 pounds a year to Mrs. Williams, for now she is entitled to that name, according to all the forms of law.—He has left an hundred guineas to be laid out in a ring for Miss Harrison, on which is to be enamelled the word Beware—and has appointed me his residuary legatee.
I staid by him the whole day and night, and about four o'clock this morning he expired.—I will not pain you or myself with a description of his melancholy exit.—I do not think his widow will survive him long.—Tho' he has acquitted me in the fullest and handsomest manner of his death, I am advised

to take my trial at the ensuing assizes, as the lawyers here inform me that if I avoid doing so, I shall always be liable to a prosecution, which may, at some time or other, be commenced against me from malice.—I must desire you will consult the ablest lawyers in London upon this occasion, and let me have their opinions.—My mind is oppressed with an uncommon gloom—death is a tremendous subject of contemplation, when we view it near—seen in perspective only, we cast a transient glance, and turn our eyes away.—Perhaps it would disrobe the spectre of his terrors, were we to look more frequently and steadily upon it.
But these reflections are out of season to a joyful heart; long may it be before one pang of sorrow shall find

entrance there! May Lucy soon increase your happiness, by sharing it, and may it remain as uninterrupted as the sincere friendship of
C. EVELYN.


LADY DESMOND, TO CHARLES EVELYN.
MY dearest Charles, I have read in some good author, that generosity and gratitude are twins, who have never been separated, but always subsist in the same heart.—In yours, then, my brother, you will find the sentiments of mine; sentiments which can only be felt, but never expressed: or

if they could, the sensation would still remain as unintelligible to the bulk of human-kind as the idea of a sixth sense.
You will perhaps be suprized when I tell you that I have shed more tears this last week, than I have for many months before.
But joy has its tears as well as grief,
And mine were tears of joy.
There would be no enduring the transport of conferring happiness on those we love, without that kind relief.—Surely, my brother, you must have wept yourself when you made Emma happy.
I think myself much obliged to Mr. Sewell for the dispatch he made

from Bath to Delville with your bills. Every thing
