heard people say they do so from habit, without sensibility, or sensation. Time and use may possibly work such an effect, but this habit must certainly have its rise, either from sickness, or sorrow. Perhaps lady Harriet may be in love If unhappily so, how truly to be pitied;
IT is impossible I should yet be able to give you any idea of this fine old seat, nor do I think I shall ever attempt it. I had much rather you should see than read its beauties. I hate flourishing descriptions. Modern writers over-dress nature, as ill judging women do themselves. They give her parterres for patches, hanging woods for lappets, and embroider her beautiful green gown, with all the colours of the rainbow. I flatter myself that your taste (for it is elegant) will approve whatever my lord has planned; and I shall not insist much on your admiring the works of his ancestors. The closet in which I am now writing is charmingly situated. It commands—but after what I have just said, let me command my pen.
MY lord, ever kind and attentive to me, wrote to his sister, Lady Lawson, who lives eight miles off, to defer her visit, till this day, as it was probable I might have been fatigued with my

journey. He speaks with such extreme tenderness of this lady, that I begin to love her, already, by anticipation.
BUT hark, her carriage rolls into the court. yard, and my heart steps forth to meet her; but returns again to assure my dear Fanny, that I am
her truly affectionate sister, E. WOODVILLE


MAY my dearest Emily ever continue an exception to those opinions, which notwithstanding her present felicity, have too surely their foundation in this world's experience. The bitter ingredients of life, are, however, more sparingly scattered in the potions of some, than others; and I believe there may be many who have passed through life, without feeling one natural misfortune.—But then, these favourites of heaven, unworthy of its bounty, are apt to create afflictions for themselves, and mourn over ideal for want of real distress.
THIS is a failing I am not at all apprehensive of your falling into, at least for some years to come; but as I have ever acted as a mother to my dearest Emily, or at least, endeavoured, as far as it was possible for me, to supply that loss to her infant years, let me now, with the same maternal tenderness, warn her against the contrary extreme, that of being too