniſter come to bathe for the Diſſenters diſorder. There's a vaſt deal of company, Sir, in town, and I think you are very lucky in taking my lodgings. I have got the beſt lodgings in all BUX⯑TON, and ſome of the beſt people in them at this moment. Why now, Sir, you would not think it, but I can ſhew you ſuch things as will ſurprize you.—Here [14] he ſet off, and I followed him into a bed⯑chamber, where, without any ceremony, opening the drawers of his lodgers, he took out a riding-hat, with a blue feather and a ſpangled button. "Lookee, Sir, did you ever ſee the like? Then here is ſilks upon ſattins, and ſattins upon ſilks; and they're the kindeſt people in the world. They live as cheap as poſſible. Why I don't ſuppoſe, one day with another, they ſpend a guinea; they pay only eight-pence a-piece for breakfaſt, a ſhilling a-piece for dinner, eight-pence for tea in the afternoon, a ſhilling each for ſupper, and fourteen ſhillings for lodging; beſides waſhing, coals, candles, and wines,—a mere nothing, as I may ſay, for a watering-place. I preſume, Sir, you would chuſe to join them, and live in the ſame manner. I ſee you are a very worthy gentleman, and I will go mention you under the name of — pray, what name muſt I ſay, Sir? [15] — But no matter; I will tell Mr. HOMESPUN that a new lodger wiſhes to do as he does. Sir, your ſervant; I will be with you again preſently.

The fellow had it all his own way, THORNTON. I interrupted him not, and am this very night to ſup with maſter miniſter HOMESPUN. I have walked down to the well, and drank a glaſs at this Helicon of health. I was in this ramble the man of faſhion, juſt ſtept out of the chaiſe, and elegantly diſordered in my dreſs—my hair was tied with negligence, my curls looſe and in the ton of con⯑fuſion, and my frock diſcovered a genteel ſhape and the cut of a good taylor. A miſcellaneous group were paſſing away the intermediate hours betwixt tea-time and ſupper: the lame and the lazy, the merry and the mortified, were all upon the ſaun⯑ter: HOMESPUN was fondly ruminating [16] with his angelic conſort in the ſhade; and ſomething that had the appearance of a fop—I mean of the common kind—was ſaying ſmart things to a pretty well-woman.

Nothing, however, could induce me to ſtay a moment at this dull place, but the practice of precepts which will convert all places into a paradiſe, and make even a watering-place delicious.—I am ſum⯑moned by the ſupper-bell.—Mrs. HOME⯑SPUN—Oh, what a name for ſuch a crea⯑ture!—is tripping it towards the ſound, and HOMESPUN himſelf ſeems to forget his primitive uprightneſs of back, and ſteps briſkly forward.

LETTER V. From the Same to the Same.

CHESTERFIELD is right: atten⯑tion annihilates learning, and carries away all before it. I am in the road to rap⯑ture. I have time only to give you the hint. Another opportunity of being aſſi⯑duous offers itſelf: the moment muſt not be loſt.

LETTER VI. From the Same to the Same.

I IMPROVE every hour—Oh! why did not the Earl ſanctify the paths of diſſimulation, that I might have lived to pleaſure many years ago! It is now only that I begin to live. I have had, my dear THORNTON, in the courſe of a few hours, a conqueſt ſuperior to ALEXANDER'S. I have made an ordinary coxcomb pleaſed with himſelf, and yet diſcarded by his miſtreſs. I have ſeen a learned huſband deteſtible in the eyes of his wife for the firſt time; and I find him enraptured with the very man by whom he is made ridiculous: and all this from the practice of a ſingle precept—Study to pleaſe.

[19]I will go through every ſentiment in the Earl's correſpondence before I quit BUXTON: all the books in all the lan⯑guages are barren and deſerve to be burnt, but the epiſtles of my STANHOPE. But —ſtop—I heard Mrs. HOMESPUN expreſs her averſion to cheeſe; and (though I like it myſelf) I muſt haſten to order it may never appear again to offend her, Nothing is immaterial that pleaſes.

LETTER VII. THORNTON to SEDLEY.

THOU mightſt as well ſend fold⯑ed to me a ſheet of white paper. Thou writeſt much, without ſaying any thing. Thy heart is engaged in the ardour of ſome purſuit, and thy pen denotes agita⯑tion, buſtle, and contrivance; but thou ſpeakeſt, only generally. I prithee, SED⯑LEY, reduce thy extravagant genius into order, and let me underſtand, by the poſt, the meaning of ſentiments I perceive not at preſent the drift of. If any-thing ſtarts that demands aſſiſtance, or if thou meeteſt more adventure than thou canſt thyſelf manage, tell me ſo, and I will order my horſe to the door, and go ſnacks in your enterprizes. Farewel.

LETTER VIII. From the Reverend HORACE HOMESPUN to Doctor DIGGORY.

YOU remember, I preſume, the jaunt I took in the laſt year to SOUTH⯑AMPTON, the particulars of which, at the requeſt of ſome friends, I ſuffered to be printed in the WESTMINSTER MAGAZINE, in two ſeveral letters addreſſed to the publiſher, Mr. THOMAS WRIGHT, of Eſſex-ſtreet, in the Strand, London. I there told you, that I was not quite ſo highly intereſted in, or entertained by, the ſcenes in a hurry before me, as my then patron, the Baronet, would flatter my [22] imagination with upon the road; and (as I find thoſe letters from the Weſtminſter Magazine were reprinted into various other monthly publications) I have reaſon to ſuppoſe my excurſion afforded ſome amuſe⯑ment to a certain ſet of readers.

But, having ſince then been yoked to a damſel who hath a paſſion for theſe wa⯑tering-places, and who (bringing along with her a decent fortune) has a right to indulge herſelf in ſuch amuſements as ſeem beſt unto her, I have a ſecond op⯑portunity to ſurvey the cuſtoms and man⯑ners of water-drinkers and duckers; and can now give you many curious particu⯑lars by way of ſupplement to the accounts I have already publiſhed.

As my preſent cure is ſituated about thirty-ſeven poſt miles and a quarter from the waters of BUXTON, amidſt the won⯑ders [23] of the Peake, Mrs. HOMESPUN choſe to paſs a week at that place, for the be⯑nefit of a pain in the ancle, which be⯑came grievous about ſix minutes before ſhe ſuggeſted to me the neceſſity of ſuch an excurſion.

That the cure of her ancle might be perfectly completed, I contrived it ſo, as to perſuade the curate of a neighbouring pariſh to do duty at home in my abſence, and reſolved to ſtay a fortnight. Of this fortnight only four days are yet expired; and though I never underwent the ſame degree of parade, of fatigue, and of im⯑pertinence, in any former fourteen years of my life,—not even when I preached thrice in the Sunday, and footed it to two of the cures,—yet HARRIET ſeems ſo happy in doing as others do, and finds ſuch real felicity in the dulleſt ſpot I ever beheld, that I am in doubt whether even [24] the long reſidue of the fortnight will ſa⯑tisfy her, ſo as to return home, to peace, privacy, and the parſonage-houſe, without murmurings and repinings.

Oh! Doctor, ſee the outlines of my ſituation, and pity me. I am amongſt a number of both ſexes whoſe pleaſures are my averſions, and whoſe amuſements I cannot reliſh. I love quietneſs and the ſhade of life, and yet the houſe where I now lodge is as public as an inn at a fair. I admire rural ornaments, and ſcenes of ſummer verdure beyond imagination; and yet the mountains of Arabia Deſerta ex⯑hibit not a proſpect ſo barren as that by which BUXTON is bounded. I love to ſtroll into the ſhop of an intelligent book⯑ſeller, and to converſe with him upon the topic of recent publications;—alas! the bookſeller of BUXTON has nothing in his ſhop but the traſh that circulates at a [25] watering-place amongſt the women. I ran my eye over his catalogue, and never did I ſee ſuch a collection: Clelia, Pamela, the Adventures of Cleopatra, Amuſements at the German Spa, and the Hiſtory of an Actreſs, were the beſt, in this bad bundle.

I mentioned the Reviews—no body called for them. I talked of the Maga⯑zines—none were ordered. I rummaged every row for philoſophy—nobody reads philoſophy at a watering-place. I criti⯑ciſed the ſhelves for morals, but found them not. I ventured to aſk, but with ſome little heſitation, for Secker's Lec⯑tures—the bookſeller never heard of them. I took a turn round the ſhop, and (having forgot to bring any books with me) would have taken up with almoſt any-thing ap⯑proaching to the rational, but, in my pro⯑greſs, I had well-nigh overſet a glaſs-caſe [26] of toothpicks, gold huſſives, embroidered pincuſhions, and emboſſed ſnuff-boxes.

And now it appeared, that this harle⯑quin trader was rather a haberdaſher, than a bookſeller.

On caſting my eyes towards a perſon at the other end of the ſhop, I ſaw her bending wire, to form, what is facetiouſly called, a cap: over this perſon's head was a goodly ſhow of bandboxes; and acroſs the window at which ſhe ſat, were ribbons variouſly twiſted, and ſeveral ſpecimens of her ſkill in decorating that part of the body which is now more ridiculous than any other. Seeing ſuch preparations for the outſide of the head, I gave up the idea of finding any internal furniture; and, walking out of the ſhop, aſked pardon for having ſo groſsly miſtaken a milliner's and toyman's, for a vender of matters in [27] the literary way.—Juſt as I got to the door, a party of mighty pretty women, and my wife amongſt the reſt, (for ſhe already knew every body,) came ruſtling into the ſhop, and in a liſping tone, at⯑tuned to the articulation of a watering-place, deſired the haberdaſhery-millinery bookſeller to look for JULIA MANDEVILLE —Julia Mandeville was not to be had. Then let us have SIDNEY BIDDULPH, ſaid the ladies — Sidney Biddulph was out. I'm for, THE MISTAKES OF THE HEART, cried a very grave-looking woman. I wiſh, my dear, (ſaid my wife to me, with a very well-bred civility, taking leſs no⯑tice of me than uſual,) you had brought JOSEPH ANDREWS along with you— Oh la! Ma'am, replied another, how can you poſſibly read ſuch low ſtuff—the ad⯑ventures of a footman, a kitchin wench, and a ſtrolling parſon—Nay, Madam, ſaid HARRIET, don't ſay any-thing againſt [28] the parſons, pray; remember I'm a cler⯑gyman's wife, and there he ſtands—an ABRAHAM ADAMS every inch of him— a'n't you, my dear?

This was too much; I attempted to go, but HARRIET caught me by the coat. The poor ladies were in great anxiety to find THE MISTAKES OF THE HEART had been carried off laſt ſeaſon, by a perſon who took the road to GRETNA GREEN with her footman, in her way to London; though ſome (ſaid the haber⯑daſher archly) may think that was going a round-about way too. If we can't get THE MISTAKES, ſuppoſe, rejoined the ladies, we make ſhift, till we can have ſomething better, with TOM JONES—Aye, TOM JONES is tolerable enough, (ſaid a pale lady,) if he would but ſay more about SOPHIA, and give us leſs non⯑ſenſe about the old vulgar father, the [29] fuſty aunt, and thoſe unentertaining hor⯑rid creatures, THWACKUM and SQUARE. As to his Introductory Chapters, as he calls them, I always ſkip 'em; and yet, if he was a little plainer in telling us what we were to expect, at the top of his chapters, I really think it would be a goodiſh, prettyiſh ſort of a novel. — Tom Jones, it ſeems, was now in read⯑ing by Lady Sallow's coachman.—The haberdaſher recommended FILIAL PIETY —the ladies were ſatisfied that it was a dull, ſerious, ſermonizing thing, from the title. FILIAL PIETY indeed!—ſend it to Miſs Dorothy Deſolate, who is come to dip for the diſmals; or Lady Bab. Bluebutter, who wants to drink away her frog-freckled complexion.—Ha! ha! ha! he! he! he.—

The laugh was now more violent than the wit was brilliant by which it was oc⯑caſioned, [30] and my dear HARRIET, joined in it moſt cordially.—They were about to depart without any books at all, when the haberdaſher mentioned ſome odd vo⯑lumes of the Spectator. They aſked what he meant by talking about ſuch old things, which they had been obliged to read over and over again when they were at their boarding-ſchools. Lord! (cried one of the damſels,) here's DELICATE EMBAR⯑RASSMENTS—Oh! the very thing—worth all the Spectators that ever were wrote. Aye, take it, and let us go read it di⯑rectly—It don't end well I think, objected another; I had rather read EACH SEX IN THEIR HUMOUR.—Here is Something New, ladies, ſaid the haberdaſher—As old as the poles, ſaid the fair-ones.—What ſay you to ELOISA?—Oh! by all means— Have you got ELOISA?—reach it this mo⯑ment—Oh, the dear book!—there are three letters in the firſt volume worth all [31] the world.—Come, it's a naſty evening and not fit for walking, let us hurry away; and ſo ſend them, Mr TRASHLEY, to the Hall this inſtant. Come, Mr. HOMESPUN, (turning to me,) you ſhall 'ſquire us.

They fluttered out, caught me by the arm, and carried me off in high triumph, ten times faſter than I ſhould have walked, had I been permitted to do as I thought proper. But that is a matter by no means allowable, at a watering-place. Even now I am ſummoned by a meſſenger, who ſays the party are waiting for me, to go into the walks. I dare not ſtay to finiſh my letter, leſt I ſhould become ridiculous; ſo you muſt wait till I can next ſteal a mo⯑ment from folly for friendſhip.

LETTER IX. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

OH! for the genius of old HO⯑RATIUS FLACCUS, that I might compreſs a volume of facts within the foldings of a ſingle ſheet of paper! Hear, ſee, be convinced, congratulate me, and ſing a Te Deum to thy friend, and a requiem to the immortal memory of STANHOPE.

The party, of which I was made one, conſiſted of maſter miniſter HOMESPUN, his lady, an animal who burleſqued the coxcomb, and a fourth who departed be⯑fore the entrance of ſupper, ſo that of him I ſhall ſay nothing at preſent.— HOMESPUN and his wife are oppoſites, [33] and therefore the better ſuited to the trial of ſkill. At firſt I ſaid no more than juſt to ſhew my breeding, and inclination to be happy in their ſociety. I let them ſhew off themſelves as much as poſſible, that I might accurately learn their tem⯑pers, before I ventured to attack them. HOMESPUN ſoon diſcovered himſelf to be a grubber in books; and his lady, a lover of the faſhions; gay, giddy, good-natured, unſuſpicious, and uninformed. The cox⯑comb was of the neutral kind, but wiſhed to be flattered, for his taſte in perſonal or⯑naments. Never was there a more cu⯑rious trio. The converſation turned at firſt upon weather, then upon books, then upon dreſs, and laſt upon the virtue of the BUXTON waters; and I accommodated myſelf to the ſeveral changes with tole⯑rable facility.

And, firſt, to touch the tender part of [34] our bookworm, I obſerved that the public ſuſtained a great loſs in the death of ſe⯑veral ornaments of the age. I ſpoke cri⯑tically, as to the ſatiric powers of CHARLES CHURCHILL; and poetically, as to the Pindaric flights of GRAY. I entered into the intricacies of the epic, and drew the line betwixt the original HOMER and the imitator VIRGIL. I ſpoke of eaſe, in the ſtyle of TILLOTSON; and of the pathetic, in the periods of YORICK. I affected even to diſcountenance the innuendo of TRISTRAM SHANDY, and I compared his licentious ſpirit with the voluptuous OVID. I pretended to diſcover an oſtentatious diſ⯑play of talents in the Orations and Epiſtles of CICERO; and I took care to ſuit every opinion to the taſte of the perſon I ad⯑dreſſed, who had his ſhare in the conver⯑ſation too, and who (as I have ſince heard) mentions me to his friends as a paragon of learning.

[35]I muſt not forget to tell thee, that, when I was talking upon books, and mentioned the ELEMENTS OF CRITICISM, Mrs. HOMESPUN (though no ſimpleton) aſked me, with great ſimplicity, if that was a novel; to which the fop anſwered Yes, it came out laſt year, and was written by an intimate friend of his, but that, though he puſhed it with all his intereſt, it did not take, and was now totally buried in oblivion.

I contradicted this with all poſſible po⯑liteneſs—I imagined he might be miſtaken: that work, I believed, was attributed to LORD KAMES—a writer, with whom I did not doubt but he was acquainted. Poſ⯑ſibly he might confound the title a little, with others ſimilar to it; which might very eaſily be done. I had caught myſelf in ſuch errors a thouſand times. Mr. HOMESPUN chuckled at my candour. [36] Mrs. HOMESPUN (I know by her eyes) ſaid ſomething to her huſband, in a low voice, in my favour; and the fop him⯑ſelf, with a ſmile of complacence, but without any confuſion at detected ig⯑norance, (—ſuch, THORNTON, is the force of manner!—) ſaid, it was very likely he might be miſled by the title; that there were three or four elements, and he was moſt ſuperlatively obliged to me for ſetting him right.

Upon the topic of dreſs, I took care to agree with Mrs. HOMESPUN in every particular; except that, now and then, I affected, in a gentle tone of voice, and ſubmiſſive ſmile of countenance, to differ from her, on purpoſe to throw the tri⯑umph on her ſide, make her happy in an ideal ſuperiority, the better to impreſs her with a proper notion of my good manners, in yielding to conviction.

[37]The fop hopped out about twelve o'clock, and took me by the hand in token of ſatisfaction. Honeſt HORACE (that is his Chriſtian name) conſiders me as his comforter, and declares that he hopes for ſome happineſs now, even in a watering-place; and Mrs. HOMESPUN, or, as I ſhall call her hereafter, (to uſe as little as poſſible that vulgar name,) HARRIET, makes no ſcruple of ſaying, I am the moſt chatty, agreeable man at the bath.

I caught her, THORNTON, twice mea⯑ſuring me from top to bottom, and then ſhe gave HORACE a ſurvey.—By the ſoft, half-ſuppreſſed ſigh ſhe gave at the end of it, it is eaſy to ſee—whoſe dimen⯑ſions ſhe likes beſt.

Oh! THORNTON, if I can once bring her to be diſcontented with her ſituation, [38] —if ſhe once begins to repent of her bar⯑gain, the day is my own! I never ſaw a pair of eyes more likely to fall in love than hers. The eyes of HORACE are grey, and without luſtre. She hath the right lips of invitation: the vulgar HO⯑RACE ſmackt them at ſomething ſhe ſaid, but methinks the impreſſion was only ſkin-deep. She is in full health, and in the hey-day of female youth!

Oh, THORNTON! THORNTON! pray earneſtly, that ſhe may be miſerable, and that the deſpair of her heart may be re⯑moved, only by thy friend

LETTER X. THORNTON to SEDLEY.

HORACE HOMESPUN will, I perceive, have, in due time, a horn upon his head; and yet I feel a pang for the poor pedant.—Hang it, SEDLEY, why ſhouldſt thou pluck the roſe from the ma⯑trimonial pillow? Why plant a thorn in its ſtead?—But—but—I beg pardon: 'twas a tug of conſcience. I am aſhamed of the ſenſation. I half bluſh at the im⯑politeneſs. Go on, and proſper. I am all expectation till I hear of the downfal of the bewitching HARRIET.

LETTER XI. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

THE horrors of the gout, and the tremblings of the palſy, ſeize thee, for throwing a thought acroſs me, that hath well nigh torn a leaf of CHESTER⯑FIELD from my heart!—The matrimonial roſe!—Oh, thou barbarian! Wouldſt thou ruin my principles, and have me act in repugnance to my preceptor already!— Infidel, avaunt! My creed is eſtabliſhed. Dare not,—on thy life, THORNTON, dare not again attempt to make me an apoſtate to PLEASURE. Half-bred man, be ſilent and attentive. I have a ſcene to paint to thee might thaw the frigid feelings of an Anchorite.

[41]About one o'clock in the morning, the eyes of HORACE began to twinkle,—what was before dull became duller, till at laſt the four eye-laſhes met together, and co⯑vered the balls of ſight. HARRIET con⯑tinued loquacious and lively, and reſolved not to go to bed till it was a more modiſh hour, inſiſting, that I ſhould keep her company. I humoured her vivacity till HORACE began to ſnore, and then ſhifted the converſation to ſomething leſs ſpi⯑rited.

Sentiment, THORNTON, when enforced at a proper criſis, is a better weapon for a man of pleaſure, than downright licen⯑tiouſneſs. I began to ſing forth the hap⯑pineſs of Mr. HOMESPUN; ſaid many things in praiſe of his learning, honeſty, and hoſpitable turn of thinking—told a tale of diſappointed paſſion—deſcanted on the difficulties often attending reciprocal [42] attractions—placed two young people in ſeveral affecting ſituations. I altered the tone of my voice, and ſuited it to the ſtillneſs of the night—ſighed in whiſper— corrected myſelf—called a tear into my eye—aſſumed a ſoftened flexibility of fea⯑ture—and, now and then, took my eye from viewing her, as if ſenſibly ſtruck with my danger.

Part of the flowers with which ſhe had been ſome time playing, fell on the floor —I took them up with a trembling hand, and put them into hers, with a preſſure ſcarcely perceptible. There was a ſudden bluſh over her face in a moment. I took no notice of it; but, catching up a myrtle-ſprig, kept it ſportingly as if to conceal a new ſigh—preſented it to her as the feſheſt on the table, and roſe to take my leave.

[43]It was the exact moment of departure. She was viſibly agitated, and I would not ſee it. She took the ſprig, and I ſaw the leaves ſhake. I went ſoftly to the door, left with her the compliments of the night, in a gentleneſs of the tones perfectly pa⯑thetic—lingered at the door a moment— complained that I could not open it haſtily for fear of diſturbing her huſband—at laſt, I almoſt ſhut it—half opened it again —ſtood the third of a minute, in a finely-diſſembled ſtate of embarraſſment—once more bade her farewel, and indeed de⯑parted,

LETTER XII. From the Same to the Same.

A POST-CHAISE and four this inſtant ſtopt at the door of mine hoſt, in which were three new viſitants. The fore-glaſs was let down by a female hand, ſo exquiſitely white, and ſo full of pro⯑miſe, that I was induced to examine the other parts of the perſon to which it be⯑longed.

THORNTON, ſhe is a cherubim! a mix⯑ture of beauty and breeding!

As ſhe ſtept from the chaiſe, ſhe diſ⯑covered an ancle formed by Harmony, and [45] poliſhed by the Graces. Her ſhape is admirable. I only ſcribble this to an⯑nounce her arrival at the bath. Thou knoweſt the reſt.

LETTER XIII. THORNTON to SEDLEY.

THY letter is juſt brought me by the poſtman. A curſed circumſtance, that requires my attendance in town till next Wedneſday, prevents my preſent hap⯑pineſs. But my horſe ſhall be at the door at Thurſday's dawn; and I will order re⯑lays, by which means I ſhall reach BUX⯑TON at dinner. Take care of the Cheru⯑bim for thy friend,

LETTER XIV. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

ORDER not thy horſe to be bitted—put not thy preſumptuous foot in the ſtirrup. Invade not the ſacred proſ⯑pects of a friend's felicity. There are only two forms in BUXTON worth un⯑doing—HARRIET HOMESPUN, and the Cherubim! — Sit quiet, and ſaddle not thy ſteed, if thou wiſheſt the continued affection of thy

LETTER XV. Miſs DELIA DELMORE, to Lady LUCY SAXBY.

THE journey has already had a good effect, my dear LUCY, upon poor FANNY. We travelled by eaſy ſtages, and I hope much from the alteration of air, even if the waters ſhould want virtue to reſtore her. The poor thing has been to all the baths in the kingdom, you know, except thoſe of BUXTON. Alas! I fear her diſorder has got too near her heart for medicine; and the God that afflicts, can only, I believe, remove the affliction. Never was known ſo gradual a decline, and yet no application could ſtop its progreſs.—What a pity, LUCY, [49] that ſuch a form ſhould be daily decay⯑ing, before the eyes of the moſt tender relations! Company, converſation, the ſimplicity of her diet, the wholeſomeneſs of the ſituation, are all that can be ex⯑pected from a ſhort reſidence here, as the waters of BUXTON are not ſtrongly recom⯑mended in conſumptive complaints. She is always beſt in ſociety, and I am happy to tell you, the place is tolerably full. Her poor fond huſband hangs over her fading form, with more tenderneſs than when it was in its bloom. Pray Heaven theſe aſſiduities may prove ſucceſsful! I with write again ſoon.

LETTER XVI. Miſs DELIA DELMORE, in Continuation.

SOFTNESS to the ſick is better than a cordial! FANNY ventured yeſter⯑day to breakfaſt in public: her delicate form, beautiful in diſtreſs, inſtantly attracted, and claimed, what it received,—the attention of the whole company. She was dreſſed with her uſual ſimplicity, and ſuited her ornaments to her ſituation. In my life, I never ſaw any body, in the luxuriancy of health, half ſo intereſting. After the firſt diſh of tea, the fluſh, which was formerly a conſtant reſident, reviſited her cheek—the diſorder has not, in any de⯑gree, tinged her complexion—her forehead is, as it ever was, alabaſter white; and [51] the veins, that meander round the tem⯑ples, are ſo tranſparently blue, and the circulation ſeems to be performed ſo pa⯑cifically, one might almoſt envy the de⯑licacy, which a cruel diſorder hath be⯑ſtowed upon her. In the eyes of ſeveral young ladies, who, by their florid ap⯑pearance, came hither merely for amuſe⯑ment, I ſaw the gliſtening drop of ſym⯑pathy—and the men, who were laughing at our entrance, ſoon ſoftened their voices, and ſpoke almoſt in a whiſper, in com⯑pliment to the lovely invalid, who ap⯑peared to want ſuch attention.

FANNY was ſenſible to their indulgence, and ſmiled acknowledgment. At laſt, in came a ſtranger, elegant and eaſy beyond deſcription.—How, my LUCY, ſhall I proceed?—FANNY ſunk upon my arm, complained that ſhe was worſe on a ſud⯑den, and roſe to go out—the ſtranger aſ⯑ſiſted, [52] with a gentleneſs not to be de⯑ſcribed, and ſhe tottered down ſtairs, un⯑der theſe ſupports, to her apartment.

I am ſo affected at preſent, that I can write no more.

LETTER XVII. Mrs. MORTIMER to Miſs SIDNEY.

HEAVEN ſcarce allows me ſtrength to tell you, that I am come to a place, of all others, in the habitable world, the moſt miſerable to me. In a word, the only perſon upon earth that I would have avoided, is at the bath. God proteſt me, what am I to do! Pity and pray for, the dying

LETTER XVIII. The Reverend HORACE HOMESPUN to Doctor DIGGORY.

I REALLY begin to think, I ſhall find ſome ſatisfaction at BUXTON bath. Amidſt a cluſter of inſignificant characters, one gentleman has diſtinguiſhed himſelf ſo much above the reſt, that I have at once gratified my pride and curioſity in his acquaintance.

He is intimately acquainted with polite and elegant learning, perfectly well man⯑nered, and not above converſing upon [55] ſubjects of divinity, and ethics, even at a watering-place. My wife ſays, he un⯑derſtands to a nicety, what ſome of the waterers call the ETIQUETTE of dreſs; and with the arts of a ſcholar, he has, it ſeems, the invention and taſte of a cour⯑tier, without any-thing of courtly inſin⯑cerity.

In truth, I am apt to think very fa⯑vourably of him, eſpecially as his exte⯑rior does not ſeem more frank and open, than his interior is ingenuous and undiſ⯑guiſed. One ſuch character will atone for the ſtupidity of the reſt. As I am fond of, now and then, what I call a wood-walk, or a ramble by myſelf, I can now take this without a breach of good manners, for I can leave this accompliſhed gentleman with HARRIET, who is fond enough of his company to accept of him in my abſence.

[56]I am half inclined to forgive watering-places, which have, in the end, after much, prior diſappointment, produced ſo agree⯑able a companion, whoſe ſentiments of life, and maxims of moral conduct, do credit to himſelf, and honour to the ſpe⯑cies.

LETTER XIX. Mrs. HOMESPUN to Mrs. LA MOTT.

OH, that I could live at BUX⯑TON for ever! We have, ſince I laſt wrote to you, got acquainted with the handſomeſt man in the world; and tho' he is as good a ſcholar as HORACE, yet he underſtands, as well as I do, all the prettineſſes of dreſs, which, you know, HORACE is entirely ignorant of. Then he is ſo polite, ſo unaffected, he contra⯑dicts with ſuch gentleneſs—he is ſo open to conviction!—You know my aver⯑ſion to filthy cheeſe. I happened only to hint this, and he ordered it never to be brought again to the table, while I was at the bath; tho' Mr. HOMESPUN ſaid, [58] I ought to ſuffer what was offenſive to myſelf, out of good-manners to the com⯑pany.

'Tis hardly worth attending to, and perhaps you'll laugh at my taking notice of ſuch a trifle, but he ſits in a chair, eats his victuals, cuts it into ſlices, and holds his knife and fork as different from HORACE as poſſible, who, you know, ſometimes ſeems ſo over head and ears in thought, that he forgets the dinner is be⯑fore him, picks his teeth, and ſits ſilent, till the cloth is ready to be taken away. Then again, as to carving, HORACE can no more do the honours, of the table than a baby: he miſſes the joint, and ſome⯑times ſcatters the ſauce in ones face;— whereas this gentleman, hits the mark as dexterouſly as a ſurgeon, helps the ladies to the greateſt delicacies, with ſuch a gentle manner, and with a countenance [59] ſo ſmiling, that it is impoſſible to refuſe what he offers.

At ſupper laſt night, HORACE was in one of his thoughtful moods, and diſ⯑guſted me horridly.

There was a roaſted fowl; and HO⯑RACE, perceiving my plate empty, muſt needs fill it with one of the wings, which he made ſhift to mangle off with the knife with which he had been eating, though another for the purpoſe was lying on the other ſide the diſh. Then he muſt needs make my wing ſwim with the gravy, and, in awkwardly tilting the diſh, ſeveral drops flew upon the gentleman's waiſtcoat. Mr. SEDLEY—that is his name —ſaid, it was no matter; it was not eaſy to help ſuch accidents; and begged he would conſider it as of no ſort of con⯑ſequence.—Sweet fellow!—Oh, that HO⯑RACE [60] would imitate him! He is now walking towards our lodgings, and HO⯑RACE ſlouching by the ſide of him. HO⯑RACE is upright enough, but then he looks as ſtiff and uncomfortable as an overſtarched ſhirt.—SEDLEY moves as if he was quite happy: Mr. HOMESPUN ſtruts as if he was in miſery. They are both at the door.

LETTER XX. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

THE proverb is verified: It can⯑not rain, but it pours! The Cherubim I mentioned to thee in my laſt, is a che⯑rub of an inferior order, when compared with the SERAPH who came with her. She was at that time muffled up and cloſe hooded; but when, on the next day, the veil was withdrawn, judge of my ſur⯑prize, when I beheld the very She, the charming She, whom laſt ſeaſon I met with her father, Sir HENRY DELMORE, at SCARBOROUGH, at the very period, that the letters, of my divine Earl became popular, and I had brought a copy of them. We lodged in the ſame houſe, [62] and I became agreeable to Sir HENRY. The very firſt trial I made to reduce my favourite precepts to practice, was upon the heart of this very girl, then glowing with all the graces of health, and en⯑dowed with all the enchantments of a pathetic temper. I ſoon pretended to loſe my vivacity, and became the ſofteſt ſon of ſentiment that ever was born. The net of ſilk, which I had diligently woven, became ſucceſsful; and I had certainly caught in it the faireſt prize in the crea⯑tion, had not a cruel neceſſity called me from the bath.

Several tranſient tete-a-tetes I Had with her there, gave me the opportunities I wiſhed. Her paſſion was imaginary, but pleaſing—ſhe fixed high the ſtandard of domeſtic felicity, and unreaſonably loved to refine.

[63]To accommodate myſelf to this, was, at firſt, not eaſy; but before I quitted SCARBOROUGH, I was ſo diſtinguiſhed for the penſenoſo, that even Sir HENRY him⯑ſelf, began to think I was falling into a hypochondriac diſorder, and uſed every effort to divert me.

Though I was then but a novice in the theory of joy, I had read enough of CHESTERFIELD to know the potency of diſſimulation; and, had it been in my power to have ſtaid another week, ſhould have, even then, added an illuſtrious ex⯑ample, to corroborate that glorious pre⯑cept, which adviſes "to adapt the cha⯑racter and converſation to the company."

Since theſe tranſactions, ſhe is altered, THORNTON,—altered in every part of her ſituation: the is married, and in a conſumption; and yet, like certain fruits, ſhe [64] is delicious in decay. I was pleaſed to ſee her diſordered at the firſt interview: the little blood that painted her cheek, diſappeared, her knees ſhook, and her hands trembled at the recollection. And this, too, was in a public breakfaſting-room. Judge how her agitation muſt alarm the company, and operate amongſt the women in my favour. Who knows, THONRTON, but the beautiful invalid may have brought herſelf to this ſtate, upon my account? If ſo, ought not I to pity her?—and ought not ſhe to thank the gods, that I again "am come to comfort her?" At all events, you ought to congratulate me, and once again ſing Io Paean, to the canonized bones of CHES⯑TERFIELD.

LETTER XXI. From the Same to the Same.

THE HOMESPUNS are ſecured; I have them by the heart, and enjoy, in an equal degree, the confidence of the wife and huſband.

HORACE has many oddities, of which hid wife is lately become ſenſible; and it has been my buſineſs, to excuſe them to her. He is addicted to catch hold of the button, and, in the ardour of philo⯑ſophical and ſyſtematic converſation, tugs at it moſt immoderately. Laſt night, in ſupporting a favourite opinion, which was oppoſed ſtoutly by the fopling, he ſeized [66] the wrought button, and tore his fingers againſt the raiſed-work on the ſurface, till the blood fairly guſhed out in a ſtream, and ſpotted his ſables. The fop ſwore,—I checked him with temper: the parſon cooled in his argument,—and I applied an handkerchief to the wound, and thus ſaved them both from looking ſilly.

HORACE'S nails are not quite ſo accu⯑rately clean as they might be; and, as I obſerved Mrs. HOMESPUN comparing them with mine, I ſuddenly cloſed my hand, as if out of tenderneſs, leſt the compariſon ſhould turn to HORACE'S diſ⯑advantage; yet this very tenderneſs, ſo managed, anſwered the deſign compleatly, and I can ſee plainly, HARRIET thinks hardly of HORACE for neglecting to pick the dirt from under his nails: while, on [67] the other hand, when he and I are to⯑gether, we laugh at the fopperies of the times, and ſeem mutually, to deſpiſe all its DELICATESSE.

LETTER XXI. THORTON to SEDLEY.

CORMORANT in pleaſure! inſa⯑tiate conqueror! What, is not one object ſufficient at a time? Muſt thy bow have ſeven ſtrings to it? and Canſt thou not be ſatisfied with the victory thou wilt ſoon gain over the buxom HARRIET, but thou muſt plot captivity for the Che⯑rubim, and hope to carry all before thee? This is illuſtrating thy favourite Lord's maxims with a witneſs! And wilt thou not beſtow a ſingle beauty to thy friend? Be this as it may, ſpare—I conjure thee, ſpare the delicate diſtreſſed—harm not the gentle FANNY; but ſuffer her to live [69] the ſhort remainder of her days, in the purity of conjugal careſſes—ſpot not the ermine at expiring chaſtity, but let her ſpirit aſcend, immaculate, to heaven.

Do this, if thou art a man! The high in health may admit, and return thy revels; but pity the ſick ſiſter, and let not the maxims of thy Preceptor be made ſubſervient to ſanctify barbarity. If thou trieſt to enſnare the ſinking ſoul of FANNY MORTIMER, thou art a fiend, and un⯑worthy the friendſhip of thy

Is it not ſaid, in the volume of thine Oracle, "A man is fit neither for buſineſs or pleaſure, who either does not, [70] or cannot command and direct his atten⯑tion to the preſent object, and in ſome degree baniſh, for that time, all other objects from his thoughts."

How is this admonition conſiſtent with thy ſcheme of three at a time? Study to be conſiſtent, or all is over.

LETTER XXII. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

THE very worſt reaſoner in the dominions of GEORGE, is JAMES THORN⯑TON, Eſq.

And ſo, becauſe I have an eye upon three, thou ſuppoſeſt I muſt needs be in⯑conſiſtent, and irregular! Doſt thou not know, that the ſame Oracle adviſes, a quickneſs of attention, an unobſerved ob⯑ſervation, the art of ſeeing all the people in the room without appearing to look critically? Is there not, according to that Oracle, pretty nearly the ſame de⯑gree of deception in every character; [72] and are we not to turn all this hypo⯑criſy to our advantage, even while we ſeem to think every body honeſt?

The great nicety in my preſent ſitu⯑ation, thou doſt not ſee; nor will I be at the pains to develope it to ſo awkward an arguer.

What a concluſion haſt thou drawn, indeed, from my having three objects in view! not conſidering, that I am as cool and collected as if I had but one; and that I have a capacity, equal to the con⯑queſt of thirty times three.

Learn to know me better.

I am too well diſciplined in my ſyſ⯑tem, to be precipitate, or to hazard the mortification of being diſappointed, by [73] raſhly ſeizing that which I perceive can only be attained gradually, by the ſuc⯑ceſsful efforts of reſiſtleſs inſinuation.

The Maſter of my Art ſays, very truly,—‘Little minds are in a hurry, when the object proves too big for them: they run, they puzzle, con⯑found, and perplex themſelves; they want to do every thing at once, and never do it at all. But a man of ſenſe takes the time for doing the thing he is about, well; and his haſte to diſ⯑patch a buſineſs, only appears by the continuity of his application to it: he purſues it with a cool ſteadineſs, and finiſhes it before he begins any other.’

This laſt ſentence, THORNTON, thou mayſt think, claſhes with my preſent at⯑tack upon the three beauties of BUXTON.

[74]Thou art again miſtaken.

I am not in a hurry to be happy, as to the ultimatum of female favours. Like a man of reſolution, I can watch the pro⯑greſs of a favourite purſuit, and ſee it proſper under my eye, without ſeizing the final recompence of my labour, till it is the proper criſis of fruition.

To bring theſe arguments home to the points in queſtion, thou muſt underſtand, that, had only HARRIET HOMESPUN been at the bath, I ſhould have been contented till her finiſhing; but as the Fates have thrown two ſiſters in my way, of which one happens to be an old acquaintance, but whom accident permitted to ſlip through my fingers unconquered, or, at leaſt, without beſtowing upon her victor the rewards of conqueſt, I muſt ſuit my⯑ſelf to the triple tie; that chance hath [75] laid upon me, with as much adroitneſs as I am able. And this is the delicacy in my ſituation, to which, in the begin⯑ning of this letter, I alluded.

One great part of my ſyſtem is, to make people, who are to give me hap⯑pineſs, happy in themſelves. I muſt, to this end, take care to avoid making any of theſe dear creatures rivals to each other:—to boaſt of amours, thou knoweſt, is utterly repugnant to the STAN⯑HOPEAN principle. Preſs for the favour, read the eyes, fix the heart, and revel over the yielded perſon, ad eternitatem; but keep the joy to thyſelf; nor ever, with raſcal loquacity, betray the infirmity of her, whoſe indulgence has give thee the firſt of felicities.

To one friend I have ventured to diſ⯑cloſe myſelf in the very confidence of my [76] ſoul. If thou betrayeſt me, though but in the hour of ebriety—it does not ad⯑mit of an if,—thou art a guarded, ho⯑nourable character.

No more, I prithee, as to plurality of objects.

The CHESTERFIELD ſyſtem admits not the fearful and filthy intercourſe of venal women. He could not allow the horrid and vulgar hazards of c—s and p—s. "Avoid," ſaith he, (in his coeleſtial chap⯑ter on Pleaſures,) ‘the fate of the pro⯑miſcuous fornicator: what a wretch is a rake with half a noſe, crippled by coarſe and infamous debauches!’

Hence, THORNTON, it is evident, that a man is juſtified (provided he keeps the ſecret) to ſearch the circle of the earth for thoſe favours, and elevated connexions, [77] that bring along with them the honey without the ſting. It is beneath a gen⯑tleman, to beat round the bagnio's, or criticiſe the brothel. Leave ſuch to the appetites of apprentices, whoſe vulgar palates can digeſt any-thing. Be it the buſineſs of thoſe who are governed by the laws of good-breeding, to enliſt them⯑ſelves under the white banner of apparent modeſty, and invite embraces, unallayed by terrors and ſuſpicions.

The conſtitution of a man of faſhion, demands, in theſe caſes, the utmoſt cir⯑cumſpection: the wife, the virgin, and the FRIEND, only, promiſe this bliſsful ſecurity. To them, then, let us direct ourſelves in ſelf-defence, and thus pro⯑cure the perſonal paradiſe, in which the roſes of beauty bloom without a thorn.

[78]I have ſaid thus much to ſilence thee, once for all, as to the nature of my fa⯑vourite principle; which thou now per⯑ceiveſt to be, not more pleaſing than ra⯑tional. No more, then, of thy whining paſſages about pity, and virtue, and all the et-caetera of parſonly cant.

The man of taſte and faſhion moves above it.

LETTER XXIII. The Reverend HORACE HOMESPUN to Doctor DIGGORY.

WE are all wrong again!

The head of poor HARRIET is cer⯑tainly turned; and, inſtead of a cure being performed, ſhe is certainly diſ⯑tracted, by theſe ſame waters of BUXTON. This day we drank tea in private, and never heard I ſuch a train of converſation as ſhe fell into. Why, Doctor, ſhe is gone—her intellects I mean—paſt re⯑demption.

[80]For the firſt time in her life, ſhe found fault with every-thing I did. She inſiſted upon it, I drank my tea too hot, which was not only, ſhe ſaid, injurious to the coat of the ſtomach, but ſhockingly in⯑delicate.

The tea-ſpoon was not managed to her ſatisfaction. I ſipped too loud from the ſaucer, when it would, I find, have been genteeler to apply a silent lip to the cup. Nay, what is worſe than all this, I had the misfortune to fold the bread and butter ineligantly; and it would have been better there too, if I had put the ends, rather than die ſide of it, to my mouth firſt.

But that which moſt aſtoniſhed me, was her objection to the good old cuſtom of turning down my cup, which ſhe ſaid was out of the TON, and that it would [81] give her great pleaſure, if, in future, I would lay the ſpoon acroſs the cup.

I was perfectly petrified, and yet ‘held my tongue, and ſpake nothing.’—She propoſed walking, and, as I really thought the air might do the poor creature's head good, I drew on my gloves, and attended her towards the well-walk.—Alas! Doc⯑tor, nothing, I fear, can bring her about; for ſhe grew ten times worſe than ever, and if I was aſtoniſhed before, I was now almoſt ſtruck dead with the hugeneſs of my amazement.

I had not the happineſs to hit her fancy even in my walk, which ſhe very fairly told me, was ridiculous; and that I held up my head too high, turned in my toes too much, and wanted the Graces in my arms.

[82]She actually made an objection to the manner in which my wig was powdered, ſaid it was all in patches, and had not the regular ſprinkling of a man of fa⯑ſhion.

Upon this, I ventured gently to tell her, that I was but a country curate, that I had no pretenſions to faſhion—that I had, for my own part, nothing to do at watering-place, but to oblige her— that I was very ſorry, for the loftineſs of my head, which, for the time to come, ſhould be carried with more humility— that, if it would give her any pleaſure, I would take care to ſtoop till I bent neck and ſhoulders together—that, as to inverſion of the toes, I would learn to dance, late in the day as it was for me, and inconſiſtent as ſuch a part might be thought to the clerical character— in re⯑gard to my arms, that I had hitherto only [83] uſed them in the ordinary offices of life, and found they performed very well for a plain man; but that, if ſhe had any favourite attitudes, or wiſhed me to ex⯑hibit in any poſtures to which ſhe was particularly partial, I would practiſe vi⯑gilantly at the looking-glaſs, and, rather than want the Graces ſhe ſpoke of, would abſolutely learn the exerciſe, and go through all the forms and ceremonies of legs, arms, head, and hands, like a young recruit. At the ſame time I begged her to conſider, that, as we had, ſince the day of our union, lived harmoniouſly, I warmly hoped we ſhould not be put out of tune by trifles, which are in them⯑ſelves inſignificant, even if we admitted them to be eſſential to the etiquette of a watering-place. I, moreover, told her to remember, that I was at leaſt a faith⯑ful huſband, and made her happineſs the ſtudy, practice, and contrivance, of my [84] whole life: and that, ſurely, where the cardinal duties were obſerved, it mattered little whether the toes were the breadth of a barley-corn too much in or out, or the head half an inch too lofty, or half an inch too low. I would have pro⯑ceeded in my defence, but that my good friend Mr. SEDLEY at that inſtant came to my relief, told us, as he advanced with warmth, vivacity and a chearful countenance, that, ‘if we did juſtice to his attachment to us, we might judge of the joy be felt in ſeeing us ſo fre⯑quently chuſe a private path, which was to him a certain indication of ma⯑trimonial felicity.’

There was ſomething ſo pretty in his ſpeech, that it made an impreſſion on my memory, and I have copied it ver⯑batim. In leſs than half an hour, Mrs. HOMESPUN recovered her reaſon; her [85] late lunacy was never hinted at, and, hoping to continue her good-nature, I invited this moſt agreeable gentleman to take another bit of ſupper with us.

The manner in which he accepted the invitation, trebled the ſenſe of the fa⯑vour he did me by his company. What a gratification it is to have ſo ſenſible and entertaining a friend at a watering-place!

LETTER XXIV. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

A MAN, THORTON, who is true to the reliſh of pleaſure, can extract extacy even from diſappointment. The bliſs of bliſſes alone, could have made me happier than I was an hour ago.

Hear the ſtory.

Since the firſt moment I caſt my eye upon the bewitching HARRIET, I marked her for my own; and ſhe hath ſince been the grand point of all my inſinuation and ingenuity. Not a ſingle article hath been neglected that could touch her imagina⯑tion, move her heart, and catch her fa⯑vourite [87] weakneſſes. I paid court to her fancy, to her feelings, to her foibles. Conſtant attention hath done the buſineſs I expected it would, and I have but one effort more, to be maſter of all that the ſineſt woman in the world has to beſtow.

Laſt night, my THORNTON, was the conſcious period that yielded up every tranſport but the one. HORACE was re⯑queſted to perform the funeral-ſervice over the corpſe of a fellow who died by a dropſy; (as the parſon of the pariſh was indiſpoſed;) and, it ſeems, he was to be buried at a town a mile diſtant from our lodgings.

He went.—The opportunity was not to be omitted. I exerted myſelf. I ſparkled in the luſtre of STANHOPEAN ſentiments—I became eloquent, and ſoon communicated a part of my ardour to the [88] troubled boſom of HARRIET. I hit her, ſoft upon the heart. Our eyes met— they confirmed our ſentiments—our voices grew ſoft as the ſummer-breezes—there was no intruder—I laid my cheek cloſe to hers—they were both upon the glow— for the firſt time in my life, I kiſſed her lips—I repeated the preſſure—ſhe re⯑pulſed me—I dropped upon my knee, and in that attitude repeated the offence —Nature was ſtirred to the uttermoſt— I continued to ſuck the delicious poiſon, and unawares ſhe returned the ſalutation. The dalliance was no longer to be borne; ſhe begged me, for God's ſake, to deſiſt. The fluſh of deſire and modeſty, were at war in her cheek—her boſom palpitated —I plied her with my precious maxims in a whiſper, that gave them additional graces—I laid my hand upon her heart: the throb was violent; and, as I caught her eagerly in my arms, her head ſunk [89] in unreſiſting ſoftneſs on my ſhoulder, and, worked to the extreme betwixt ſen⯑timent and ſenſation, ſhe burſt into tears.

I compoſed her cheek—drew her hand⯑kerchief gently over her eye, fixed her again, without offering to diſtreſs her, in her chair; and to this moment ſhe thinks I ſacrificed, to love, reſpect, delicacy, and friendſhip, a paſſion that is tearing me to pieces.

In a few minutes HOMESPUN returned; he is no reader of looks, and I took my leave for the night with that eaſy, intrepid aſſurance which belongs to the great cha⯑racter I have adopted.

And now, THORNTON, am I not a tolerable proficient in the ſcience of diſ⯑ſimulation? Does any-thing come amiſs to me? Can I not aſſume with eaſe, and [90] wear with chearfulneſs, every ſhape? Are not heat, cold, luxury, abſtinence, gra⯑vity, gaiety, ceremony, eaſineſs, learning, trifling, buſineſs, and pleaſure, modes which, according to my Preceptor's ad⯑vice, I am able to take, lay aſide, or change occaſionally, with as much eaſe as I would take and lay aſide my hat.— But you may expect nobler illuſtrations of this hereafter. I am yet in the outſet of my adventures—ſporting (by way of trial) with jejune experiments. The next time I can ſend THEE out of the way, HORACE HOMESPUN, beware! Thou haſt juſt eſcaped a ſore evil. A little while ago, thou wert within an inch of cuckoldom.

LETTER XXV. The Reverend HORACE HOMESPUN to Doctor DIGGORY.

SUCH a night as the laſt, I never paſſed. My poor wife has had a relapſe, Doctor. It returned at midnight upon her, and raged with the moſt frightful violence for above two hours. She is ab⯑ſolutely delirious, and I am the moſt wretched of men.

About an hour after we were in bed, ſhe complained that there was no bearing [92] the heat; though, in truth, this is one of the coldeſt places in England, and it had rained all the preceding evening. I felt her pulſe, and it was immoderately full, tumultuous, and rapid. I kiſſed her with all the tenderneſs of a ſympa⯑thizing huſband;—ſhe aſked me, how I could poſſibly be ſo cruel? I offered to lay her dear head upon my boſom, as upon the pillow of affection, judging that ſhe would be pleaſed with my aſſiduities. Her eyes were ſtreaming in tears—her face was on fire—the ſighs came from her, palpably againſt her conſent. I preſſed to know the cauſe of this; at leaſt, to what ſhe attributed it; and of⯑fered to throw on my cloaths, and pro⯑cure a Doctor. Her cure, ſhe told me, was out of the reach of a Doctor; but that, if I would not ſuffer her to be quiet without fretting her by my officiouſneſs, [93] ſhe ſhould be under the neceſſity of get⯑ting out of the bed, and ſit till the morning in a chair. A little time after this, ſhe changed her manner, and with a kinder tone of the voice aſked me, if I would conſent to return home as ſoon as it was light. She caught my hand, begged my pardon, wetted it with her tears, and begged I would excuſe her in⯑firmity. I drew her, fond and cloſe to my heart; and I felt hers, at that mo⯑ment, leap with agony. In the next mo⯑ment ſhe requeſted me to leave her, co⯑vered herſelf haſtily head over ears with the bed-cloaths, and, ſaying that ſhe wiſhed I was wrapping her in the ſhroud, ſunk ſobbing upon her pillow. Oh! Doctor, what ſhall I do? What can be the matter? I am really unconſcious of offence. She is now in bed—perhaps, ſleep may alleviate her diſorder. The [94] worſt of it is, ſhe will not allow me to ſpeak to any third perſon; and, as I myſelf know nothing of either maladies, or their proper medicines, I am dread⯑fully alarmed, and tremble for the con⯑ſequence.

LETTER XXVI. From the Same to the Same.

CERTAINLY, Mr. SEDLEY is the beſt young man in England. When he came to pay me the compliments of the morning, he found me in a very de⯑jected ſituation; and though he was far from inquiſitive, yet I could not conceal from his aſking eye the nature of my calamity. Poor young Gentleman! it was evident that he, felt for me: his countenance loſt, in a moment, all that fine glow that is natural to it; and, if [96] my fancy does not deceive me, he had ſome difficulty to prevent a tear from ſtarting. He aſſured me, that words were never made to do juſtice to the feelings of wounded friendſhip; that he was more intereſted in every-thing that concerned me and my wife, than he could expreſs; and that, if I would ſug⯑geſt ſome little pretence, either of buſi⯑neſs or of invitation, to leave him with Mrs. HOMESPUN in the evening, he would certainly either comfort her by every miniſtration of the ſincereſt friend⯑ſhip, or, at worſt, he would find out the reaſons for her anxiety, and the na⯑ture of her complaint; after which, he very well obſerved, the remedy would be eaſy. At this generous propoſal, in which his worthy diſpoſition was mani⯑feſt, I was ready to weep; and, as we embraced each other at parting, our [97] voices became of no uſe to us, and we could only ſhew, by our ſympathiſing enfoldings, that we had a ſincere and chriſtian regard for each other.

LETTER XXVII. Mrs. HOMESPUN to Mrs. LA MOTTE.

OH, CHARLOTTE! CHARLOTTE! what a perplexity am I thrown into, by this ſcheme of pleaſure! Accurſed be the hour in which I ſet my foot upon the confines of BUXTON! Unconſcious of any violent partialities, I was con⯑tented while I was ignorant. In the dreary village, where our parſonage is a palace, I was ſufficiently happy, becauſe I ſaw nobody ſuperior to Mr. HOMESPUN. I was the Miniſter's lady, and the wives and daughters of the neighbourhood paid me the compliment of their beſt curtſey. My HORACE really looked handſome in [99] his Sunday canonicals, and I viewed him in the pulpit with pleaſure.

But, alas! my CHARLOTTE, the ſcene is changed. I have been ſeveral days in a place of politeneſs, where HORACE is the moſt awkward of the circle. My eyes are now opened to his imperfections —I ſee them, I feel them, I deteſt them. He is a lump of learning, without duc⯑tility, without ſoftneſs, without—what Mr. SEDLEY calls, the Graces. I am ſometimes obliged to aſk ſeveral times before I can obtain an anſwer to the moſt ordinary queſtion, and then, at laſt, he burſts from his reverie, and pretends not to have heard me ſpeak to him. Can any-thing be ſo diſguſting? His converſation is unlike that of the reſt of the company; and, inſtead of bearing a part, in little, ſocial, and endearing chit⯑chat, he talks eternally about Locke, and [100] Livy, and Cicero, the Elements of Cri⯑ticiſm, the Problems of Euclid, and ſuch fellows—and many a time, when I have wanted him to put a pin in my hand⯑kerchief, or ſuch little offices of endear⯑ment, he has been wrapt up in medita⯑tion, and then ſtared me full in the face without knowing I was in the room.

Then, he actually has a ſtrange ſhy method of treating me as a wife. There is no delicacy in his air, when he takes my hand: he ſhakes it indeed HEARTILY, but then he has the fat fiſt of a graſier, even though in other reſpects he is diſ⯑agreeably thin. He kiſſes, with a cere⯑mony perfectly claſſical, as Mr. SEDLEY calls it. There is a pretty method, me⯑thinks, even in the management of the lips. By accident, Mr. SEDLEY ſtole a kiſs the other day, and he placed it, ſo directly, ſo gently, and ſo pathetically in [101] the center, that I never felt ſuch a ſen⯑ſation! I proteſt, CHARLOTTE, it ran thrilling through every vein of me, warmed my very heart, and almoſt took away my breath.

We were, I remember, playing at queſtions and commands, the day being ſhowery, ſo that we could not ſtir out. The forfeit came round at laſt to HO⯑RACE, and he ſmackt me, as uſual, in his round-about manner. Heaven par⯑don me, CHARLOTTE, but I was obliged to draw my pocket-handkerchief acroſs my mouth, and had ſome difficulty to avoid making a wry face. If you was once in the company of Mr. SEDLEY— he is called the handſome SEDLEY here— you would never forget—gentle, grace⯑ful, elegant, ſoft, genteel, and eloquent. —Heigho!—Why, CHARLOTTE, why did I marry, before I had ſeen [102] ſomething of the world? Or, rather, Why, after I was married, why did I ever ſtray from carts and cottages, to the delightful dangers of a watering-place? —But I muſt hide my letter; Mr. HOMESPUN is coming towards the houſe, as erect as a walking-ſtick.

LETTER XXVIII. Miſs DELIA DELMORE, to Lady LUCY SAXBY.

FANNY is much diſordered, my dear LUCY; the fainting with which ſhe was ſeized at the breakfaſt-rooms, has preyed on her ever ſince. Her ſpirits are greatly agitated. Her huſband attends her, with the diligence of a nurſe, and cannot be perſuaded to leave her cham⯑ber. The poor girl often drops the tear of gratitude, but ſpeaks leſs than uſual, as ſhe ſays, talking exhauſts her. She has twice hinted her wiſhes to be re⯑moved from hence, either to my father's, or to SCARBOROUGH, as we thought proper: and begs her removal may be pretty late at night, for company, [104] ſhe ſays, rather diſturbs her, ſince her laſt accident. Poor MORTIMER, her huſband, ſees her dying by inches before his face, and his unavailing officiouſneſs appears now and then, to go too near the heart of the ſinking FANNY. She is too indiſ⯑poſed to remove at preſent: for my part, I have not been able to ſet my foot yet in the ſtreet: I love my ſiſter too tender⯑ly, to leave her with a ſtrange woman, in a ſtrange place, eſpecially with one, who is merely paid for her attention, and who, conſequently, can have none of thoſe charming thoughts that enter into the heart of a tender relation. Sometimes, my dear, the changing a poſture, ſome⯑times the ſhifting a pillow, or fixing a chair, does more by the method of do⯑ing it, than all the elaborate efforts of an avowed nurſe. A Mr. SEDLEY—who is ſaid to be the beauty of the Bath, and was the perſon that handed FANNY down [105] ſtairs, and was very obliging during her illneſs,—ſends every day, very reſpectfully, to know how the ſick lady improves in her health. As many of both ſexes were witneſs to poor FANNY'S diſtreſs, and as people ſhould have a fellow-feeling, in places of general reſort for cures, as well as faſhions, I wonder others have not paid this ſweet girl the ſame com⯑pliment.

The manner in which this gentleman makes the enquiry, is pretty: he does not preſume upon the privilege of a public place, and ſend a blundering foot-boy with a meſſage, nor does he come, in⯑truding, himſelf, but he uſually writes a little billet, (every day varied, and containing a new turn,) in which his ex⯑preſſions diſcover at once accompliſhment and high-breeding; and, what puts it out of any body's power to miſconſtrue it [106] into deſign, he always addreſſes his cards to MR. MORTIMER. As my brother was reading one of theſe this morning to his wife, ſhe deſired to look at the hand, but had ſcarce held it to her eye, before ſhe dropt the paper, and, letting her arm fall languidly on the pillow, ſaid, very ſoftly, that ſhe could not manage it, and was weaker than ſhe imagined.

She is now in a gentle doſe, and I took the opportunity it gave, to inform my dear Lucy of our preſent melancholy ſituation. Sir HARRY, and my mother are expected hourly. If FANNY really dies, my mother will certainly go diſ⯑tracted. Heaven bleſs you, and yours.

LETTER XXIX. Mrs. LA MOTTE to Mrs. HOMESPUN.

IN the name of heaven, HAR⯑RIET, what are you about? Your letters alarm me beyond imagination. You are in the road to ruin: I ſee you upon the very verge of perpetual infamy. You can now mark the little imperfections of a huſband: you are blind to his many vir⯑tues. You have caſt your eye on a man, whoſe perſon and manners you like bet⯑ter: with this man, you have been al⯑ready left alone: you may be left alone again. The next ſtep is too apparent to be mentioned: you are very gay, very young, very inexperienced: there is but one way left to prevent your deſtruction, [108] and that is, to return home directly, and make any excuſe to HORACE for the abruptneſs of your departure. I know nothing of the SEDLEY you ſpeak, nor do I wiſh to know him. Better had it been, on all hands, if you were as igno⯑rant of him as I am. It is plain he hath pleaſed you too well; ſince the plea⯑ſure is bought at the dear price of ha⯑tred to the beſt of huſbands. Yes, HAR⯑RIET, your HORACE is the beſt of huſ⯑bands. He is an honeſt man, if he is not a brilliant man; and, if he does not ſhine in ſociety, he hath an excellent heart, and a ſimplicity of manners, truly amiable. The little points of objection you have made, are, when weighed againſt his various virtues, light, and of no ac⯑count; while, on the other hand, SED⯑LEY has, very probably, nothing but an elegance in trifling to ſet him of.

[109]Waving, however, theſe points, my dear, let us come to others more ſtart⯑ling. You are a wife, you are preg⯑nant, you are advanced far in that preg⯑nancy, you have a clear character, you have the love of an innocent neighbour⯑hood—Away!—away! Order your chaiſe this inſtant to the door. The matter does not admit of a moment's debate. I haſ⯑ten to ſeal up my letter, and I beg, for God's ſake, for your own ſake, and for that of all that love you, or that you love, that you will deliver your anſwer by word of mouth.

I ſhall catch you to my breaſt, as a dear friend, juſt eſcaped from a preci⯑pice,—as a treaſure I have luckily reſ⯑cued, in the minute of deſpair, from the ſurrounding flames. Adieu: Adieu. I enjoin you to be expeditious!

LETTER XXX. Mrs. HOMESPUN to Mrs. LA MOTTE. (Before the receipt of the above.)

YOUR HARRIET is ſomething happier than when ſhe laſt ſat down to addreſs you. Mr. SEDLEY has pleaded the cauſe of poor HORACE ſo perſuaſively, and that behind his back, (there's a ge⯑nerous man for you!) that I have been induced to aſk his pardon, and I am re⯑ſolved to treat him with more politeneſs, which I find is indiſpenſible in the con⯑duct of a married woman to her huſband, even though he were indifferent to her.

We have paſt together a very happy [111] afternoon; and though I do not find any greater degree of tenderneſs for HORACE, yet, as I know how to make him happy, by merely ſuppreſſing thoſe ſentiments in his disfavour, which can do me no ſervice to diſcover, I feel the ſweets of diſguiſe⯑ing the truth upon ſome occaſions. I have reſtored HORACE to perfect ſerenity, and I as ſincerely thank Mr. SEDLEY, for taking me to taſk. Adieu.

LETTER XXXI. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

THE firſt blow is not yet finally given. Opportunity hath not favoured temptation ſufficiently. My ſyſtem, not only demands that I ſhould preſerve the fact private, but the reputation of both the man and the woman, unſuſpected. I am not to be a harum-ſcarum rake, who brutiſhly and boyiſhly boaſts of his ſuc⯑ceſſes, but a man of pleaſure, who is to bathe his ſenſes in bliſs, and revel in the richeſt luxuries of enjoyment, (pri⯑vately,) with conſenting elegance; while (in public) I am to ſuſtain a fair charac⯑ter, and paſs upon men (who only look [113] upon the ſurface) as a pattern of purity, and a model for morals.

HARRIET is a bewitching, illiterate, ſweet piece of unpractiſed Nature. Her complexion is ardent, and I have ſuffi⯑ciently ſet her paſſions afloat; but I muſt take care to guard againſt working up my own. All the power of all-conquer⯑ing diſſimulation is over, when DESIRE ſeizes the helm from the hand of cool and deliberate REASON. "Vigour and ſpirit" are mere madneſſes, without "verſatility "and complacence." Upon this principle, I muſt walk without deviation, like a faith⯑ful pupil, in the path that is chalkt out for me. It is my buſineſs to ‘lead right reaſon in the triumphant fetters and ſhackles of the heart, and the paſſions.’ In order to accompliſh this, THORNTON, I muſt keep myſelf collected, and never ſtrike till I have fully thrown every body [114] about me off their guard, and till I can, then, gratify, conquer, triumph, and en⯑joy in full ſecurity. My blood, THORN⯑TON, is as cool as a turtle's. HARRIET'S, I ſee, is upon the boil: yet ſhe has beauty enough to ſtir me; and when the ſecure moment offers itſelf, fear not her diſappointment. Her wiſhes—ſhall not be vain.

LETTER XXXII. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

I HAVE appeared in public. I dined this day at the ordinary. Ordinary indeed! ſuch a room full of emptineſs I never beheld: citizens apeing the men of mode, women of ſallow countenances, and fops, who would be thought witty and elegant, when they are merely ſaucy, and affected, and dull. Alas! THORN⯑TON, what a pity, what a mortification! I have not a ſingle competitor,—I mean not in point of gallantry, for that mili⯑tates againſt my ſyſtem of pleaſure,— but there is no one of my ſex from whom I can gain any real honour in the compa⯑riſon. However, as even blockheads are [116] worth gaining, and their hearts worth miſleading; as they have all foibles to flatter, and weakneſſes that may be for our intereſt to work upon: I began to ſhew off, and brought the whole company over, as my admirers. I practiſed all the charming converſation-rules of DORMER, with as much facility as if I had been the author of them; and, indeed, they are ſo ſuited to my own natural ſentiments, that I only conſider him as having writ⯑ten, what I long ago thought, and what I will henceforward invariably practiſe, till I am incapable of farther enjoyment. I had the happineſs to ſit parallel to the very fop, already recorded in my correſ⯑pondence; and he was over-dreſſed to all the extravagancy of the ton; while I had the advantage, of not in any ſort, invad⯑ing the modeſty of Nature. The fool lookt as if he piqued himſelf upon his gaudineſs, he ſtroaked his ruffles, diſplayed [117] the baubles of his watch, perkt up his head to gaze in the pier-glaſſes, pulled his watch in and out of his fob ſeveral times, eyed himſelf aſcance, and figitted up and down in his chair, with all the inſignificant whiffling agility of the mon⯑key in the fable, who had ſeen the world.

Cloſe to the ſide of this popinjay, ſat an unweildy animal, who, to the man⯑ners of a bear, united the uncouthneſs of an elephant, without half its ſagacity; and who, in feeding, ſcattered his offals a⯑round, to the utter diſmay of the cox⯑comb, who, fearful of complaining, and alarmed at the ſize of the antagoniſt, took ſhelter at a ſmall table, or rather ſide⯑board, and fluttered himſelf clean, while the monſter enjoyed his embarraſſment. I am happy to tell you, that, though this piece of pleaſantry ſet the unpoliſhed ta⯑ble in a roar, I commanded my features, [118] and did not give way to ridicule. Hi⯑therto I have never laught out ſince I came to BUXTON, and I ſolemnly hope I ſhall never be booriſh, of boiſterous enough to laugh out again, while I have being.

I eat elegantly, drank diſcreetly. I ſmiled at a thouſand dull ſtories, and only told one myſelf, and that, incon⯑ceivably a-propos. I heard long talkers, without appearing to be tired, and I looked every perſon whom I addreſſed full in the face. I dreſſed my countenance in ſoftneſs, and gave the douçeur to all my motions. I interrupted no man, con⯑tradicted cautiouſly, palliated tenderly, decided a diſpute betwixt the fop and the glutton with a good-humoured plea⯑ſantry, caught the habits of the company, ſwore not at all, and adapted my con⯑verſation to every ſpeaker. The conſe⯑quence [119] was, THORNTON, that I was im⯑mediately known to be ſomebody, nay, I was the admiration of every body: my com⯑pany was cheriſhed, my abſence regretted, and, at my going out of the room, a buz of univerſal approbation followed me down ſtairs. In a word, THORNTON, the fops were annihilated, the prattlers were ſilenced, and I went off in the com⯑pleateſt triumph of unconteſted excel⯑lence.

And thus, having ſettled my reputa⯑tion, and eſtabliſhed myſelf PUBLICLY, it only remains that I enjoy my popularity by appearing to deſerve it; and then I may bid defiance to cenſure, and then —WELCOME VOLUPTUOUSNESS!

LETTER XXXIII. THOMAS at the Bath, to TIMOTHY in Town.

RECEIVE TIMOTHY, the greet⯑ing of THOMAS.

I, and my maſter, arrived on the day we ſet out at this execrable place, where I have as yet done little more than ſtick a pin in SEDLEY'S hair, and peruſe a page of his CHESTERFIELD after dinner.

Theſe books we are both exceſſively fond of, and as he always leaves them in the chamber-window, I take them up when he lays them down to walk out; by which means we make pretty nearly [121] the ſame progreſs. If any thing, I be⯑lieve I am half a volume before-hand with him, and, in the opinion of the judicious, am the finer gentleman of the two.

Not that my maſter, like your com⯑mon coxcombs, ever mentions his a⯑mours, or his ſtudies to his ſervant, any more than I diſcover mine to him: we are both better bred; but I have heard too much of CHESTERFIELD at table, at tea, and every where elſe, not to have had, long ago, a reliſh for his writings; and I ſcruple not to tell thee, TIMO⯑THY, that I have formed myſelf, what you know me to be, entirely on his Lordſhip's model.

He had, beyond compariſon, the pret⯑tieſt pen, at an epiſtle, in Europe, and is at once ſo neat and plain, that it is [122] impoſſible to miſunderſtand him. I once was as vulgar a dog in my choice of books as any in the kingdom;—I had no more taſte, TIMOTHY, than a teacher of the table of multiplication. I thought the luſcious love-ſcenes of ROCHESTER delicious, and had a mighty hankering after the memoirs of CLELAND; but hea⯑ven defend me from ſuch barefaced traſh, The bawdry brutes!

No TIM. Stanhope has brought me round, he teaches that ‘the very ſhoe has power to wound;’ and I am by God's grace, and his Lordſhip's graces, as gracefully graceleſs a raſcal, and as pretty a fellow as any in Britain.

I expect, by the Earl's aſſiſtance, to do an infinite deal of miſchief at this watering-place;—my eye (though no [123] ſettler) has pointed at a bath-maid, who attracted me in the handing a tumbler of Spa-water. Nauſeous as all minerals are, I took it and toſt it off, becauſe, I find, to refuſe is ungenteel. I ſhall ſubdue this damſel at my leiſure, having, for my more ſerious ſimulations, as his Lordſhip calls them, a noble object in view, of whom you will hear more ex⯑plicitly in my next.

SEDLEY is upon ſome project, but I ſcorn to be guilty of impertinent cu⯑rioſity; and he is as much above mak⯑ing either a confident or a pimp of his ſervant, I ſhould with more propriety have ſaid his gentleman, as his gentle⯑man is of wearing a livery of worſted lace. God and the Graces ſpeed him, ſay I, in all his undertakings! Every man has a right in this world to follow [124] the bent of his fancy, to ‘ſtrew the way over with flowers,’ as the ſong ſays, and to be as happy, both up and a-bed, as he poſſibly can.

‘Vale—’ as I ſee your ſcholars conclude, ‘Vale—Adio—Adieu—’

LETTER XXXIV. Mrs. HOMESPUN to Mrs. LA MOTTE. (After receiving Mrs. LA MOTTE'S Letter.)

YOUR letter came too late.— The hour of circumſpection is paſt, and I am in utter deſpair.

LETTER XXXV. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

ADD to the liſt of my con⯑queſts, or rather place at the top of the CHESTERFIELD catalogue, the ruin of HARRIET HOMESPUN. Ruin, THORN⯑TON, why ruin? In my ſyſtem, the name ſhould be ſoftened. The ſame of the ſhe who grants the favour, is pure and in⯑violate as ever. Where then the ruin? HORACE will ſleep as ſound this night as the laſt—

[127]Well ſaid WILL SHAKESPEARE! By the ſame rule, maſter miniſter HOMESPUN, thou, being ignorant, art not robbed at all. However, robbed or not robbed, I muſt pay another viſit or two to thy treaſure, before I take my leave of it for ever: for thy HARRIET is a moſt volup⯑tuous banquet, and increaſes the appetite while ſhe indulges it.—By the next poſt, THORNTON, I ſhall diſpatch another let⯑ter; mean time I am

LETTER XXXVI. Mrs. LA MOTTE to Mrs. HOMESPUN.

AND ſo the dreadful prophecy in my laſt is fulfilled! As an unhappy woman, I pity you; as an unchaſte one, I can only keep your ſecret, pray for your repentance, and take my everlaſting leave of you.

LETTER XXXVII. Mrs. HOMESPUN to Mrs. LA MOTTE.

PUNCTILIOUS, prudiſh CHAR⯑LOTTE! that miſtakeſt a ſlip of the heart, for an error in principle. Two days ago I entertained ſentiments like yours. No⯑vels and vulgar notions, ruin half our ſex: I have begun, and am ſtill privately engaged in reading a BOOK, that ſets all to rights in my own heart, and reconciles my conduct to my own conſcience. As to matrimonial ſhackles, I ſay with ELO⯑ISA, ‘Curſe on all laws but thoſe which Love hath made!’ Had I read the dear BOOK, now in my box under lock and key, a few months ago, take my word for it, CHARLOTTE, I had never [130] been a HOMESPUN, and would have died, rather than have given my hand to a looby of a bookworm, unacquainted with the Beau Monde, and unfavoured by the Graces. My mind is perfectly at reſt; and the only mad thing that flies in my face, is, having thrown away my charms upon a country curate, that does not know how to behave in company—who is un⯑able to carve a chicken, or lead his wife into a ball-room, without hanging down his head, and biting his nails.

LETTER XXXVIII. Mrs. LA MOTTE to Mrs. HOMESPUN.

UPON my word!—Oh brave! —Why, you have made a rapid progreſs, and are an apt ſcholar, that's certain. A young creature ſcarce two-and-twenty, bred upon a barren mountain, little read in the ways of any part of the world, but the ways of a circumſcribed village— a farmer to your father, and an honeſt wholeſome dairy-woman for your mother —a little modicum of money to the tune of five hundred pounds, the ſavings of twenty pains-taking years of your poor grandam—and, and—to turn fine lady all of a ſudden!—to trip to BUXTON bath, in the height of the ſeaſon, forget all [132] your country friends, and country feelings —all in a week—a little week! Upon my honour, you are no common cha⯑racter, and I congratulate you on recon⯑ciling all this, and all that has reſulted from this, to your capacious conſcience. Down to the very earth, I drop my curteſey, faſhionable Mrs. HOMESPUN!

But, gracious God! can it be poſſible? Is not the laſt letter, marked with your name, a forgery? Can the character, be Mrs. HOMESPUN'S? Can it be written by her, whom I have ſo often diſtin⯑guiſhed for innocence in the midſt of gaiety, and modeſty in the very boſom of amuſement?

Is it practicable, in ſo ſhort a ſpace of time, to loſe all that's valuable, all that's feminine, all that's truly endearing; and to ſubſtitute, the moſt deſpicable, [133] deteſted contraries? Ah! HARRIET, HARRIET, how art thou fallen! Thought⯑leſs, ingrateful creature! Poor HORACE, what is become of him? If he is yet in ignorance, in mercy to his merit, keep him ſo: at leaſt, have the generoſity— the humanity, to keep from his know⯑ledge, that, which would cut his honeſt heart to atoms.

But what is the BOOK you allude to, as the panacea, of a perſon polluted, and a heart ſet againſt the venerable maxims of morality? Alas! Madam, be not every way deluded: nor books, nor tongues, nor caſuiſtry, nor all the chi⯑cane of eloquence miſapplied, can poſ⯑ſibly overturn the ſober ſingle ſyſtem of unentangled innocency. I yet hope, you are not in that wretched ſtate, which, de⯑ſpairing of forgiveneſs, hunts about for apology, nor, rather than ſeem deſtitute, [134] condeſcend to take up with one, that in effect, plunges you deeper in crimi⯑nality. A drowning creature, catches at the ſlighteſt twig: and a guilty woman, is fain to ſupport herſelf from falling in her own eſteem, againſt a tottering pillar.

BOOKS, HARRIET!—find a refuge from the keenneſs of your own reflec⯑tions in BOOKS! Periſh the volume, and may the name of its author deſcend ig⯑nominiouſly to poſterity, in which the error, that you have, under your pa⯑thetic circumſtances, been guilty of, is not palpably diſcountenanced!

Mention, however, the name of that book from which you receive comfort, and, woman as I am, I will undertake to baffle its boaſted ſyſtem, and ſhew, that the only way to genuine pleaſure, is through the paths of purity, integrity, [135] and ſingleneſs. I am, and have conti⯑nued a widow, five years upon principle: the man I have loſt, was even leſs ſplen⯑did than Mr. HOMESPUN, nor had his perſon any peculiar attractions. What of that? He was good, he was great, and he was tender as Heaven. I wanted not temptation, while he was living, to indulge indelicacies, but I valued both his honour and my own; and though I pre⯑tend to no gifts of preternatural conti⯑nency, I defy either books or men, to make me act in diametrical oppoſition to common-ſenſe and chriſtianity.

But, juſt at the preſent criſis, you are, of all women in the world, the moſt inexcuſeable! Oh, heavens! HARRIET, reflect a moment. More than three parts gone with child—that child your firſt-born—the father an honour to his profeſſion—his profeſſion the Church!— [136] I will ſay no more, for if you had my heart, enough has been ſaid already to move you to add to your preſent errors, the crime of ſuicide.

LETTER XXXIX. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

ALL goes on to the utmoſt content of my heart. Oh, THORNTON! STANHOPE is infallible. His maxims are perfect anodynes againſt diſappointment, and I ſhall (I do really think) render him more celebrated than ever, by prac⯑tically illuſtrating every precept in every period!—I have played the ſecond part of the ſame tune with HARRIET, and I half believe I ſhall make her a proſelyte; for ſhe hath got volume the firſt, and I have taken care to pencil the places at which I would have her ſtop: a mark in the margin always attracts. HORACE and I, too, are hand and glove, and a very [138] worthy prieſt he is, for an HOMESPUN, I'll aſſure thee.

I will give thee, however, an inſtance or two of my proficiency in the arts of pleaſing. When all was over, I paid my reſpects to HARRIET and her Lord, at the accuſtomed hour, without the leaſt viſible embarraſſment, or alteration of countenance. The poor woman, indeed, made but a bungling piece of work of it, bluſhed, ſtammered, and ſtopt ſhort; while I took care to preſerve every muſ⯑cle and lineament ſteady and unmoved. I ſee the efficacy of this moſt materially, for, had I not practiſed this preſence of mind, I do verily believe even the un⯑ſagacious HOMESPUN would have ſuſ⯑pected what had happened. I took him by the hand, with the uſual cordiality, and we walkt to FAIRFIELD, a neigh⯑bouring village, (whither by the by he [139] was walking while the deed was doing,) like inſeparable friends. So that there is, as thou perceiveſt, freſh reaſon for thy congratulation.

But I have other buſineſs in hand, and muſt leave thee, THORNTON.

LETTER XL. THOMAS at the Bath, to TIMOTHY in Town.

CURSE upon it, TIMOTHY! SEDLEY hath caught me in the fact— the very fact of conſulting his oracle. He came home accidentally, when I thought him ſafe for at leaſt an hour, and I was juſt enjoying the ſweet ſentiment, and had delv'd into the pith and mar⯑row of the dear Earl's epiſtle upon dreſs; when this indiſcreet maſter of mine, ab⯑ſolutely forgetting his good-breeding, kicked me on the breech, took the book out of my hand, and led me down ſtairs by the noſe: for which, if I forgive him,

[141] No matter: I know my cue, ‘ſmile at preſent, and ſtrike hereafter.’

Since this affair, the cruel youth keeps the Earl all to himſelf; but I ſee, by the newſpapers which come down here, his Lordſhip's good things are all col⯑lected together, in a little ſnug volume, that a man, upon any exigences, may pop either into his pocket, his boſom, his breeches, or elſewhere, as occaſion re⯑quires. This little eſſence of the Earl I deſire you will procure me, TIMOTHY, forthwith, and ſend it down by the Fly: I ſhall not reſt till I get it, for I com⯑prehend every ſyllable he ſays, and I have as great a right to do roguiſh things with a good grace, as my maſter. So no more at preſent from thy friend,

The book will be bought under the title of ‘Lord CHESTERFIELD'S Advice to his Son,’ printed, as the papers ſay, for RICHARDSON and URQUHART, under the Royal Exchange.

LETTER XLI. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

I BLUSH as I put my hand to the paper: I feel the ſeverity of ſelf-re⯑proach: I have deviated from the maxims of my Preceptor, by making a man feel his inferiority. In a word, THORNTON, I have ſtruck my ſervant. I caught the fellow reading in the ſacred page of my religion, even in the page of the divine DORMER, never meant to be polluted by the eye of a footman, and I conde⯑ſcended to give him a blow. This is amongſt the liſt of unpardonable crimes, and I muſt make it up with the lad before I ſleep, or I ſhall ſcorn myſelf [144] too heartily. A man of faſhion uſe his fiſt, and againſt his footman!—SHAME —SHAME—SHAME!—I have a thought to bring all even again.

LETTER XLII. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

I COULD ſing—I could dance; for alienation is no more. THORNTON, I have atoned for my meanneſs; aſk me now what I have given, what I have ſaid, what I have done! Whatever it was, be aſſured there was manner in it, and ‘manner is every thing every where, and to every body.’

LETTER XLIII. The Reverend HORACE HOMESPUN to Doctor DIGGORY.

THINGS are ſo pleaſingly al⯑tered, that I have been over-ruled as to my deſign of going away even at the end of the fortnight, and I have con⯑trived to procure another week's receſs, in order to extend my HARRIET'S hap⯑pineſs, and enjoy myſelf the ſpirited, yet moral and engaging conduct of Mr. SEDLEY, who, every day, becomes more agreeable, and who, I do truly believe, has been not a little inſtrumental in [147] bringing about my poor wife to a pro⯑per ſenſe of her duty and right reaſon. If any-thing, ſhe is more cordial to me than before my departure from the cu⯑racy, and is at once lively and obliging.

I take it for granted, the ſtrange con⯑duct I tranſmitted you an account of in my late letters, was only a tranſient gid⯑dineſs, not very infrequent, as I have ob⯑ſerved, Doctor, to the fair ſex, about HARRIET'S age, which is very well called, in one of SHAKESPEARE'S trage⯑dies that I read formerly, the ‘heyday of youthful blood.’ We grave folks, you know, my dear DIGGORY, ought to al⯑low for all this. Poor thing, I pity her, and am half angry with myſelf that I ſhould have treated the overflowing, ef⯑ferveſcent emanations, as I may ſtile them, of a juvenile mind, as a ſerious delirium.

[148]But, thank God, it is not gone abroad to any perſon who is capable of circu⯑lating the whiſper of the day to the detriment of a fellow-creature. Mr. SED⯑LEY, who, I can eaſily ſee, is to be truſt⯑ed with every thing, and my old friend, and brother-collegian, Doctor DIGGORY, are the only perſons informed of the matter, and ſo all is well. But do not, I charge you, think too hardly of her for what hath been ſaid. It was all a miſ⯑repreſentation, and you ſhould admire your heavenly HARRIET, as you uſed to call her, the more, for having been in⯑jured. I can aſſure you, I am at pre⯑ſent more ſatisfied with her than I am with myſelf: and, indeed, ſhe has the advantage of me; for ſhe appears in the light of a perſon calumniated, and I am only one in a ſtate of conſcious error, and probation.

[149]However, a ſhort time will, I do not doubt, ſet us all as happy again as our hearts can wiſh.—But why, my worthy DIGGORY, do you not write: how is it that ſo ſcrupulous a man in point of equity is ſo unexact a correſpondent? You are deep in my debt, and though I am now rich in the ineſtimable trea⯑ſures of reconciliation, yet a line from you would add materially to my fortune, and I ſhould have to thank Heaven for as full a meaſure of felicity, as it is, perhaps, either proper or poſſible to taſte on this ſide of it.

LETTER XLIV. Mrs. HOMESPUN to Mrs. LA MOTTE.

THE ſeverity and rudeneſs in your letter I can pardon, becauſe they find an apology in your want of breed⯑ing: but the liberty you take with me and my character, cannot ſo readily be paſt over.

LETTER XLV. From the Same to the Same.

I WOULD give ten thouſand worlds to ſtop the mail, and take out of it my laſt mad and ingrateful letter, even though I were to incur the puniſh⯑ment of robbing the poſt.

Excuſe me, I beſeech you—excuſe the raſhneſs of an enraged woman, cut to the quick by your juſt reproaches! In⯑ſtead of reſenting, I beg of you to com⯑paſſionate me. My penitence is ſincere, and you muſt— you will unite your prayers to mine, that it may be at the ſame time perfect and efficient.

LETTER XLVI. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

HA! ha! ha! There is no law againſt laughing in a letter, as there is neither a vulgar noiſe nor a ghaſtly grin attending it: take, then, the ſilent mirth of my ſoul, and let me pour out upon paper ſome part of the exultation that at this moment ſwells my heart!

What a ſuperficial animal is man! ‘as eaſily led by the noſe, as aſſes are!’ the dupe of the ſenſes, the idiots of mere exterior, and the very fools of a well-managed ſet of features.

It is uſual with women, when the af⯑fair [153] is over, to whimper, lament the loſs of reputation, the deſtruction of their eternal peace of mind, and grow ſtub⯑bornly refractory, or elſe ſullenly repine⯑ing. This was formerly a vile piece of buſineſs, and was a ſore draw-back upon the felicity of fruition; but the converts of CHESTERFIELD have no trouble of this ſort to apprehend. As the confeſſor can make the conſent of a good-natured nun a point of piety and religion; ſo a man of manner, dreſs, addreſs, and diſ⯑ſimulation, may manifeſtly prove, to ei⯑ther maid, wife, or widow, that the ſhorteſt, as well as the ſofteſt conveyance to heaven, is, upon a feather-bed.

Without any ſort of hum, haugh, ſtam⯑mer, or heſitation, I have convinced HO⯑RACE that he has been notoriouſly in the wrong; in conſequence of which he is to kneel oftener than his profeſſional bend⯑ings [154] require—I have firmly perſuaded HARRIET, that all our future pleaſure depends on behaving ten times better than ever to HORACE—and laſtly, I have prevailed on the curate to indulge his wife a few days longer, as a firſt inſtance of his repentance. In the raſh⯑neſs of her heart, ſhe hath told all to a Mrs. LA MOTTE, who hath written a chiding epiſtle in the old ſcolding way; and to this, I find, ſhe (HARRIET) hath replied in juſtification of herſelf. Here I was obliged to ſet her right, and have taken care to ſee her diſpatch a peniten⯑tial piece of policy, which will bring all round again. This ſame Mrs. LA MOTTE is in a ſtate of widowhood, and much in love with her weeds—a great beauty— and, I ſee by one of her letters, (which I diſſimulated out of HARRIET,) a great boaſter. I furthermore underſtand, that ſhe is a conſtant church-goer, has a de⯑liciouſly [155] demure ſet of muſcles, an ele⯑vated pair of eyes,—folds the fair palm, and holds long converſations betwixt GOD and her conſcience.

Now, THORNTON, if, by ſetting all my maſter-maxims in motion—if, by ei⯑ther the aids of genius, ſtratagem, and every exerted OMNIPOTENCY of the head, heart, hand, and voice, I could but lower the loftineſs of this proud-hearted cotta⯑ger, my ſoul would be ſatisfied, and I ſhould ſacrifice to the ſhade of the in⯑vincible DORMER, ſuch a victim as might ſoothe his ſpirit, and elevate his extacy in elyſium.—At preſent this is in em⯑brio only,—uningendered.—In all events, I am determined, as KING LEAR ſays,

[156] Genius of STANHOPE, aſſiſt me!— breathe into thy Pupil inſtant inſpiration! —exalt my thought!—animate me!—give me to bend the imperious heart of the confident LA MOTTE!

LETTER XLVII. From the Same to the Same.

I HAVE only a minute to ſpare, and that is to tell thee, I am the dulleſt dolt that Nature ever produced.

That nobody might perceive my agi⯑tation of mind, by my countenance, and its treacherous changings, I have rambled amongſt the rocks and over the heathy hills of this execrable country, to me⯑ditate upon the means of bringing LA MOTTE within the reach of my machi⯑nations.—It is not to be done, and in the perfect ſtupidity, and ſhame of my ſoul, I am compelled to ſuſpend the purſuit.

LETTER XLVIII. Mrs. HOMESPUN to Mrs. LA MOTTE.

WRITE to me, my dear LA MOTTE, though it be but to ſay—HAR⯑RIET, I do not hate you: you have my pity and my prayers.

LETTER XLIX. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

THE matter of LA MOTTE muſt reſt: I cannot hit it off; but have, in⯑deed, other affairs to mind. This HAR⯑RIET anſwers all my joyous purpoſes moſt delightfully while I am heating the fire for the tender FANNY, who, I underſtand, is much better, and is to be ſeen (if the ſun is not afraid of being outſhone to⯑morrow) to examine the bath. Accident will, no doubt, contrive for me to be in view, about the moment of her firſt ap⯑pearance. Her huſband—but of him hereafter.

HARRIET HOMESPUN wants capacity; I am obliged to dictate her letters to this Mrs. LA MOTTE, who muſt be kept in with, now ſhe is in the ſecret.

LETTER L. From the Same to the Same.

THERE is nothing, ſaith my creed, ‘ſo delicate as a man's moral character, and nothing which it is ſo much his intereſt to preſerve pure.’—I have been at church, THORNTON, where HOMESPUN officiated as teacher. He hath a ſnuffle in his noſe; his voice is deſtitute of that harmonious variety, eſ⯑ſential to all ſorts of eloquence; and his organs of articulation, appear conſiderably obſtructed.

However, I took him by the hand, upon his deſcending from the pulpit; returned him my ſincere thanks, in a [162] well-invented compliment, for the elegance of his diſcourſe; applauded his delivery; lamented that I had not often been made ſo happy; and almoſt brought the tears of virtue and vanity, into the good man's eyes, at the pathos of my concluſion.

"There is no living in the world," you know, THORNTON, ‘without a com⯑plaiſant indulgence for peoples weak⯑neſſes.’ In a ſhort time, I expect to reach the ſummit; for, after only an hour's practice, I found myſelf able to call out a palpable tear, only by placing a chair before my face, and, by the force of imagination, repreſenting it as a cer⯑tain perſon in diſtreſs, which I had an intereſt in relieving.

And now I am talking upon the ſub⯑ject of ſympathy, I muſt tell thee, THORN⯑TON, that I have made myſelf ſtill more [163] popular than ever in this little place, by ſeveral acts of unoſtentatious oſtentation— by giving occaſional ſmall ſums to people, who make it utterly unneceſſary for me to be my own trumpeter. There are a ſet of characters that will raiſe a bene⯑factor's reputation, without any drudgery on his ſide: theſe people have tongue enough, however poor they may be in other reſpects; and all the good you do, though ſilent and ſecret as the noon of night, ſhall ſhine like ‘the light that ſhineth unto the perfect day,’ by means of thoſe ſame grateful goſſips.

LETTER LI. From the Same to the Same.

ONCE more, receive an account of a tender tranſaction, which I cannot conceal from thee. Relating upon paper, to the friend of one's heart, (for ſuch thou art to me,) any buſineſs, or event, that hath afforded tranſport, is an office of a pleaſing kind.

HARRIET, is as richly formed by Na⯑ture for rapture, as ever was woman; and will, I am in hopes, ſoon be an adept in the ſcience of pleaſing. Her perſon is vo⯑luptuous, beyond painting, and the joys it yields are only to be felt; and yet, I am almoſt reduced again to childiſhneſs, [165] and am almoſt ready to fall again into my leading-ſtring notions by a very pu⯑erile accident—even, THORNTON, by the love-tale of a green, uninformed girl, whoſe whole hiſtory I purchaſed for a ſingle ſixpence. She hath been ruined and undone, as ſhe terms it, by the baſeſt of men.—And who doſt thou think that man is, THORNTON?—Neither more nor leſs than my fellow THOMAS, who is, I'll aſſure thee, a would-be STANHOPEAN: but, truſting merely to picked-up precepts—the very crumbs that have fallen from his maſter's table—he ſtumbles in the effort, and diſcovers his livery, his dependency, and his education, even in his amours. All this, I enjoy, thou knoweſt.—The forſaken nymph came to complain of my Mr. THOMAS. She is very pretty, and very loquacious; but hear the ſtory in her own words.

LETTER LII. THORNTON to SEDLEY.

THE ſtory of thy bath-maid in⯑tereſted me ſtrangely; and I have felt the more pleaſure in giving it a tear, becauſe I perceive it hath penetrated even the al⯑moſt invulnerable PHILIP SEDLEY.

But how thou art able to ſtand the ſhock of ſo many radient eyes, and yield⯑ed charms,—wrapt round and round as thou art in the elyſium of voluntary and voluptuous embraces—a young fellow of ſpirit too—is, to me, moſt unaccount⯑ably myſterious.—In defiance of all the cautionary precepts of thy divine DOR⯑MER—in defiance of all empiriciſm—I [177] ſhould certainly break out, and even at the riſque of overturning the whole well-woven web of gallantry, dwindle into a downright inamerato, and quite loſe the ſubtle diſtinction betwixt ſimulation and laudible inſincerity.

And ſo thou hadſt the ſupreme of tranſ⯑port, in uniting thy faithleſs footman to the beautiful bath-maid!

I'll tell thee what, SEDLEY,—thou art —(if thou wilt allow me for once the coinage of a new word)—thou art but half CHESTERFIELDED.—The impreſſion made upon thee by the pale face of the conſcious THOMAS—the pleaſure thou hadſt at wiping away the drops of pe⯑nitence and perturbation from the cherry cheek of ſimplicity—and thy wiſhing to ſoliloquiſe, and be excuſed, even from the arms of the tempting and married HAR⯑RIET [178] —are all ſymptoms totally unſtanho⯑pean (there's another word for thee).

Take care, SEDLEY: thou art upon the eve of a relapſe—a relapſe in favour, not of DORMER, but of down-right DOU⯑SIT'S ſingle-dealing.

And yet, my friend, ſhall I once again confeſs to you my infirmity—my uneſta⯑bliſhment in the maxims of thy Precep⯑tor?—I cannot blame thy weakneſſes, nor can I—however deſtructive they may be to thy ſyſtem—avoid wiſhing thou mayſt continue thy preſent tendencies, eſpecially as, by thy own honeſt confeſ⯑ſion, thou haſt found more gratification in them, than in ſupporting the toilſome taſk of eternal diſingenuity.

Nor ought I, indeed, to call this a weakneſs in me. If to be happy is the [179] ultimatum of all earthly purſuits—if it is equally the effort of every different order of men, it aſſuredly follows, that that conduct is the moſt rational by which the greateſt ſhare of felicity is procured. The cloſeſt application of human wit and wiſdom can do no more than point out to thee the moſt ſolid degree of joy, and it matters not whether that joy is ob⯑tained by the practice of one ſyſtem or another.

The laſt action thou haſt recorded (I allude to the promiſed nuptials of thy bath-maid) was evidently agreeable to the ſentiments of SENECA, SOCRATES, and all the wiſe and good men both of the Eaſt and Weſt; and ſince the precepts of STANHOPE have been unable to give thee a ſuperior, or even an equal felicity, how proper and conſiſtent with right rea⯑ſon is it in me, to adviſe thee to walk [180] in that path wherein thou haſt found the moſt pleaſure? Laugh not—ridicule not, I beſeech thee: thou art not, I hope, ſo much a tool to the taſte of the times —ſo much a dupe to prejudiced opi⯑nions—as to diſlike even the balance of bliſs which is now in thy favour, merely becauſe the ſcale hath been turned by a worthy action—that would be inſanity.

To love duplicity, and certain ſophiſ⯑tical diſtinctions, merely for the ſake of double-dealing, and when plain, clear, clean, uncrooked honeſty will anſwer thy purpoſe much better, is at once ridicu⯑lous and diabolical.

On the whole, therefore, I adviſe thee, in the deliberation of my heart, to ſub⯑ſtitute the aforeſaid SENECA, or ſome other ſyſtematical moraliſt, inſtead of STANHOPE; and to lay him quickly [181] aſide in a corner of thy trunk, as un⯑qualified to confer the comfort he pro⯑feſſes to adminiſter.

And, indeed, SEDLEY, to open my whole ſoul to thee, I muſt own thee, that I very much ſuſpect his Lordſhip's ſentiments. Even in my occaſional deal⯑ings here in Town, ſince thy departure, I have not been able to make them bear the teſt quite to my ſatisfaction: ſuch, eſpecially, as relate to the ſuduction of the tender ſex. I made a ſlight experi⯑ment, no longer ago than laſt night, of his moſt favourite maxim, namely, to taſte the joys of ſecurity, mingled in embraces; and yet, though I do not think I con⯑ducted myſelf unadroitly, it did not al⯑together anſwer the ſatisfaction he pre⯑dicted to reſult from it

Thou art not a ſtranger to the elegan⯑cies [182] of SOPHIA VERNON, the new-mar⯑ried wife of the man whoſe promotion from enſign to lieutenant it was our joint endeavour, ſome time ago, to effect: his gratitude is ſtill—‘tremblingly alive all o'er;’ and, by a natural conſequence, he is without the leaſt tincture of ſuſpi⯑cion, and eſteems every inſtance of parti⯑cular enquiry after his wife, or friend, as a mark of generoſity in his bene⯑factor.

This leaves the way to an intimacy with his SOPHIA fair and unobſtructed; and ſhe has already caught ſo much of the Lieutenant's enthuſiaſm, that ſhe pays me the tribute of a roſy-red bluſh of acknowledgment as often as I approach her. They have lately purchaſed a pretty cottage, amidſt the vernal beauties of SURRY: it is ſurrounded by gardens, not cittiſh, but genteel: there are no nudi⯑ties, [183] no monſtrous urns, no fantaſtical fountains, no chubby cherubims, no tip⯑toed Mercury's, ſmirking Venuſſes, nor ſpruce holly-hedges: 'tis all ‘true Na⯑ture to advantage dreſſed;’ the verdure is voluptuous, the flower-beds well weed⯑ed, the ſhrubbery gratefully ſhaded, and the alcove ſmiles upon the Thames.

Within this alcove I yeſterday took the tea that was prepared by the hand of SOPHIA, whoſe huſband had invited me preſſingly, to make the ſolitude of his lady more ſocial by my company, as he was himſelf under the neceſſity of tak⯑ing a journey into SUSSEX.

As you love brooks and books, hills and rills, my dear Mr. THORNTON, ſaid he, ſmilingly, you and SOPHY will be able to paſs away your time to your mutual ſatisfaction, till the return of your friend.

[184]Poor, unſuſpicious pair!

They united their entreaties, and pre⯑vailed: Lieutenant VERNON ſet out, and left to thy friend (in truſt) the moſt beautiful property upon the banks of the THAMES. In a word, he began his journey in the fragrant coolneſs of yeſter⯑day's evening, and I was left at full li⯑berty to abuſe the confidence he placed in my integrity, and, in return for his hoſpitality, do my utmoſt to deſtroy the chaſtity of her, whom he doats upon with the ſincereſt tenderneſs.

The tear which ſhe dropt upon his hand as ſhe kiſſed it, at parting, drew from him another, accompanied by ſuch a look, as defies either tongue, pen, or pencil, and went at the time ſo cloſe to my heart, that I could not but imagine the paſſion betwixt two, was more ex⯑quiſite [185] than if it were divided betwixt two-and-twenty. One man and one wo⯑man, thought I, may certainly be hap⯑pier than a Sultan; and I had rather poſ⯑ſeſs the real, undiſſimulated love of a SO⯑PHIA VERNON, than command the keys of the ſeraglio.

SOPHIA remained penſive, and ſighed after the travelling Lieutenant.

I examined the little library for a book to entertain her. CHESTERFIELD was there, but I did not think it a proper book to read, as I would wiſh to keep the maxims as far out of the ſight of a female as poſſible: for when a woman is told the ſecret of her ſeduction, ſhe will naturally be upon her guard againſt the ſeducer; and, really, STANHOPE un⯑folds the art with ſuch perſpicuity, that ſhe who runs may read; nay; even thy [186] footman comprehends the whole ſyſtem, and hath, according to thy account, ru⯑ined his woman with a very tolerable ad⯑dreſs.

By the by, SEDLEY, I have to accuſe thee of two weak pieces of conduct. The firſt is, thy raſhneſs in truſting the epiſtles of thy Preceptor to the flighty HARRIET, who might have heedleſsly ſhewn them to HORACE, by which means (as thou art a very ſtriking commentary upon the chapters of CHESTERFIELD) he would have had a clue to the original ſources of thy preſent conduct; and a detection of this kind would have been totally in⯑ſupportable. Thy other fault is, thy careleſſneſs, and, I might ſay, want of po⯑licy, in expoſing the volumes which thou ſo pretendeſt to venerate, to the plebeian eyes of thy valet. Lock them up, I pray thee, for the time to come; and if [187] thou art reſolved to proceed in reducing them to practice, do it privately.

In regard to SOPHIA, my endeavours to divert her thoughts from the beloved ſubject of their contemplation, were in vain: the Lieutenant mingled in every idea, and ſhe had paſſions, ſighs, ſenti⯑ments, and ſenſations, only for Mr. VER⯑NON. I recited to her an elegy from HAMMOND, and ſhe wept, in the ſince⯑rity of her heart, over images ſo amia⯑ble, and ſo ſimilar to thoſe now ſug⯑geſted by her own ſituation. I wiſhed to divert her, by reading to her the od⯑dities of corporal Trim, and uncle Toby: but ſhe was in no diſpoſition to be de⯑lighted with the whimſical ſtrokes of a fine, but irregular wit. I even adverted to the irreſiſtible ſallies of HARRY FIELDING, and diſplayed to her the maſter-piece of narrative, in the laugh⯑able [188] ſcene of Parſon ADAMS purſued by the hounds and hunters. She was proof even againſt this, and afforded it only a faint ſmile. She then tried what a walk in the garden would do: ſhe criticiſed the colours of the tulips, and deſcanted with moral delicacy on the pleaſing pro⯑greſs of vegetable Nature; but, alas! even here a ſigh would break in upon her re⯑mark, and very evidently convince me, that Pope was not ſo romantic in the paſtoral ſentiment, which obſerves, ‘Ab⯑ſence is ſurely death to thoſe who love.’ In ſhort, SEDLEY, whatever might be the temptation before me, and however aſſiduous I was to gratify it, it was not now the moment to begin the attack; and every-thing I ſaid, only ſerved to ſhew me more plainly, that, if I would wiſh to pleaſe her, it muſt be by talking warmly of a man, whom it was my intereſt to wean from her affec⯑tions. [189] Perceiving this, I gave way to ſympathy, and moſt cordially united my tears to hers, and joined in the moſt ani⯑mated encomiums on her happy Lieute⯑nant. Theſe tears, however, SEDLEY, and thoſe praiſes, gave me a ſoothing ſoftneſs not to be deſcribed, and made me feel a thouſand times more agreeable than while I repreſſed them, in the hope of turning my thoughts to the huſband's diſhonour, and the wife's deſtruction. Is not this, SEDLEY, a parallel caſe to that of thine? If thou wert more happy at doing a juſt action to thy bath-maid, than at an unjuſt one, by undoing the lively HARRIET; I am more happy at having conquered an inclination, which would have tormented my own fancy, tortured a "generous, truſting friend," and agonized the boſom of a woman, whoſe reputation is at preſent unſuſpected, and unpolluted.

[190]Hence then, my dear SEDLEY, it ap⯑pears, that we are now both exulting in the triumph of a ſimilar ſenſation—a ſenſation created by the ſocial virtues, and derived purely from the felicity of others. Upon this ſubject I have but one point to ob⯑ſerve: it is, to continue the triumph. Let us even cheriſh a tranſport, which is ſu⯑perior to any that diſſimulation can give: let us throw away the perplexing maſk of the caſuiſtical CHESTERFIELD: let us walk in the right way, and ſince it hath already rewarded us ſo well, let us prefer truth to falſehood, and honeſty to hypo⯑criſy: for, believe me, my dear, dear SEDLEY, under whatever name we may diſtinguiſh vice and virtue, they remain eternally the ſame, and neither ſophiſtry, nor ſubtlety, nor faſhion, nor the ſancti⯑fied follies of the mode, can poſſibly pal⯑liate the atrociouſneſs of the one, or de⯑tract from the native excellence of the other. PENMEN may puzzle, PHILOSO⯑PHERS [191] may refine, POETS may colour, and viſionaries may ſuggeſt as they pleaſe, but, while the traces of Nature remain, virtue will be fair, and vice deformed; and, in my opinion, that man's maxims are extremely contradictory and fallible, who, in the ſame volume, nay, ſometimes in the ſame epiſtle, inculcates a delicate regard to moral character, and an attack upon thoſe human weakneſſes, from the humouring of which (aſſiſted by a pro⯑per mixture of well-applied flattery) we are to prey upon each other, to prepare ourſelves for deceit, and, if the ſyſtem were general, introduce, by theſe means, even while we ſanctify them, the moſt dangerous deluſions. For my part, SED⯑LEY, I tell thee again, and again, that I find a flaw in thy STANHOPE, and ſhall read him, for the future, with the eye of a ſevere critic, and not an idolater—not a PHILIP SEDLEY.

LETTER LII. SEDLEY to THORNTON. (Prior to his Receipt of the laſt Letter.)

THE ceremony has been per⯑formed. I inſiſted on its being done in the face of the congregation, I gave THOMAS a purſe for his wedding-dinner, and ſo the poor wench is again made an honeſt woman.

Never heard I panegyrics more warm or better circulated than thoſe reverberated from lip to lip upon this occaſion; and I could almoſt bleſs the fellow for a de⯑bauchery, that hath added ſuch luſtre to my character. I am the very ballad of [193] the bath; and the negligence which I ſeem to pay to the praiſes, only ſerves to increaſe, and make me appear more deſerv⯑ing of them. But what a ſimpleton I was, in yielding to the baby ſenſation which ſeized me unawares in my laſt. To do good is, indeed, pleaſing, and I will on that principle continue to do it as occaſion invites; but Is there not an higher mo⯑tive, thou wilt ſay, than this?—Is there not religion? Pſhaw!—

Yes, pious THORNTON, there is a higher motive. It flatters the ſenſes, it gratifies vanity, it procures eclat, it promotes con⯑queſt, it extends our triumph over a ſex that was born for our amuſement.—The trifling action juſt recorded, backed by a few more that I have not patience to re⯑cite, hath made me ſo popular amongſt all ranks of people in this village, from my Lady in her bathing-ſhift, to her at⯑tendants [194] of the towel, that I defy any⯑thing but my own folly to mark me as an object of ſuſpicion.

I have eſtabliſhed my reputation, THORN⯑TON, upon the ſolid baſis of virtuous ac⯑tions; I have decorated the ſuperſtructure, with the graces of conduct; and now, no man will dare to imagine this goodly edi⯑fice is but a whitened ſepulchre. Poſ⯑ſibly thou mayſt imagine, that I have earned my pleaſures by difficult adop⯑tion of the STANHOPEAN ſyſtem. No, THORNTON, I have a taſte for them. I do not ‘inflict exceſſes upon myſelf, becauſe I think them genteel,’ but I find theſe purſuits ‘guard me againſt frivolouſneſs,’ and prevent me ‘from throwing away upon trifles, that time, which only important things deſerve.’ In a word, I tell thee once more, I view the Lord of my Idolatry only as a man [195] more ſkilled than myſelf, in the arts of being truly happy: and in this light he deſerves my everlaſting gratitude; for he hath taught me ‘to make every place I go to, the ſcene of quick and lively tranſports; to let every company I frequent, gratify my paſſions; to know the true value of time; and to ſnatch, ſeize, and enjoy every moment of it.’

Of this enough: the remainder of my letter ſhall be dedicated to the delicious purpoſe of recording ſeveral events, which have fallen out, by the joint effort of deſtiny and contrivance, ſince my laſt.

I have had a ſecond glance at the de⯑licate but decaying features of FANNY. Tempted by the chearfulneſs of the morn⯑ing, ſhe ventured, under the ſupporting arms of a huſband, and ſiſter, to walk from her lodgings to the bathing-houſe. [196] She ſaw me, but drew away her eye, and never directed it towards me again. Her huſband bowed to me, as to the polite ſtranger, who had intereſted himſelf ſo much in the welfare of his beloved: the ſiſter inclined her head, and curteſy'd more than civilly—it was the bend, rather of attention, than ceremony.

At this moment, many a lank-haired ſwain, yet humid with the bath, and a cluſter of women, ſtill glowing from the immerſion, appeared in view. They were inſtantly attracted by the meteor, gazed, envied, and paſſed on. Well, indeed, might they gaze—well might they envy, THORNTON: the roſe again emulates the lilly, in her cheek; the blue is like the blue of the elements; her arm, is ani⯑mated alabaſter; and the hand, to which it belongs, is ſhaped to inſpire by its ap⯑pearance, and enfever by its touch.

[197]After this, as ſhe was preparing to re⯑turn, a ſervant came haſtily to inform Mr. MORTIMER, that Sir HENRY DEL⯑MORE was arrived. They quickened their pace a little; even FANNY attempted to ſtep briſkly, but failed in the effort. The good Baronet was impatient, and (eager to behold his children) came forward in his boots to meet them.

Oh, THORNTON, what a figure!—how noble! how venerable! how faſhionable! —But, alas! all ſurprizes, even thoſe of the moſt pleaſing kind, are too much for the feeble ſituation of FANNY. Her fa⯑ther ſoon ſaw her confuſion, ſoftened it by a paternal kiſs, and aſſiſted in con⯑ducing her home to her lodgings. In ſomething leſs than an hour, I received the incloſed; which is the luckieſt inci⯑dent in the world to me, and which, by [198] the time this reaches you, I hope to im⯑prove to ſome purpoſe.

HARRIET HOMESPUN is fonder of me, and better bred to HORACE, than ever. She has a wonderful aptitude to learn, and will in time be, no doubt, a female STANHOPE. What a lucky thing it is for us, that HORACE hath ſo great an appetite for a long walk by himſelf after dinner! and how infinitely is he, and in⯑deed ought he to be, obliged to me, for adminiſtering ſo much conſolation to his wife in his abſence!

Surely, THORNTON, there is nothing ſo grateful as ſerving a friend.

LETTER LIV. Sir HENRY DELMORE to PHILIP SED⯑LEY, Eſq (Incloſed in the above.)

I AM made truly happy, at leaſt as much ſo as the preſent ſituation of my family will admit, to hear that I am again likely to be honoured by the company of a gentleman, to whoſe ſociety I am al⯑ready indebted for ſo much pleaſure. It is no ſmall addition, Sir, to this pleaſing expectation, to find that the many friend⯑ly enquiries that have from time to time [200] been made, concerning the health of my poor FANNY, proceeded from the very man to whom the father of that beauti⯑ful invalid owed ſo many agreeable hours at SCARBOROUGH.

But how ceremonious was it, Mr. SED⯑LEY, that you ſhould all this while have eſtranged yourſelf, and appeared only in the light of a perſon intereſted in the fate of the ſick, but not allied to the parent of that dear unfortunate, by any cloſer or warmer reciprocations of a for⯑mer friendſhip?

I know, for my part, of but one way to excuſe this punctilious behaviour, and that is, your embracing the firſt hour of your leiſure to join your hand with that of, Sir,

LETTER LV. The Reverend HORACE HOMESPUN to Doctor DIGGORY.

WHAT can poſſibly be the rea⯑ſon of your ſo long ſilence? I now want your advice on a momentous ſubject.

The time of my ſojourning at this watering-place is expired, my curacy can no longer be deſerted, and I muſt return to it at all events on Saturday, or the duty of the Sabbath muſt be neglected.

Notwithſtanding this, Mrs. HOMESPUN [202] again complains of her ancle, and ſays the anguiſh of it is now got higher than her knee; and ſhe is, therefore, reſolved to undergo the operation of pumping up⯑on the part affected, by which means I ſhall be obliged to leave her behind, or elſe bring her away much againſt her own choice; which, notwithſtanding my want of faith as to the knee and ancle, I do not think myſelf entitled to do, ſeeing that ſhe hath demeaned herſelf moſt cor⯑dially. The fact is, ſhe is quite in love with the frivolous pleaſures of this puerile place, in which, were it not for the in⯑ſtructive and entertaining converſations of my friend SEDLEY, I ſhould not be able to ſupport its cuſtoms. As my wife, how⯑ever, ſeems reſolved, I have thought of an expedient to ſupply my abſence for a few days longer. HARRIET hath a friend in our neighbourhood—a Mrs. LA MOTTE—who is a very diſcreet, ſenſible, [203] and judicious widow-woman, and who, I am perſuaded, will not only do me the ſervice of paſſing a few days at the bath, but likewiſe urge all the arguments of which ſhe is miſtreſs, to wean the affec⯑tions of her friend from this circle of va⯑nity, and reduce her once more to the ſtandard of common-ſenſe, and the ſerene pleaſures of a country-village.

I want your council, my dear DOCTOR, on the following ſubject. Mr. SEDLEY has applied in my favour to the Biſhop of —, reſpecting the living of —, which is worth near 200l. per annum. Mr. SEDLEY is in hourly expectation of a reply to this, and I am already ſo over⯑whelmed with the kindneſſes of this wor⯑thy gentleman, (who hath done them in a manner peculiar to his character,) that I am in doubt whether I ought to in⯑creaſe a debt it will be ever beyond my [204] ability to diſcharge. HARRIET'S little for⯑tunes, united to the profits of my curacy, are ſufficient to the purpoſes of a con⯑tented mind. My parſonage, you know, DOCTOR, is in the very boſom of a beau⯑tiful wood, through which I have been accuſtomed to ramble with a ſocial claſ⯑ſic in my hand; my pariſhioners love me; the little garden is of my own cultiva⯑tion; I turned the arch, and twiſted the woodbines around my bower with my own fingers; the birds are protected, and neſt with me in perfect ſecurity; and if I could but once make HARRIET in love with it again, I believe I ſhould not quit it without a ſigh. But one circumſtance weighs with me. I have the dear proſ⯑pect of a ſucceſſor: to it I owe an in⯑tereſt I ſhould not feel for myſelf. HAR⯑RIET is very far advanced in her preg⯑nancy. A child, my dear friend, enlarges the wiſhes of a father: a tear is ready to [205] fall on my letter, as I think upon the in⯑creaſe of my family. To his offspring a man owes every thing. Tell me then, dear DIGGORY, what I muſt do.

LETTER LVI. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

THE plot begins to thicken, and the cataſtrophe only demands good con⯑trivance to be made delightful. HORACE HOMESPUN goes away from the bath to⯑day, in order to mount the roſtrum, and preach up the good old cauſe to-morrow; HARRIET will be all this evening with me alone, left wholly to my kindneſs; and, to crown the whole, the ſcheme is at laſt laid to bring the haughty-hearted LA MOTTE within the reach, of my machina⯑tions. If there needs any further addi⯑tion to theſe felicities, know, THORNTON, that I am hand and glove with Sir HEN⯑RY DELMORE, and hand and heart, I [207] ſhall ſoon be, with FANNY MORTIMER; the enchanting DELIA looks not with eye inverted, and MORTIMER himſelf hath made advances to intimacy. Under theſe circumſtances thou wilt not expect that I can attend to thy long epiſtolary ſermon, which I herewith re-incloſe thee for a pre⯑ſent to the parſon of thy pariſh, againſt the death of Mrs. ARABELLA, thy gran⯑dam, when it will afford many admirable hints for the funeral oration of that pious and puritanical old lady.

Whenever thou ſendeſt ſuch a ſtring of common-place proverbs, depend upon re⯑ceiving them again, and always with the charge of double poſtage. So take the hint, and thank me for the warning.

LETTER LVII. Miſs DELIA DELMORE, to Lady LUCY SAXBY.

WHAT an additional degree of happineſs do I feel, ſince I laſt wrote to my beloved Lady LUCY? My father is arrived, my ſiſter is recovering, and we are become acquainted with a man whoſe company is at once pleaſing, inſtructive, and various. The very gentleman, my dear LUCY, who hath ſo frequently ſent his polite cards of enquiry concern⯑ing FANNY, proves to be a man of birth, rank, and character, and well-known both to Sir HENRY, and Mr. MORTIMER, when they were laſt ſeaſon at the bath of SCARBOROUGH. He is [209] the moſt well-bred and complaiſant cha⯑racter in the world, and has, at the firſt interview, all the eaſe, firmneſs, and un⯑embarraſſed air of an old acquaintance. The aſſured, yet modeſt manner with which he preſents himſelf to a company, ſhews plainly that he has been long accuſtomed to faſhionable ſocieties, and would charm you. If FANNY continues to recover, we ſhall be once more a joyful family—my mother is alſo down with us.

We have taken part of a very elegant houſe, only a ſhort ride from the com⯑pany, about three miles diſtant from BUX⯑TON, and it ſtands upon a ſpot infinitely leſs bleak and barren than the uncom⯑fortable-looking mountains that ſurround the bath. I received the welcome epiſtle, dear LUCY, in which you enjoin me to fill up the interval of abſence, in a cor⯑reſpondence of wiſdom, wit, ſentiment, [210] and affection: but does not my fair friend forget that the requiſites to form and to continue ſuch an intercourſe, are not at the command of every ſcribbler, though the partiality of Nature, and the poliſh of high-breeding, may confer them on her⯑ſelf? However, ſince you are ſo earneſt with me, I will pour out my ſoul imper⯑fectly upon paper, and though I may be wanting in point of elegance, or accuracy, the deficiencies will be compenſated by a frankneſs of mind, and an undiſguiſe of ſentiment, that will pay a better compli⯑ment to my LUCY'S candour, than all that could poſſibly be beſtowed by the flowers of rhetoric, or colourings of the imagination.

I the more readily yield to your urgen⯑cies, my LUCY, as my pen, at this pe⯑riod, can only be the intelligencer of a felicity at once virtuous and endearing.

[211]It is ſaid, indeed, that mankind have al⯑ways ſome fantaſtical and viſionary ſcheme in view. I declare to you, Lady SAXBY, that the perfect reſtoration of FANNY'S health is the only drop that could now be added to the cup of our domeſtic joy. Judge yourſelf! for the viſible alteration of Mrs. MORTIMER for the better, hath put me into ſuch ſpirits, that I cannot re⯑ſtrain my gratitude to the dear perſonages by which thoſe ſpirits are inſpired. Take then, my beloved LUCY, the ſketch of a family-picture, drawn (and yet not par⯑tially) by the pencil of a relation.

The firſt, and principal figure in this group is, a father, whoſe mind is the repoſitory of every virtue—a repoſitory in which he has been, from hour to hour, in the career of almoſt threeſcore years, laying up ſomething valuable, till he hath at length ſtored it with every excellence; [212] with all, LUCY, that can give worth to the huſband, ſoftneſs to the parent, ſoli⯑dity to the friend, benevolence to the neighbour, and humanity to the man: to which is added, a univerſal attention to the wants, and complaints, the fortunes, and morals of that prodigious body of men to which he is related only by ſame⯑neſs of ſpecies, and the conſcious ties of the chriſtian and fellow-creature.

The ſecond leading object in the piece is a mother, the model of her huſband; and differing only, by adapting the man⯑ly virtues to a delicacy more conſiſtent with the refinement and gentleneſs of the female character, and nature.

The third figure, to which I would di⯑rect your obſervation, is, the ſtill lovely FANNY MORTIMER,—a woman whom even the depredations of four lingering [213] months, paſſed in the languors of ſick⯑neſs, have not rendered unattracting. To a ſpirit at once wiſe and worthy, ſhe ſu⯑peradds the fineſt politeneſs, gentleneſs uncommon, and meekneſs peculiar to her: and to theſe, again, are joined a taſte ele⯑gant and ſimple—an underſtanding en⯑larged and cultivated,—and a face, in de⯑fiance of diſtemper, in which Heaven ſeems to have painted an attribute in every fea⯑ture: her eye ſparkles benignity, her lips are the temples of truth, her cheeks are the emblems of modeſty veiled in roſes, and her hands were formed by the Graces to the beſt of purpoſes—to charm, by their liberality, the wretched into peace, and to be (conſiſtently with their colour) the pure and beautiful ſtewards of a heart tender as a turtle's, yet ſolid as a ſage's.

The huſband of this enchanting crea⯑ture, is the brother of Lady SAXBY, the [214] very counter-part of his ſiſter, and the very youth whom Sir HENRY DELMORE adopted as the child of his affection, un⯑dertook for ſeveral years the direction of his education, ſupplied the loſs of a fa⯑ther, trained him up for his own, and at laſt gave him, all-accompliſhed, to the only woman that could deſerve him—his daughter. His character is recorded in moſt of the European courts; and it is but a mere reverberation of a familiar echo for me to ſay, that he has been every where diſtinguiſhed, for bravery without raſhneſs, honour without anceſtral pride, elegance without vanity, affection with⯑out intereſtedneſs, and generoſity without oſtentation.

Such, LUCY, are the outlines of a pic⯑ture now under the eye of your friend. Your abſence, however, and FANNY'S un⯑certain ſtate of health, are the two dark [215] clouds that overcaſt my otherwiſe radiant horizon.

In ſome meaſure, however, to atone for theſe indiſpenſible drawbacks, I can now promiſe an often-repeated intercourſe, in which, through the kind medium of the poſt, our pleaſures, with thoſe of our fa⯑milies, ſhall be reciprocated—But—in the the name of extravagance, where am I rambling—and what a metaphorical rhap⯑ſody am I going to ſend? Let me haſten then to aſſure you, that in all diſpoſitions of mind, I am, with a tenderneſs pecu⯑liar to the truth of my attachment,

LETTER LVIII. SEDLEY to THORNTON.

THE Fates, ſurely, are buſied in contriving matters preciſely as I would have them.

The DELMORE'S are removed to a villa at ſome diſtance from BUXTON, by which means I ſhall be able to prevent oppoſite intereſts from claſhing with each other.—I prithee, THORNTON, mark my policy, to which I have, even at the age of thirty, ſacrificed my paſſion. Knowing the little ſcandals and fugitive whiſpers of a water⯑ing-place, I practiſed upon myſelf the STANHOPEAN ſelf-denial, and have not been a ſingle minute alone with HAR⯑RIET [217] ſince the departure of HORACE. I contrive to call in, either the loquacious landlord, or chattering landlady, and only converſed, in their own way, upon topics too trivial to ſend thee one hundred and ſixty miles; but which anſwered very well my purpoſe: for, ſtrange as it may ſeem to thee, I hold it not good policy, or right reaſon, to have a tete-a-tete with a wife, when her huſband is known to have left the town; nor am I very well pleaſed with the incautious HARRIET, for ſuffering her⯑ſelf to be deſerted, and expoſed to the re⯑port, and murder of the moment; for in theſe places, where detraction is a neceſſary filler-up of the vacuum, ‘At ev'ry word a reputation dies.’ And I would not be thought a libertine, either in thought, word, or deed, for the univerſe. 'Tis expreſſly, and flagrantly, [218] againſt my ſyſtem, which, thou knoweſt, places the very perfection of human na⯑ture, and the height of human abilities, in "being upon our own guard, and yet, by a ſeeming natural openneſs, to put peo⯑ple off theirs."

Now, in caſes of amour, it is, in con⯑formity to this principle, abſolutely neceſ⯑ſary, that a huſband ſhould be upon the premiſes, though not upon the ſpot; otherwiſe there is no poſſibility of avoiding myſtery; and myſtery occaſions ſuſpicion, and ſuſpicion opens a door to detection, and detection ruins me for ever. The or⯑dinary rake, thou knoweſt, piques himſelf upon this, nay, circulates it at the expence of his truth:

[219] But the pupils of CHESTERFIELD are not ſuch "rude, vain-glorious boaſters." They are to preſerve their moral ſanctity, even in the midſt of (what gownſmen call) vio⯑lation, not only of good report, but, like the purity of Caeſar's wife, unſuſpected.

Oh! may this ingenuity and well-acted diſſimulation ever keep me from being blown upon; and, to this end, may I ne⯑ver withdraw the dear veil that keeps me apparently pure, one moment from my heart! May I ever poſſeſs the ingenuous exterior, with the reſerved interior; may I never reject, as troubleſome, or uſeleſs, the maſtery of my temper; and, above all other things, may I always poſſeſs my⯑ſelf enough to hear, and ſee, every thing, without any viſible change of countenance! May no man living ever be able to decy⯑pher the ſecret of my heart; and yet, may [220] I keep the key of every other heart in the univerſe: and, to conclude my prayer, let Hypocriſy place before me her ſhield, under which I may fight my fooliſh anta⯑goniſt, for ever guarded, and for ever victorious!

And indeed, THORNTON, I perceive, the adroiteſt practice of theſe ſeveral points, ſuggeſted by the matchleſs DORMER, will be ſhortly neceſſary, for never did I enter ſo ſagacious, or ſo uniformly amiable a family as that of the DELMORES.

The principal of it (Sir HENRY) is ſo acute, ſo adorned, ſo read, ſo experienced, that he muſt, I perceive, be deceived with a delicacy even beyond the deceptions of Belial: and I wonder I did not lay my⯑ſelf open to diſcovery when at SCARBO⯑ROUGH, at a time that I was a novice in [221] the ways of STANHOPE, and could not be ſuppoſed to copy him, liberally. But, my good genius preſerved me, and I engaged the hand of the father, and ſtruck hard upon the tender heart of his daughter.

Then there's a formidable huſband in my way—no HORACE HOMESPUN—but a man of travel, experience, taſte—A ſe⯑cond ſiſter, too—the lively DELIA—a wit, a correſponder, a perfect pen-woman; and, to cloſe the liſt, a venerable matron— wiſe—virtuous—penetrating—the lady pre⯑ſident of this bewitching aſſociation.

What of that? If they are not verſed (as I believe they are not) in my maxims, I may be a match for all of them: paſs like a meteor through this difficult hemi⯑ſphere—kindle as I go—and dread no ra⯑diant competitor.

[222]As to HARRIET—the affair is over: nothing is left even for the exerciſe of my talents: the precept by which I obtained her, has been ſucceſsful in practice: all that remains, is ITERATION. Her fond⯑neſs grows luxuriant, and ſhe may betray me. To confeſs the truth, THORNTON— I am indifferent to her, and I wiſh HO⯑RACE had her, locked in his arms to eter⯑nity, with all my ſoul.

At all events, ſhe muſt not entertain ſuch ardent expectations—for—I am ſum⯑moned elſewhere—a ſcene of greater diffi⯑culty, greater delicacy, and greater de⯑light, expands itſelf before me—the half-conquered—half-expiring FANNY MORTI⯑MER, who muſt not deſcend unenjoyed by SEDLEY to the earth—The worm, THORN⯑TON, muſt not be ſuffered to riot on her beauties: 'twould be a pity—a profana⯑tion! [223] The exquiſite and vivacious DE⯑LIA, alſo, attracts my notice. I am called to the combat, and I muſt exert every nerve to triumph in the combat, of which the laurels will be trebly precious, ſince I perceive they muſt be earned with all the artillery of manner, addreſs, and aſſu⯑rance.

In purſuance of theſe objects, I ſhall probably be often animated into the wiſh of enjoyments, that, it may be impolitic, to puſh too far, till every thing is ripe for the coup de grace.

In ſuch exigences, it is difficult to keep the rein in my hand: the warmth of imagination, and an acquaintance with objects, and ſituations, calculated to fire it, ſeem inconſiſtent with the neceſſary coolneſs, and command of my temper. [224] To provide, therefore, againſt theſe mo⯑ments of ardour, I ſhall, if LA MOTTE comes down, retain the enamoured HAR⯑RIET in my train, as the agreeable re⯑ſource from the agitations in which it is likely I ſhall be thrown by the charms, delays, or impediments, of the DELMORES. Poſſibly, too, ſomething may fall out to reduce LA MOTTE, which, be her perſo⯑nal endowments what they may, is de⯑ſirable; becauſe ſhe is prepared to ſuſpect my principles, and therefore will engage my more ſerious attention, till ſhe ſhall have little reaſon to ridicule or laugh at her friend.

But, on the other hand, if this LA MOTTE does not move at the injunction of HORACE, nor at the pretended peni⯑tence of the letter-loving HARRIET, and, by theſe means, HARRIET ſhould be left [225] to herſelf, ſhe muſt abſolutely return to the boſom of the poor pedant, and I will aſſuredly ſacrifice the poſſeſſion of her per⯑ſon to the unblemiſhed ſecurity of my cha⯑racter, which, I am aware, muſt inevi⯑tably ſuffer by being avowedly the Ciciſbeo of a wife little diſtinguiſhed amongſt the bathers and water-bibbers of faſhion.

If, indeed, ſhe had been bleſſed with a ſallow damſel for a ſiſter, or a prudent gentlewoman for her aunt, it might have been another matter: but I again repeat it to you, that, in a place like this, in this ſneaking, inquiſitive country of Bri⯑tain, it is, to all intents and purpoſes, re⯑quiſite, for the ſecurity of my ſyſtem, that there ſhould be ſome third perſon in a family, by way of ſcreen; and rather than have our miſtreſſes alone, that is, unprotected by ſome oſtenſible he, or ſhe, [226] that is anſwerable for them in the pariſh where they viſit, or where they reſide, it is better for our plan of action, that we are ſheltered under the withered wing of a maiden couſin of a century's ſtanding, or even of the great-grandmother herſelf.

And now, THORNTON, for a word or two on thy own affairs. If thou haſt not, by this time, ſurmounted the ticklings of thy conſcience, and taken poſſeſſion of that tender tenement, which thy friend the Lieutenant left to thee, thou deſerveſt to be for ever diſcarded.

What! Haſt thou an angel in "earth's mould?" Is ſhe in a wilderneſs of ſweets? Art thou invited by a bed of roſes? Art thou neither in fear of being blaſted by detection, nor of incurring the prattle of a ſingle goſſip of either ſex, (ſeeing that [227] thou art in a retirement perfectly ſhaded by a ſhrubbery of perfumes, and apart from a ſecond houſe), and Is the good man of the houſe gone a long journey into a far country?—Is all this in the way of propitiating thy advances, maſked, as I preſume they would be, in the fine veil of modeſty, manner, and firmneſs, each (like co-partners, whoſe intereſt it is to promote common-right in the ſame buſineſs) aſſiſt⯑ing the other? and Doſt thou, after all, boggle at a ſhadow—a maukin—at con⯑ſcience?

Admitting even all thy wiſhes crowned with ſucceſs—where's the miſchief? Thou doſt not deſpoil her: the Lieutenant is ig⯑norant of what is granted, as of what was never attempted. The STANHOPE ſcheme of fruition ſuffers us not to do any real injury to individuals ſingly, or to the com⯑munity [228] collectively; we are neither to be⯑tray the wife, nor to call the huſband the cuckold we have had the honour to make him, nor to breathe an accent that may lead to the remoteſt ſuſpicion. In ſome caſes, THORNTON, this ſyſtem is of the utmoſt ſervice (under the STANHOPEAN reſtrictions, I mean) both to our King, and country.

How many puny ſtriplings are there who cannot do the common rights of nuptial juſtice to the unhappy creatures that either intereſt, or folly, has chained them to for life? In that inſtance, it is ours to beſtow as a favour, what the huſbands cannot diſcharge as a duty.

On the other hand, how many miſerable pairs are there, ſighing for an heir to an unweildy eſtate, which muſt, in default of [229] iſſue, devolve to the next fool or driveller in deſcent? There again we are patriots of the firſt order: Do we not provide a ſucceſſor, and create a being to inherit all the luxuries of life?

Nay, even ſuppoſing the huſband en⯑abled to provide for himſelf: while our ſyſtem dictates ſo inviolable a ſecrecy, while the joys of it are not invaded by diſtemper (and they can never be granted without the prior conſent of the wife— and ſuch conſent implies that ſuch variety is neceſſary to her happineſs)—no injury can, in effect, be incurred. His own off⯑ſpring we cannot deſtroy; and ours will be conſidered as legitimate, and not be expoſed, like the by-blows of the rake, to the ſcorn, deſertion, and ill-fortunes of baſtardy. So that, view the ſyſtem of CHESTERFIELD on which ſide ſoever you [230] will, it is a ſyſtem of policy, prudence, pleaſure, good-fellowſhip, and right reaſon.

Great length of paper, and much time, have I ſtolen from more agreeable pur⯑ſuits, to illuſtrate this to thee: and if it move thee not, thou art altogether impe⯑netrable, and not deſerving ſo ſublime a friend as the immaculate