LETTERXXXVII.

LETTERXXXVII.From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.Becomforted, my dear girl. We are trying at the Abbey to forget you, and to be contented withevery-dayblessings. Mr. Hardcastle and Mr. Sedley are now enjoying their holidays. And I hope that Mary’s April face is exchanged for one which their kind greetings will render cheerful. As you may both of you have some compunction hanging about you, for having disturbed the tranquillity of Tarefield, I will inform you, that fortune, liking Sir Murdoch’s holiday face better than that ofMalvolio, which, in the days of my folly, I wickedly gave him, has by one of those freaks so common in her administration, produced a letter, which has dissipated the gloom your absence caused, and he has been laughing with me at the contents. Here followeth a copy for your edification.LETTERXXXVIII.To Lady Maclairn, from Mrs. Serge.Putney, June the 9th.“My dear cousin.”Thisletter will surprise you I dare say; and, it may be, puzzle you, unless you remember your giddy Lydia Hatchway; but old love with me is not forgot, though so many years have passed since we last met. However, I doubt not but as Mrs. Serge, you will still acknowledge your former friend; and trusting to this hope, I sat down to inform you of my intentions to renew the hintercourse so long interrupted by various hevents. The bad state of health of my eldest girl have, for a long time, been a great affliction to Mr. Serge as well as myself. We have tried Bath, and consulted several doctors without gaining any advantage. We are now advised by a very clever young man, whom my Jerry meets frequently at his horacle’s, a Counsellor Steadman’s, to trust to her youth and change of air; and it is determined that this summer shall be given to journeying. Thank God, my Jerry is a hindependent man, having given up business, with a veryheasyfortune, so we have no cares abouthexpences; but we have been for a time quite undetermined in regard to the road we should take. I was for thetowerof Norfolk; but I have been out-voted. My daughter Nora, who has just left her school in —— square, talkes much of the beauties ofVales, and have bought a set of prints to shew us; but I am not willing to leave England, and with a sick person it vould be very improper to go to a place vhere the people do not understand English; so Vales is out of the question. But Nora talks much, at present, of some lakes in your part of the world, which it seems, arewisitedby every person of taste; and although I never heard of them before, I am much inclined to indulge her with a sight of them, as I can, at the same time, gratify my wish of seeing your ladyship. My husband highly approve of this plan; but fear that you will not relish so manyhintruders, even for a night or two; but I tell him I am certain you will welcome us asholdfriends if you can make it convenient to lodge us. We shall travell slow, on account of Caroline and our horses; and rest with you a day or two. You may expect to see us, bag and baggage, about the end of this month; but I shall hope to hear from you before we finally determine on our journey, and in case our wisit suit you, will give you notice of our happroach before you see us. With compliments to Sir Murdoch and Mr. Maclairn,I remainYour affectionate cousin and friend,Lydia Serge.P.S.We shall bring a maid with us. Counsellor Steadman assure my Jerry that you will not find it difficult to provide for our horses. We shall have six with us, besides the servants’, that runhout: my husband is only afraid, that you will think we are taking a freedom that may give not only trouble but offence; but I laugh at his scruples; for you well know, I expect no ceremony, nor practice none with those I love.I have really, my dear Lucy, exerted my utmost skill, in copying Mrs. Serge’s epistleverbatim; but I was never more convinced of the truth contained in the wise man’s observation, “Train up a child in the way he should go,” says the son of Sirach, “and when he is old he will not depart from it.” My fingers and talents have been so long cramped by my first spelling book, that I much doubt whether I have done justice to Mrs. Serge’s orthography; but when she arrives I will study her vocabulary, in order to prove to Mary that she has still to learn a language which she may need without losing sight of British land. With streaming eyes, for laughter has its tears, I “himplored” Lady Maclairn to “hadmit” these guests. She did more than smile; for laughing in her turn, she asked Sir Murdoch whether he was disposed to indulge his daughter with the opportunity of acquiring a language, which, with my gaiety, and its novelty, would render me irresistible. He answered cheerfully that he had only one fear; and that was, lest such an addition to her cares should be fatiguing to herself, and, it might be, unpleasant to Miss Flint. “I have no apprehensions,” replied she mildly: “as to Lucretia’s consent,” her features reassuming their usual pensiveness, and that suspicion succeeding, which it has been yours and Mrs. Allen’s labour to convince me proceeds from timidity and delicate nerves; “I have no doubts of my sister Lucretia’s perfect acquiescence,” added she; “and I confess it would gratify me to acquit myself of a part of that debt of gratitude which I owe to this lady’s aunt, who by her attentions and tender care of me, probably, saved my life: her father and mother also were extremely kind to me when I was with them, and, as was supposed, far gone in a decline.” “Then lose no time, my Harriet,” answered the baronet, “in acquainting her, that we shall receive them as friends; and that we will do all we can do for the accommodation offriends.” She looked pleased, but hesitated. “I have yet one point to settle before I determine,” observed she. “Mr. Serge is a plain honest man; but he is little acquainted with the usages of the world. His wife, I presume, has not gained much improvement of mind since I knew her: although in a prosperous situation of fortune, we may, I think, conclude that her society has not been select. You will find these people quite remote from yourself; they will be troublesome to you, and if my cousin Lydia likes Tarefield, she may delay her visit to the lakes rather longer than you will relish: I am certain they will not amuse you.” Sir Murdoch eagerly set aside this objection. All is nowen trainfor Mrs. Serge’s reception; for Lady Maclairn has sent off her answer, and cordial acceptance of the visit; and preparations are now making for their arrival.In continuation.—For once, at least, in my life I will do justice to Lady Maclairn’s address. She has been to consult me on the means her fertile genius has adopted totrickSir Murdoch into another apartment. Our plot has succeeded, and we are now busy in making such arrangements for him, as will, it is hoped, soon reconcile him to the loss of his detestable grated windows, and which will tend to obliterate from his mind the saddening ideas associated with his prison. This apartment is now to be destined to the strangers’ use, and they will have but one staircase to explore to their several rooms. I have also been prepared to form my estimate of the pleasure I may expect from our visitors. She spoke of Mrs. Serge’s parents. Captain Hatchway was the master of a ship, and his family resided at Y—m—th. His sister, Mrs. Priscilla Hatchway, had been the early friend of Lady Maclairn’s mother, and was her first cousin. “I have not seen Mrs. Serge, for many years,” added her ladyship. “She was then a thoughtless, giddy girl, but perfectly innocent and good natured. When she lost her good father, I have reason to believe she had little whereon to depend for her future maintenance: her mother had no talents for economy, and her daughter’s union with Mr. Serge was a circumstance of great utility to her, as well as of security to her lively and pretty daughter. Mr. Serge was rich when he married, and since that time has been very fortunate, by an accession of wealth which he little expected. He is a worthy honest man; and as she says, ahexcellenthusband, though more than twenty years her senior; but you may imagine that neither his education nor his pursuits in life can have any similarity with Sir Mordoch’s. He has been ‘Mr. Serge the rich taylor’ till within these three or four years, when I heard that he had dropped this designation, for ‘Mr. Serge thecontractor;’ now, it appears, he is ‘Mr. Serge thegentleman;’ and it is only to be feared, that his lady will find more difficulty in sustaining this part, than any which she has hitherto performed. She will have gained little, if the simplicity of her character has been infringed by her commerce with fashion and luxury; for her spirits, when I knew her, were extremely volatile.” I was left: the workmen summoning her ladyship, who is at present very busy in Sir Murdoch’s deserted prison. New hangings, new windows, &c. are to change its aspect. Sir Murdoch, either discomfited by seeing the alterations which have taken place in his fortress, or vexed that his wife has converted her dressing-room to his convenience, has been with me in his turn; and with some signs of spleen, he observed, that Harriet would have matters settled in her own way; for she never regarded what was due to herself. “I could have done very well without my apartment for a week,” added he, “and without dispossessing her of a room she likes; and I suppose these good people will not stay longer than a few days; for I think they will soon be tired of us.” “I hope not,” answered I, “for I expect much amusement from them.” “A few hours will lessen your enjoyment,” replied he gravely, “of any amusement which makes no appeal to your taste and understanding: you will not find in novelty an equivalent for ignorance and vulgarity. As for the husband of our cousin, I am prepared to find in him one of those characters which more peculiarly disgust me; for unless he has more modesty and common sense than the generality of that class of men who are elevated by wealth to stations which neither their birth nor attainments in knowledge can make easy to them, he will soon weary me. I understand he has already dropped thetaylorfor thecontractor; and, without doubt, fancies himself qualified to rank with any of his superiors.” I saw that the blood royal of Malcolm King of Scotland, or at least of the Highlanders, was not exhausted by flowing through the veins of Sir Murdoch and his progenitors for so many centuries. It mounted to his face; and I should have smiled saucily, had I not recollected the pure reservoir it filled in the baronet’s bosom. I can pardon this childish vanity, Lucy, when I see it qualified by an honest pride; and if by a consciousness of the eminence of our ancestors, in the annals of time, which blazon forth their glory and virtue, we be emulated to follow in the same track, it is well. But in Sir Murdoch I regard with lenity even a little pride of heart for theshadowof greatness; any thing which gives to himself-consequence, andself-confidenceis useful to him, as tending to repress the painful recollection of those hours, when by his malady, he was levelled lower than the dust; and under which the boasted prerogatives of man, and all the adventitious circumstances of his place in this world, are sunk in darkness! A little vanity will not hurt my patient; and it is the pleasure of my life here, to see that I can make him laugh at my follies, and forget his own infirmities. Farewell!Yours, faithfully,Rachel Cowley.P. S. The Heartleys, with their beaux left us yesterday. Poor Malcolm wishes the Serges had taken the unknown route to “Vales.” “But man is born to trouble.” He could not leave his father to the burden of Mr. Serge. Heaven preserve you! We are well; and the domestic arrangements necessary for our expected visitors have been useful to Lady Maclairn—She thinks less.LETTERXXXIX.From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.July the 1st.“Tojournalise, to send the whole and full length pictures of the Serges,” such are my Lucy’s commands. “To be faithful in detailing the conversation of Mrs. Serge,”VoilàMary, who adds, that “a new language is so delightful when from her dear Miss Cowley’s mouth or pen!” Next comes Mr. Hardcastle: your father, Lucy, can bribe, can cajole. True to his sex, he still knows the direct road to a woman’s heart. But it may be that you, who are on some points an obstinate unbeliever, may demandproofsof hissavoir fairewith your simple-hearted Rachel. I will transcribe his little andwell-sealednote for your conviction. “My dearchild, I send you a model, by which you are in future to make up your letters for Heathcot. The gentleman, who brought me the dispatches from Lisbon which I now forward to you, has filled my heart with joy and hope.Your brother Horacewas the subject of his conversation for an hour; and we must love him, my child, for he is beloved wherever he is known. When my kind visitor quitted me, I proceeded to examine the parcel he had left; which, from its rotundity, I judged to be a Portugal onion. It remains for you to investigate the truth of my supposition; for on examination, I found only the first “peeling” was destined forHeathcot. You will therefore be graciously disposed to indemnify us for the unequal partition of Horace’s gift; and send us theshreds,trimmings, and even thepack-threadwhich you will glean from the respectable society of Mr. Serge’s family. I love my girl in her sportive humour; and never think of her without losing a portion of my own!”With my heart on my lips, and the Portugal onion in my bosom, can you blame me if I should transgress your law of charity, Lucy? I will be as good as I can; but thus tempted to folly, if I sin thank my betrayer, and do not chide me.Yesterday we were all prepared for our guests’ appearance at the dining hour. I kept my station at the dressing-room window, being too happy to be good company below stairs. Suppose you place yourselves by my side. But no: that idea would have spoiled me for an observer of all beyond the walls of the room whereas I was on thealert. First then, drew up a handsome plain coach, with nothing beyond Mr. Serge’s modest cypher on its highly finished pannels: it was drawn by four beautiful bright bay horses, driven by two postillions in plain dark green livery jackets. This equipage was followed by an elegant and low phaeton; the horses making the set, as I presume, being exactly like the others. Two out-riders, well mounted, completed the cavalcade. So much for theTaylor’s first approach, which wanted only glare and ostentation to rival aNabob’s. Mr. Serge slowly and cautiously alighted, “round as the shield of my fathers.” (Sir Murdoch sees not my profanation of Ossian’s sublimity). He was soberly dressed in a complete suit of dark brown broad-cloth, awig—(you know my veneration for wigs,) which, had it been properly distributed, would have supplied crops for a regiment of spruce journeymen, and brainless coxcombs. A large silk handkerchief tied loosely round his neck; plain and homely features, with a healthy cheek and treble chin. In defiance of all given rules, Mr. Serge’s leg and foot are admirably neat and well formed; and though neither decorated with silk stockings nor fashionable buckles, more than rivalsMr. Snughead’s.His greetings with the baronet were unconstrained and hasty; for he instantly advanced to the phaeton, in which rode the poor Caroline the picture of youth subdued by sickness; and nearly exhausted by fatigue and weak spirits. She called upon me for compassion, and I forgot your orders, whilst contemplating her languid countenance. The father, unmindful of all but her, was preparing to assist her, when Malcolm saying something to her, took her in his arms and carried her into the drawing-room, Mr. Serge following him. Next appeared Mrs. Serge in a light green habit; her fair and round face heightened to the milk-maid’s hue by the closeness of the carriage: a profusion of ringlets, well filled with brown powder, but which had maliciously quitted the station assigned it, and then lodged on all theprominentparts of Mrs. Serge’s person, leaving the golden locks deprived of their glossy brightness, though not their colour: an embroidered waistcoat, lappelled, and more open at the bosom than even fashion of late has sanctioned: this deficiency was supplied by lace and cambrick; gold earrings and necklace, a riding hat and feathers; and in a hand, garnished with rings, and as white as snow, she carried a parasol. Her voice loud; her utterance flippant, and her salutation familiar and loquacious. Next, lightly sprang from the carriage the beautiful Leonora, the youngest daughter, her dark brown locks hanging in disorder over the face of a wood nymph; large and intelligent dark eyes, and a cheek vying in colour with the autumnal peach: the lightness of a sylph and the grace of fashionable ease. The loud laugh which reached me from Mrs. Serge did not prevent me seeingMiss Lydiaemerge from her concealment. She very deliberately gave to Sir Murdoch a little black terrier to hold, and with a piece of cake in her hand, as deliberately secured her footing on terra-firma; but she was slip-shod, and caution was necessary. In size she comes very near to her mother, and she would be as pretty, were she not too pale. The golden locks are with Miss Lydia softened down to flaxen-coloured, which, with very light blue eyes, give an expression of heaviness to her countenance, perfectly conformable to her fat, and square person. Next and last came a smart abigail, and Miss Lydia hastily seizing her arm, followed the steps of Sir Murdoch and the ladies into the house.I remained in my apartment, till summoned by Malcolm to his mother. I learned, that Miss Serge had nearly fainted before she reached the drawing-room, that she had retired to her own room, but was recovered. My introduction to the strangers followed, and I took my seat. The dustiness of the roads, and apologies for Mrs. Serge’s being in such a “pickle,” succeeded to the compliments of my entrance; “but asVilletwas busy about Caroline, she was compelled tohacceptof her ladyship’shindulgence, and remain as she was: but I think, child,” added she, turning to Miss Nora, “you might make yourself a little more tidy; I dare say Miss Cowley would lend youa comb.” My offers of service were prevented by the young lady’s saying pertly, that she trusted also to Lady Maclairn’s good-nature for an excuse, not knowing the secret of beingtiddy, without an entire change of dress. The broad stare at me from time to time, the weary, careless attention to what was addressed to herself, at once spoke thegirl of fashion. I took out my netting box, and the young lady, after curiously examining some books on a side table, withdrew into the bow window and read. Do you wish me to speak as loud and fast as Mrs. Serge? recollect that I have her dialect to acquire, and that I have not a speaking trumpet at command, but I will do my best. To the detail of her daughter’s long illness, who had taken all “manderof shings,” and tried ahoceanof physic, succeeded “hold” stories of her father and mother, in which her filial tenderness unaffectedly appeared, and to which Lady Maclairn gave a lively interest by adding her testimony to their worth. “My dear mother had an excellent constitution, and the best spirits in the world,” observed Mrs. Serge: “evenatershe was avidow, she could tire out two or three partners in a night’s dancing; but, dear soul! she trusted too much to her strength, and refusing to change her clothes after being wet to the skin in awater frolic, she never held up her head.” Tears fell copiously from Mrs. Serge’s eyes in this part of the conversation, but in a few minutes the cloud gave place to a hearty laugh, on recollecting Mr. Flamall’s cheating her with a painted “vindow at the castle atVindsor, sonaturally donethat no soul alive would have taken it for a paintedvone.” Questions and wonderments succeeded, that so handsome a man had not made hisfortinby marrying; she was sure it had been his own fault. Lady Maclairn soon changed this topic by asking her how she liked Bath. “Why on the wholewery vell,” replied she, “but it is not to be compared withLunnun: the rooms are certainlywerygrand, but it ishalwaysthe same thing. I like to see a play, or Sadler’s Wells much better; and as for the Criscent, and the Circus, in somevinds, you would think yourself in Y——th Downs in anorthheaster; but one seeswarmsof fine folks come from the hupper part of the town, to bask in the sun on the South Parade, where we had our lodgings.” Willing to hear the sound of the beauty’s voice, and as willing to spare the further distension of her rosebud mouth, I asked her whether the season for Bath had been full. “Much as usual,” replied she; “there were many people of rank and fashion, but we had few opportunities of meeting with them. Good society depends on a proper introduction.” She threw on her mother a glance, which I could not misunderstand. “As forhintroduction, Nora,” observed the good Mrs. Serge, “I found thatweryheasy; you have only to shew your purse, and you may have a card party when you please. I could have been acquainted with several ladies of quality, if I would have played the new fashioned way at loo, but,” continued she, addressing herself to Lady Maclairn, “I was soon sick ofpamwhen he was ingood company, as they call themselves. I was not cunning enough for your Lady Gudgeons; nor you, child, for her saucy daughters.” Miss Nora had not time to reply to her share of the last observation. The mother continued—“Who do you think I saw at Bath, finer than our princesses? But you will never guess! Don’t you remember the pretty little girl who used to sing to you at my aunt Prissy’s? I mean the Knacker’s daughter. She is now the wife of a very rich man, and is quite the fashion. I took an opportunity of reminding her of old friends and former times; she drew up, forsooth! andwerycoldly observed that I had awerygood memory! She had been so long in the world, that she had forgotten me, till I announced my name. I detest pride, my lady, so I was resolved to be even with her. ‘Dear me!’ said I, ‘I wonder how people can forget early friends. I have often thought of you and the scrape you got into, by breaking three or four “quarrels” in Mrs. Doughty’s parlour window. My dear mother often used to laugh at the fright you were in, when she pacified the old lady, by paying the damage you had done, and saving you from being put in the cellar.’ She looked,” added the speaker, laughing heartily, “as though she would have preferred Mrs. Doughty’s cellar to my conversation. But I have no notion of a little prosperity turning one’s head, ’tis a poor return to make for God’s goodness.”Miss Nora, during this discourse, had relapsed into silence, and was endeavouring to find amusement by poring over some music books she had taken up. “You play, no doubt,” observed I; “and I have a harp, and a good piano-forte in my apartment.” She smiled bewitchingly. “Alittleon both these instruments,” answered she, “but I am out of practice, for I am no Orpheus, and cannot give to stocks and stones the power of feeling the charms of music.” A summons to the dining-room prevented my reply. We there found the gentlemen and Miss Lydia, who, “malgré elle,” soon completed the family party. “How is Miss Serge?” asked Lady Maclairn, in a tone of tenderness so peculiarly her endowment; “I hope she has slept, otherwise I should not be able to pardon myself for not being with her.” “Poor thing!” replied the father, “she was better with me, for she is so flurried, and so fearful of being troublesome here, that it has made her very poorly indeed.” “We will soon make her well, my good sir,” replied the baronet, “if she has no malady more serious than this: my Harriet will soon convince her that she is at home.” “Thank ye, Sir Murdoch,” answered the agitated father. “I have no doubts on the subject, and I told my dear girl I was sure you were not of the number of those who think a sick guest a burden. God forbid it should be so! for such must needs have hard hearts! But Willet tells us,” continued he, addressing his daughter Lydia, “that your sister was frightened, and disturbed last night: why did you not call me up? You know it is what I desire you to do always, when she does not settle.” “Lord, papa!” replied Miss Lydia, “it was nothing but a drunken man in the next chamber who wasobstroperous. I told her twenty times that our door was bolted. He might havefitwith the otherfellertill sunrise, they would not have kept me from sleeping if Caroline had been quiet.” “Mr. Serge has fully accounted for your sister’s indisposition to-day,” observed Lady Maclairn mildly; “you have good health, my dear young lady, and do not know how soon the weak are fluttered; but a night of undisturbed repose will remedy, I trust, this little alarm.” Poor Lydia blushed, but did not answer. “I expect to establish my credit as a Lady Bountiful, before you leave me,” continued Lady Maclairn, with assumed cheerfulness, turning to Mrs. Serge; “I have not forgotten your aunt Priscilla’s recipes, which saved me from a decline, nor the kindness with which she administered them: it would be to me a blessing to imitate her in her tender cares.” Mr. Serge crossed his knife and fork, and fixed his tearful eyes on Lady Maclairn’s face, whilst his lady cordially thanked her, and added, “But you must try also to persuade my husband to think his girl not so bad as he fancies, for he not onlydampher spirits but ours.” “So hedomamma,” said Miss Lydia, breaking through the stupid vacuity of her countenance with a vivacity that surprised me. “Caroline can’t be so veak as papathink, or she could not have gone so much in the phaeton, when she knew I hated to ride ‘stuffed’ up in the coach.” “Hold your tongue, child!” said the father gravely; “you know the phaeton was ordered for your sister’suse, not yourwhims.” She was silenced and looked sullen. Pitying the poor girl at my side, who had shown unequivocal marks offeeling, as well as ofimpatience, I proposed to her to withdraw into my apartment, and Miss Leonora followed me with alacrity. She immediately went to the harp, and with a touch convinced me that she was no mean proficient on the instrument, any more than in singing, though she pleaded being out of practice, since she had left her school. Sir Murdoch, attracted by our voices from the garden, craved admittance for himself and Mr. Serge, pleading that the other ladies had left him to visit the invalid. Mr. Serge with much apparent curiosity examined the room and me by turns; and at length he said, “Pray, young lady, what is the name of the boarding-school where you were trained?” I replied that I had never been in any school, having had the good fortune of living with a lady who instructed me herself. “There is nothing like it,” said he, nodding his head sagaciously. “My Carolinewas educated at home by a good aunt, and though she cannot draw, nor play, as you and Nora do, yet she is a very sensible and good young woman, and I think you will like her.” I told him, I had postponed my own gratification, lest my visit should be troublesome, till she had somewhat recovered from the effects of her journey. “Ah, poor thing!” said he with emotion, “there is the rub! she is too good for this world! But you will say, when you know her, that you never saw a more patient sufferer!”In a word, it appears to me, that poor Mr. Serge can talk of nothing but his daughter: that his lady can do any thing better than command her tongue: that Miss Lydia is an automaton, useful to fetch and carry; and that the beauty is neither in her element here, nor contented any where. So much for my first four-and-twenty hours knowledge of this illustrious family.Good Night!LETTERXL.From the same to the same.I supposeI shall have no intelligence of our friends at Hartley-pool, more direct than what Mary sends me from Heathcot. Malcolm is not in spirits, he confesses that he never had a more difficult lesson to practise, than the one at present assigned him, which is to amuse Mr. Serge at Tarefield, instead of guarding the Hesperian fruit at Heartley-pool. He told me this morning with a very solemn countenance, that he heard Alice’s beauty had gained her the first post of honour, and that she was much admired. I laughed him out of his folly; but it may not be amiss for Mary to give Alice a hint not to looktoo handsomeat Heartley-pool.Miss Serge’s increased indisposition has prevented my visiting her till this morning; Doctor Douglass was consulted, and he has happily succeeded in relieving the pain she suffered. On congratulating her mother, she replied, “to be sure, it is a comfort to see herheasy: but, dear me! the thing is to see it last.” And with this observation she seemed to have dismissed the subject of her daughter’s indisposition, and she talked only of thelakes, and her surprise that she had lived so many years in the world without having heard of them till within a few months.The fond father, in the mean time, now looks up to the doctor with the most sanguine hopes; and is as completely domesticated here as if he had been born at the Hall. Malcolm is the delight of his eyes, and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson are, in his own words, “extraordinary people.” We contrive by their aid to amuse him many hours in the day; and the good baronet has not been interrupted in his pursuits: he appears to enjoy the enlargement of the circle, particularly in the evening. Last night, after supper, Mr. Serge could talk of nothing but his day’s amusement. He had been with his friends and guides to see Wereland Place, a farm in speculation, as you know, for Malcolm. “It is very odd,” observed he, “that when I lived in London and kept tight to theboard, as I may say, I used to think of the pleasure, I should enjoy in the country; but when there, I was always weary of walking about before sunset. Now I think this was because I had nothing to do but to walk about, and that it was idleness, not the country, of which I was tired. Pray how old is Mr. Wilson?” Malcolm thought he was turned of fifty. “Surprising!” observed Mr. Serge; “what a colour, and what activity! There is nothing like the life of a farmer! I have given Mr. Wilson a hint to-day that I should like to purchase something in this neighbourhood. I should not cavil at any price, that would fix me upon you, my young friend, as an apprentice in the farming business. I see clearly that in order to enjoy the country, a man must have country business on his hands: you would, I dare say, help a young beginner to know oats from barley.” He shook Malcolm’s hand with cordiality, and added in a low voice something at which he laughed heartily, and which produced a crimson blush in Malcolm’s face. “How would Mrs. Serge and the young ladies like to give up the fashionable world, for the business of the dairy and the retirement of the country?” asked he. “Dear me!” answered Mrs. Serge, “Ihamso used to Mr. Serge’svaysthat he know I only laugh at hisvims. I am sure he is tired to death at Putney, if he stay with us a week at a time! He would make a fine hand of it, to live in this part of the world, wherevonedo not see a soul by the week together!” “Are there any noblemen’s seats near you, Mr. Maclairn?” asked Miss Leonora, checking her mother’s loquacity. “Not many,” was the answer. “So much the better,” replied Mr. Serge, “I never courted their custom nor their acquaintance: let every man keep his station and place, and ‘cut his coat according to his cloth,’ in more ways than one. I am a man who love proper subordination, though I hate slavery. An army is badly disciplined, in my mind, when the commanding officers are ‘hail fellow well met’ with the privates; and when I see a lord or a duke quit his rank, I understand how matters are going on. I have not lived in the world for nothing.” “Well but, papa,” said the lively Miss Nora, seizing in a moment her father’s allusion, “I suppose there is no sin in a private soldier’s rising in his regiment if he can do so honourably.” “Certainly not, child,” answered Mr. Serge. “Why then do you persist in refusing the borough offered you, and being knighted? Your family might be the better for good connections, sir, and yourself more useful, than in your present private station.” “You talk, Nora, like a girl,” answered the placid father; “but all the world knows, child, though it has not yet reached you, that the borough and the title, might have been purchased by any man as well as your father; I neither liked the price, nor the duty; and I trust, those who had the bargain, will like it better than I did mine for clothing the army,” added he, turning to Sir Murdoch. “It requires a better head than I have,” pursued he, “to make contracts with the present managers. I give you my word they understand very well how to make a good bargain for the public purse; and I found theirshearscut closer thanmine, notwithstanding my experience in the use of them. However, it is all well: I am quit, with knowing I never spoiled a poor fellow’s clothing of a year, for the sake of cabbaging a shilling’s worth of the stuff.” He laughed heartily at this specimen of his wit, and enjoyed ours with delight. These Serges, Lucy: amuse me, they exhibit to me characters, which, if not singular in themselves, are new to me. My standard for human nature, and human conduct, requires some medium: as it stood at Heathcot, it was too much elevated for the multitude; and in my respect for virtue, you have often reproached me, for wanting pity for folly. I am persuaded that you would at present be satisfied with me. I am neither tempted to laugh, nor to yawn, when Mrs. Serge, in all the simplicity of kindness, pities mydull life, and promises me to exact from Sir Murdoch and Lady Maclairn a positive engagement to send me to her in the winter months. “Though Putney is not St. James’s-street,” adds she, “I so manage, that it is always next door to any public amusements I like: and as Leonora will expect to see Lunnun next winter, as a young woman, you may be sure of my not being a ‘house dove.’ To say the truth,” continued she, “I think people gain nothing by giving up the pleasures of youth, supposing always they are innocent. Who would believe Lady Maclairn, for example, was not much more than three years older than I; and when I try to recall her beauty and cheerful temper to my memory as they struck me when I first knew her, I can hardly believe she is the Harriet Flamall every body was in love with. To be sure youthhaveits hour, but cheerfulness will last to all seasons, if people do not starve it out by indolence. However,” added she, “poor Harriethavehad trials I never had; and between ourselves, I have heard my aunt Priscilla say, that she was early in life doomed to sorrow, from the death of a young man she loved.” We have had many such conversations as these in our walks; for I devote my mornings to Lady Maclairn’s service. Mrs. Serge is delighted with Mrs. Wilson, and no less pleased with my friends at the cottages, to whom she has been liberal in her donations. But with all my labours I can perceive that she is heartily tired of being at Tarefield; and yesterday she consulted me very gravely on the propriety of requesting that Caroline might remain at the Hall during her excursion to the lakes. “I have no doubt,” added she with alacrity and contentment, “of Mr. Serge’s preferring to stay with Caroline. Lydia shall remain also, to amuse her; and Mr. Maclairn will not refuse to squire us. The coach will just hold us, and we shall have a charmingfrolic!” For a moment I felt angry, but the innocence of heart, which is the companion of this weak head, softened me. I with all gentleness, therefore, hinted at the appearance of unkindness and indifference which the proposal of itself would convey to the mind of her daughter; and withal asserted, that I knew Mr. Maclairn had engagements, which would prevent his leaving Tarefield for any time. “That is unlucky,” replied she; “and since matters do not favour our scheme it may be as well to say nothing about it. I should have liked to give youa frolic; I am sure you have not too much pleasure here; but trust to me for next winter: you shall see Lunnun, if it cost me a journey for myself to fetch you. I have not forgot my young days yet, nor what young folks like.” I could not be angry, Lucy. Iansweredherintention, and thanked her for her kindness, telling her also very civilly, that I had been frequently months at a time in London during the winter, but that I had never regretted the absence of London amusements at Tarefield. She lifted up her hands and eyes, and said I amazed her. I quitted her during her surprise, saying I was going to sit with Miss Serge an hour.In continuation.—I am just returned from visiting the poor declining Caroline. She is a modest unaffected young woman, and resembles her youngest sister. I think her features are still more regular than hers, and her large black eyes more expressive, from the languor of sickness that softens down their jetty lustre. I fancy too she is naturally fairer than Leonora, at least her paleness indicates a clearer complexion. She is extremely defective in her shape: I do not recollect having seen a person more crooked; and I cannot help thinking the dreadful spasms in her stomach have originated in the distortion of her shape, and from the compression it is doomed to suffer. She was in her easy chair, and the emblem of neatness: the room in exact order, and at her hand a book. I congratulated her on her exemption from pain, and told her that our favourite, Doctor Douglass, was in danger of being spoiled by our gratitude for having relieved her. She meekly bowed, and, thanking me, spoke of Lady Maclairn’s kindness, and the fatigue she had so unfortunately introduced. “I was entirely governed by my wishes to oblige my parents,” added she, “in hazarding a journey; being convinced that I can expect no benefit to accrue to me from leaving Putney. But it amuses my family, and diverts my dear father’s thoughts from an event which he considers with too much tenderness and grief. I am pleased by Doctor Douglass’s frankness,” continued she; “he honestly owns, that he sees no advantage for me in travelling; and he has contrived to convince my friends that I cannot be better thanat home. They do not understand him;but I do, Miss Cowley.” You will suppose my reply. “You read sometimes, I see,” said I, taking up the volume on the table: it was the Economy of Human Life. “My little library contains some authors who will not disgrace yours. I will bring the catalogue.” “Your recommendation of one will suffice,” answered she, pensively smiling, “for I am not able to read much. My father reads frequently to me; and if you will favour me with any periodical work I shall be obliged to you; he is fond of works of that sort.” I promised to send the “Mirror” to her room, she not having read it; and I quitted her in a proper frame of mind to visit Miss Flint. She appears to me to be considerably mended in her health, and she was more cheerful than I have seen her for a long time. I always thought solitude a good remedy for those who could not enjoy society, or rather who spoiled it. She was chatty, and of course I was not ill humoured. She asked me many questions relative to our guests; and particularly whether the “table was abundant and handsome.” “I hope it is so,” added she; “for I was explicit with Harriet on that point. Her friends’ entertainment I shall consider as my concern; under this roof it ought to be so.” “I only wish you could contrive to share in your hospitality below stairs,” observed I, “I am certain it might be effected without pain to you, or trouble to the servants, more than one five minutes would accomplish.” She shook her head, and said she was fearful of breaking into the regimen which the doctor had prescribed, and from which she trusted for some relief; and that since Mrs. Allen had so kindly devoted her time to her, she had all the comfort her situation needed. “However,” added she, “I should be vexed if these good people fancied I shunned them from pride; and I think I am equal to receiving them as tea-visitors; will you propose it to them, when you think the gentlemen will be absent.” “Let it be this evening then,” replied I with gaiety: “you will find that company will not lessen your hopes from an abstemious diet.” She consented, and I left her to announce my commission.In continuation.—Wednesday morning.We assembled yesterday in Miss Flint’s stale apartment: even the poor Caroline was of the party. The firstcoup d’œilconvinced me that Miss Flint had not quite done with this vain world: all was in state; and the heiress of Tarefield, in a fine muslin wrapping gown trimmed with lace, received us with much ceremony, but with no want of kindness. Lady Maclairn officiated at the tea-table; and Mrs. Serge, whose attention had been much engaged with the various decorations of the room, now suddenly surveying the ponderoussilvertea-board and tea-kettle,wondered, according to custom, that her ladyship did not exchange that heavy old fashioned plate for what was tasty and “helegant.” Miss Flint, with a spice of her ancient asperity, observed, that it had been long in the Flint family, and she preferred it to more modern. “I beg your pardon,” replied the unconscious offender, “I did not know it belonged to you, madam; but I cannot unsay what I have said. I know some folks think old-fashioned plate honourable to themselves, as it proves their family’s opulence; but for my part, it is not my notion that honour depend upon any such things. I lately sold a silver bowl which held three gallons, that had been my great-grandfather’s. You Lady Maclairn,” added she, laughing, “being of the Hatchway family: you will, perhaps, blame me; for it was anonourablebowl, as I can affirm. It was a present from the ship’showners, for his fighting with a privateer and sinking her: the whole story was engraved on therim, with the names of the ‘howners,’ and of the ship my great grandfather saved from the enemy.” “I certainly should have preserved it,” replied Lady Maclairn, “as an evidence so honourable to the captain’s bravery, and his employers’ gratitude.” “Dear me!” answered she, “who trouble themselves with things of this sort after they are past away a little while! It was quite useless to me, so I exchanged it for a “hapron” and some egg-cups, with other trifles.” The saucy Leonora laughed immoderately. “You ought to say, my dear madam, anepargne.” Without a muscle of my face being moved, “I beg your pardon,” said I, “but as the word is a French one, a stranger to the language may excuse the liberty of being corrected in the pronouncing it.Epargner, means to save, or to spare, and this elegant ornament for a table is not misnamed; for it is commonly filled with trifles which cost but little to the donor of a feast.” “Thank you, my dear Miss Cowley,” said she, with perfect good humour, “you have taught me what I did not know before; and if Nora had employed her knowledge of the French tongue as well, she would not have disgraced herheducation, by laughing at her mother.” Leonora blushed, and answered that she had called it anepargneconstantly in her hearing, but thought she might be deemedimpertinentto carry her “critique” farther. “Rather say, child,” replied the good-natured mother, “that you did not wish me to understandheparnerwasto save, lest, like your Lady Gudgeon, I should grudge you clean gloves, and fill, as shedo, myheparnerwith wax oranges and apples.” It was now her turn to laugh, and we gave no offence by joining in her mirth. A rubber of “Vhisk” completed the evening; and Miss Flint, graciously thanking her for her company, saw us depart without any signs of being fatigued by her exertions.Next Tuesday we are to go to Durham to pass the day. Mrs. Serge has wisely given up the project of seeing the lakes; and as something must be done to please her, Lady Maclairn has promised to accompany her in this jaunt. If you are not grateful, so much the worse; for not onlytime, but labour is lost toYourRachel Cowley.

LETTERXXXVII.

From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.

Becomforted, my dear girl. We are trying at the Abbey to forget you, and to be contented withevery-dayblessings. Mr. Hardcastle and Mr. Sedley are now enjoying their holidays. And I hope that Mary’s April face is exchanged for one which their kind greetings will render cheerful. As you may both of you have some compunction hanging about you, for having disturbed the tranquillity of Tarefield, I will inform you, that fortune, liking Sir Murdoch’s holiday face better than that ofMalvolio, which, in the days of my folly, I wickedly gave him, has by one of those freaks so common in her administration, produced a letter, which has dissipated the gloom your absence caused, and he has been laughing with me at the contents. Here followeth a copy for your edification.

LETTERXXXVIII.

To Lady Maclairn, from Mrs. Serge.

Putney, June the 9th.“My dear cousin.”Thisletter will surprise you I dare say; and, it may be, puzzle you, unless you remember your giddy Lydia Hatchway; but old love with me is not forgot, though so many years have passed since we last met. However, I doubt not but as Mrs. Serge, you will still acknowledge your former friend; and trusting to this hope, I sat down to inform you of my intentions to renew the hintercourse so long interrupted by various hevents. The bad state of health of my eldest girl have, for a long time, been a great affliction to Mr. Serge as well as myself. We have tried Bath, and consulted several doctors without gaining any advantage. We are now advised by a very clever young man, whom my Jerry meets frequently at his horacle’s, a Counsellor Steadman’s, to trust to her youth and change of air; and it is determined that this summer shall be given to journeying. Thank God, my Jerry is a hindependent man, having given up business, with a veryheasyfortune, so we have no cares abouthexpences; but we have been for a time quite undetermined in regard to the road we should take. I was for thetowerof Norfolk; but I have been out-voted. My daughter Nora, who has just left her school in —— square, talkes much of the beauties ofVales, and have bought a set of prints to shew us; but I am not willing to leave England, and with a sick person it vould be very improper to go to a place vhere the people do not understand English; so Vales is out of the question. But Nora talks much, at present, of some lakes in your part of the world, which it seems, arewisitedby every person of taste; and although I never heard of them before, I am much inclined to indulge her with a sight of them, as I can, at the same time, gratify my wish of seeing your ladyship. My husband highly approve of this plan; but fear that you will not relish so manyhintruders, even for a night or two; but I tell him I am certain you will welcome us asholdfriends if you can make it convenient to lodge us. We shall travell slow, on account of Caroline and our horses; and rest with you a day or two. You may expect to see us, bag and baggage, about the end of this month; but I shall hope to hear from you before we finally determine on our journey, and in case our wisit suit you, will give you notice of our happroach before you see us. With compliments to Sir Murdoch and Mr. Maclairn,I remainYour affectionate cousin and friend,Lydia Serge.P.S.We shall bring a maid with us. Counsellor Steadman assure my Jerry that you will not find it difficult to provide for our horses. We shall have six with us, besides the servants’, that runhout: my husband is only afraid, that you will think we are taking a freedom that may give not only trouble but offence; but I laugh at his scruples; for you well know, I expect no ceremony, nor practice none with those I love.

Putney, June the 9th.

“My dear cousin.”

Thisletter will surprise you I dare say; and, it may be, puzzle you, unless you remember your giddy Lydia Hatchway; but old love with me is not forgot, though so many years have passed since we last met. However, I doubt not but as Mrs. Serge, you will still acknowledge your former friend; and trusting to this hope, I sat down to inform you of my intentions to renew the hintercourse so long interrupted by various hevents. The bad state of health of my eldest girl have, for a long time, been a great affliction to Mr. Serge as well as myself. We have tried Bath, and consulted several doctors without gaining any advantage. We are now advised by a very clever young man, whom my Jerry meets frequently at his horacle’s, a Counsellor Steadman’s, to trust to her youth and change of air; and it is determined that this summer shall be given to journeying. Thank God, my Jerry is a hindependent man, having given up business, with a veryheasyfortune, so we have no cares abouthexpences; but we have been for a time quite undetermined in regard to the road we should take. I was for thetowerof Norfolk; but I have been out-voted. My daughter Nora, who has just left her school in —— square, talkes much of the beauties ofVales, and have bought a set of prints to shew us; but I am not willing to leave England, and with a sick person it vould be very improper to go to a place vhere the people do not understand English; so Vales is out of the question. But Nora talks much, at present, of some lakes in your part of the world, which it seems, arewisitedby every person of taste; and although I never heard of them before, I am much inclined to indulge her with a sight of them, as I can, at the same time, gratify my wish of seeing your ladyship. My husband highly approve of this plan; but fear that you will not relish so manyhintruders, even for a night or two; but I tell him I am certain you will welcome us asholdfriends if you can make it convenient to lodge us. We shall travell slow, on account of Caroline and our horses; and rest with you a day or two. You may expect to see us, bag and baggage, about the end of this month; but I shall hope to hear from you before we finally determine on our journey, and in case our wisit suit you, will give you notice of our happroach before you see us. With compliments to Sir Murdoch and Mr. Maclairn,

I remainYour affectionate cousin and friend,

Lydia Serge.

P.S.We shall bring a maid with us. Counsellor Steadman assure my Jerry that you will not find it difficult to provide for our horses. We shall have six with us, besides the servants’, that runhout: my husband is only afraid, that you will think we are taking a freedom that may give not only trouble but offence; but I laugh at his scruples; for you well know, I expect no ceremony, nor practice none with those I love.

I have really, my dear Lucy, exerted my utmost skill, in copying Mrs. Serge’s epistleverbatim; but I was never more convinced of the truth contained in the wise man’s observation, “Train up a child in the way he should go,” says the son of Sirach, “and when he is old he will not depart from it.” My fingers and talents have been so long cramped by my first spelling book, that I much doubt whether I have done justice to Mrs. Serge’s orthography; but when she arrives I will study her vocabulary, in order to prove to Mary that she has still to learn a language which she may need without losing sight of British land. With streaming eyes, for laughter has its tears, I “himplored” Lady Maclairn to “hadmit” these guests. She did more than smile; for laughing in her turn, she asked Sir Murdoch whether he was disposed to indulge his daughter with the opportunity of acquiring a language, which, with my gaiety, and its novelty, would render me irresistible. He answered cheerfully that he had only one fear; and that was, lest such an addition to her cares should be fatiguing to herself, and, it might be, unpleasant to Miss Flint. “I have no apprehensions,” replied she mildly: “as to Lucretia’s consent,” her features reassuming their usual pensiveness, and that suspicion succeeding, which it has been yours and Mrs. Allen’s labour to convince me proceeds from timidity and delicate nerves; “I have no doubts of my sister Lucretia’s perfect acquiescence,” added she; “and I confess it would gratify me to acquit myself of a part of that debt of gratitude which I owe to this lady’s aunt, who by her attentions and tender care of me, probably, saved my life: her father and mother also were extremely kind to me when I was with them, and, as was supposed, far gone in a decline.” “Then lose no time, my Harriet,” answered the baronet, “in acquainting her, that we shall receive them as friends; and that we will do all we can do for the accommodation offriends.” She looked pleased, but hesitated. “I have yet one point to settle before I determine,” observed she. “Mr. Serge is a plain honest man; but he is little acquainted with the usages of the world. His wife, I presume, has not gained much improvement of mind since I knew her: although in a prosperous situation of fortune, we may, I think, conclude that her society has not been select. You will find these people quite remote from yourself; they will be troublesome to you, and if my cousin Lydia likes Tarefield, she may delay her visit to the lakes rather longer than you will relish: I am certain they will not amuse you.” Sir Murdoch eagerly set aside this objection. All is nowen trainfor Mrs. Serge’s reception; for Lady Maclairn has sent off her answer, and cordial acceptance of the visit; and preparations are now making for their arrival.

In continuation.—For once, at least, in my life I will do justice to Lady Maclairn’s address. She has been to consult me on the means her fertile genius has adopted totrickSir Murdoch into another apartment. Our plot has succeeded, and we are now busy in making such arrangements for him, as will, it is hoped, soon reconcile him to the loss of his detestable grated windows, and which will tend to obliterate from his mind the saddening ideas associated with his prison. This apartment is now to be destined to the strangers’ use, and they will have but one staircase to explore to their several rooms. I have also been prepared to form my estimate of the pleasure I may expect from our visitors. She spoke of Mrs. Serge’s parents. Captain Hatchway was the master of a ship, and his family resided at Y—m—th. His sister, Mrs. Priscilla Hatchway, had been the early friend of Lady Maclairn’s mother, and was her first cousin. “I have not seen Mrs. Serge, for many years,” added her ladyship. “She was then a thoughtless, giddy girl, but perfectly innocent and good natured. When she lost her good father, I have reason to believe she had little whereon to depend for her future maintenance: her mother had no talents for economy, and her daughter’s union with Mr. Serge was a circumstance of great utility to her, as well as of security to her lively and pretty daughter. Mr. Serge was rich when he married, and since that time has been very fortunate, by an accession of wealth which he little expected. He is a worthy honest man; and as she says, ahexcellenthusband, though more than twenty years her senior; but you may imagine that neither his education nor his pursuits in life can have any similarity with Sir Mordoch’s. He has been ‘Mr. Serge the rich taylor’ till within these three or four years, when I heard that he had dropped this designation, for ‘Mr. Serge thecontractor;’ now, it appears, he is ‘Mr. Serge thegentleman;’ and it is only to be feared, that his lady will find more difficulty in sustaining this part, than any which she has hitherto performed. She will have gained little, if the simplicity of her character has been infringed by her commerce with fashion and luxury; for her spirits, when I knew her, were extremely volatile.” I was left: the workmen summoning her ladyship, who is at present very busy in Sir Murdoch’s deserted prison. New hangings, new windows, &c. are to change its aspect. Sir Murdoch, either discomfited by seeing the alterations which have taken place in his fortress, or vexed that his wife has converted her dressing-room to his convenience, has been with me in his turn; and with some signs of spleen, he observed, that Harriet would have matters settled in her own way; for she never regarded what was due to herself. “I could have done very well without my apartment for a week,” added he, “and without dispossessing her of a room she likes; and I suppose these good people will not stay longer than a few days; for I think they will soon be tired of us.” “I hope not,” answered I, “for I expect much amusement from them.” “A few hours will lessen your enjoyment,” replied he gravely, “of any amusement which makes no appeal to your taste and understanding: you will not find in novelty an equivalent for ignorance and vulgarity. As for the husband of our cousin, I am prepared to find in him one of those characters which more peculiarly disgust me; for unless he has more modesty and common sense than the generality of that class of men who are elevated by wealth to stations which neither their birth nor attainments in knowledge can make easy to them, he will soon weary me. I understand he has already dropped thetaylorfor thecontractor; and, without doubt, fancies himself qualified to rank with any of his superiors.” I saw that the blood royal of Malcolm King of Scotland, or at least of the Highlanders, was not exhausted by flowing through the veins of Sir Murdoch and his progenitors for so many centuries. It mounted to his face; and I should have smiled saucily, had I not recollected the pure reservoir it filled in the baronet’s bosom. I can pardon this childish vanity, Lucy, when I see it qualified by an honest pride; and if by a consciousness of the eminence of our ancestors, in the annals of time, which blazon forth their glory and virtue, we be emulated to follow in the same track, it is well. But in Sir Murdoch I regard with lenity even a little pride of heart for theshadowof greatness; any thing which gives to himself-consequence, andself-confidenceis useful to him, as tending to repress the painful recollection of those hours, when by his malady, he was levelled lower than the dust; and under which the boasted prerogatives of man, and all the adventitious circumstances of his place in this world, are sunk in darkness! A little vanity will not hurt my patient; and it is the pleasure of my life here, to see that I can make him laugh at my follies, and forget his own infirmities. Farewell!

Yours, faithfully,

Rachel Cowley.

P. S. The Heartleys, with their beaux left us yesterday. Poor Malcolm wishes the Serges had taken the unknown route to “Vales.” “But man is born to trouble.” He could not leave his father to the burden of Mr. Serge. Heaven preserve you! We are well; and the domestic arrangements necessary for our expected visitors have been useful to Lady Maclairn—She thinks less.

LETTERXXXIX.

From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.

July the 1st.

“Tojournalise, to send the whole and full length pictures of the Serges,” such are my Lucy’s commands. “To be faithful in detailing the conversation of Mrs. Serge,”VoilàMary, who adds, that “a new language is so delightful when from her dear Miss Cowley’s mouth or pen!” Next comes Mr. Hardcastle: your father, Lucy, can bribe, can cajole. True to his sex, he still knows the direct road to a woman’s heart. But it may be that you, who are on some points an obstinate unbeliever, may demandproofsof hissavoir fairewith your simple-hearted Rachel. I will transcribe his little andwell-sealednote for your conviction. “My dearchild, I send you a model, by which you are in future to make up your letters for Heathcot. The gentleman, who brought me the dispatches from Lisbon which I now forward to you, has filled my heart with joy and hope.Your brother Horacewas the subject of his conversation for an hour; and we must love him, my child, for he is beloved wherever he is known. When my kind visitor quitted me, I proceeded to examine the parcel he had left; which, from its rotundity, I judged to be a Portugal onion. It remains for you to investigate the truth of my supposition; for on examination, I found only the first “peeling” was destined forHeathcot. You will therefore be graciously disposed to indemnify us for the unequal partition of Horace’s gift; and send us theshreds,trimmings, and even thepack-threadwhich you will glean from the respectable society of Mr. Serge’s family. I love my girl in her sportive humour; and never think of her without losing a portion of my own!”

With my heart on my lips, and the Portugal onion in my bosom, can you blame me if I should transgress your law of charity, Lucy? I will be as good as I can; but thus tempted to folly, if I sin thank my betrayer, and do not chide me.

Yesterday we were all prepared for our guests’ appearance at the dining hour. I kept my station at the dressing-room window, being too happy to be good company below stairs. Suppose you place yourselves by my side. But no: that idea would have spoiled me for an observer of all beyond the walls of the room whereas I was on thealert. First then, drew up a handsome plain coach, with nothing beyond Mr. Serge’s modest cypher on its highly finished pannels: it was drawn by four beautiful bright bay horses, driven by two postillions in plain dark green livery jackets. This equipage was followed by an elegant and low phaeton; the horses making the set, as I presume, being exactly like the others. Two out-riders, well mounted, completed the cavalcade. So much for theTaylor’s first approach, which wanted only glare and ostentation to rival aNabob’s. Mr. Serge slowly and cautiously alighted, “round as the shield of my fathers.” (Sir Murdoch sees not my profanation of Ossian’s sublimity). He was soberly dressed in a complete suit of dark brown broad-cloth, awig—(you know my veneration for wigs,) which, had it been properly distributed, would have supplied crops for a regiment of spruce journeymen, and brainless coxcombs. A large silk handkerchief tied loosely round his neck; plain and homely features, with a healthy cheek and treble chin. In defiance of all given rules, Mr. Serge’s leg and foot are admirably neat and well formed; and though neither decorated with silk stockings nor fashionable buckles, more than rivalsMr. Snughead’s.

His greetings with the baronet were unconstrained and hasty; for he instantly advanced to the phaeton, in which rode the poor Caroline the picture of youth subdued by sickness; and nearly exhausted by fatigue and weak spirits. She called upon me for compassion, and I forgot your orders, whilst contemplating her languid countenance. The father, unmindful of all but her, was preparing to assist her, when Malcolm saying something to her, took her in his arms and carried her into the drawing-room, Mr. Serge following him. Next appeared Mrs. Serge in a light green habit; her fair and round face heightened to the milk-maid’s hue by the closeness of the carriage: a profusion of ringlets, well filled with brown powder, but which had maliciously quitted the station assigned it, and then lodged on all theprominentparts of Mrs. Serge’s person, leaving the golden locks deprived of their glossy brightness, though not their colour: an embroidered waistcoat, lappelled, and more open at the bosom than even fashion of late has sanctioned: this deficiency was supplied by lace and cambrick; gold earrings and necklace, a riding hat and feathers; and in a hand, garnished with rings, and as white as snow, she carried a parasol. Her voice loud; her utterance flippant, and her salutation familiar and loquacious. Next, lightly sprang from the carriage the beautiful Leonora, the youngest daughter, her dark brown locks hanging in disorder over the face of a wood nymph; large and intelligent dark eyes, and a cheek vying in colour with the autumnal peach: the lightness of a sylph and the grace of fashionable ease. The loud laugh which reached me from Mrs. Serge did not prevent me seeingMiss Lydiaemerge from her concealment. She very deliberately gave to Sir Murdoch a little black terrier to hold, and with a piece of cake in her hand, as deliberately secured her footing on terra-firma; but she was slip-shod, and caution was necessary. In size she comes very near to her mother, and she would be as pretty, were she not too pale. The golden locks are with Miss Lydia softened down to flaxen-coloured, which, with very light blue eyes, give an expression of heaviness to her countenance, perfectly conformable to her fat, and square person. Next and last came a smart abigail, and Miss Lydia hastily seizing her arm, followed the steps of Sir Murdoch and the ladies into the house.

I remained in my apartment, till summoned by Malcolm to his mother. I learned, that Miss Serge had nearly fainted before she reached the drawing-room, that she had retired to her own room, but was recovered. My introduction to the strangers followed, and I took my seat. The dustiness of the roads, and apologies for Mrs. Serge’s being in such a “pickle,” succeeded to the compliments of my entrance; “but asVilletwas busy about Caroline, she was compelled tohacceptof her ladyship’shindulgence, and remain as she was: but I think, child,” added she, turning to Miss Nora, “you might make yourself a little more tidy; I dare say Miss Cowley would lend youa comb.” My offers of service were prevented by the young lady’s saying pertly, that she trusted also to Lady Maclairn’s good-nature for an excuse, not knowing the secret of beingtiddy, without an entire change of dress. The broad stare at me from time to time, the weary, careless attention to what was addressed to herself, at once spoke thegirl of fashion. I took out my netting box, and the young lady, after curiously examining some books on a side table, withdrew into the bow window and read. Do you wish me to speak as loud and fast as Mrs. Serge? recollect that I have her dialect to acquire, and that I have not a speaking trumpet at command, but I will do my best. To the detail of her daughter’s long illness, who had taken all “manderof shings,” and tried ahoceanof physic, succeeded “hold” stories of her father and mother, in which her filial tenderness unaffectedly appeared, and to which Lady Maclairn gave a lively interest by adding her testimony to their worth. “My dear mother had an excellent constitution, and the best spirits in the world,” observed Mrs. Serge: “evenatershe was avidow, she could tire out two or three partners in a night’s dancing; but, dear soul! she trusted too much to her strength, and refusing to change her clothes after being wet to the skin in awater frolic, she never held up her head.” Tears fell copiously from Mrs. Serge’s eyes in this part of the conversation, but in a few minutes the cloud gave place to a hearty laugh, on recollecting Mr. Flamall’s cheating her with a painted “vindow at the castle atVindsor, sonaturally donethat no soul alive would have taken it for a paintedvone.” Questions and wonderments succeeded, that so handsome a man had not made hisfortinby marrying; she was sure it had been his own fault. Lady Maclairn soon changed this topic by asking her how she liked Bath. “Why on the wholewery vell,” replied she, “but it is not to be compared withLunnun: the rooms are certainlywerygrand, but it ishalwaysthe same thing. I like to see a play, or Sadler’s Wells much better; and as for the Criscent, and the Circus, in somevinds, you would think yourself in Y——th Downs in anorthheaster; but one seeswarmsof fine folks come from the hupper part of the town, to bask in the sun on the South Parade, where we had our lodgings.” Willing to hear the sound of the beauty’s voice, and as willing to spare the further distension of her rosebud mouth, I asked her whether the season for Bath had been full. “Much as usual,” replied she; “there were many people of rank and fashion, but we had few opportunities of meeting with them. Good society depends on a proper introduction.” She threw on her mother a glance, which I could not misunderstand. “As forhintroduction, Nora,” observed the good Mrs. Serge, “I found thatweryheasy; you have only to shew your purse, and you may have a card party when you please. I could have been acquainted with several ladies of quality, if I would have played the new fashioned way at loo, but,” continued she, addressing herself to Lady Maclairn, “I was soon sick ofpamwhen he was ingood company, as they call themselves. I was not cunning enough for your Lady Gudgeons; nor you, child, for her saucy daughters.” Miss Nora had not time to reply to her share of the last observation. The mother continued—“Who do you think I saw at Bath, finer than our princesses? But you will never guess! Don’t you remember the pretty little girl who used to sing to you at my aunt Prissy’s? I mean the Knacker’s daughter. She is now the wife of a very rich man, and is quite the fashion. I took an opportunity of reminding her of old friends and former times; she drew up, forsooth! andwerycoldly observed that I had awerygood memory! She had been so long in the world, that she had forgotten me, till I announced my name. I detest pride, my lady, so I was resolved to be even with her. ‘Dear me!’ said I, ‘I wonder how people can forget early friends. I have often thought of you and the scrape you got into, by breaking three or four “quarrels” in Mrs. Doughty’s parlour window. My dear mother often used to laugh at the fright you were in, when she pacified the old lady, by paying the damage you had done, and saving you from being put in the cellar.’ She looked,” added the speaker, laughing heartily, “as though she would have preferred Mrs. Doughty’s cellar to my conversation. But I have no notion of a little prosperity turning one’s head, ’tis a poor return to make for God’s goodness.”

Miss Nora, during this discourse, had relapsed into silence, and was endeavouring to find amusement by poring over some music books she had taken up. “You play, no doubt,” observed I; “and I have a harp, and a good piano-forte in my apartment.” She smiled bewitchingly. “Alittleon both these instruments,” answered she, “but I am out of practice, for I am no Orpheus, and cannot give to stocks and stones the power of feeling the charms of music.” A summons to the dining-room prevented my reply. We there found the gentlemen and Miss Lydia, who, “malgré elle,” soon completed the family party. “How is Miss Serge?” asked Lady Maclairn, in a tone of tenderness so peculiarly her endowment; “I hope she has slept, otherwise I should not be able to pardon myself for not being with her.” “Poor thing!” replied the father, “she was better with me, for she is so flurried, and so fearful of being troublesome here, that it has made her very poorly indeed.” “We will soon make her well, my good sir,” replied the baronet, “if she has no malady more serious than this: my Harriet will soon convince her that she is at home.” “Thank ye, Sir Murdoch,” answered the agitated father. “I have no doubts on the subject, and I told my dear girl I was sure you were not of the number of those who think a sick guest a burden. God forbid it should be so! for such must needs have hard hearts! But Willet tells us,” continued he, addressing his daughter Lydia, “that your sister was frightened, and disturbed last night: why did you not call me up? You know it is what I desire you to do always, when she does not settle.” “Lord, papa!” replied Miss Lydia, “it was nothing but a drunken man in the next chamber who wasobstroperous. I told her twenty times that our door was bolted. He might havefitwith the otherfellertill sunrise, they would not have kept me from sleeping if Caroline had been quiet.” “Mr. Serge has fully accounted for your sister’s indisposition to-day,” observed Lady Maclairn mildly; “you have good health, my dear young lady, and do not know how soon the weak are fluttered; but a night of undisturbed repose will remedy, I trust, this little alarm.” Poor Lydia blushed, but did not answer. “I expect to establish my credit as a Lady Bountiful, before you leave me,” continued Lady Maclairn, with assumed cheerfulness, turning to Mrs. Serge; “I have not forgotten your aunt Priscilla’s recipes, which saved me from a decline, nor the kindness with which she administered them: it would be to me a blessing to imitate her in her tender cares.” Mr. Serge crossed his knife and fork, and fixed his tearful eyes on Lady Maclairn’s face, whilst his lady cordially thanked her, and added, “But you must try also to persuade my husband to think his girl not so bad as he fancies, for he not onlydampher spirits but ours.” “So hedomamma,” said Miss Lydia, breaking through the stupid vacuity of her countenance with a vivacity that surprised me. “Caroline can’t be so veak as papathink, or she could not have gone so much in the phaeton, when she knew I hated to ride ‘stuffed’ up in the coach.” “Hold your tongue, child!” said the father gravely; “you know the phaeton was ordered for your sister’suse, not yourwhims.” She was silenced and looked sullen. Pitying the poor girl at my side, who had shown unequivocal marks offeeling, as well as ofimpatience, I proposed to her to withdraw into my apartment, and Miss Leonora followed me with alacrity. She immediately went to the harp, and with a touch convinced me that she was no mean proficient on the instrument, any more than in singing, though she pleaded being out of practice, since she had left her school. Sir Murdoch, attracted by our voices from the garden, craved admittance for himself and Mr. Serge, pleading that the other ladies had left him to visit the invalid. Mr. Serge with much apparent curiosity examined the room and me by turns; and at length he said, “Pray, young lady, what is the name of the boarding-school where you were trained?” I replied that I had never been in any school, having had the good fortune of living with a lady who instructed me herself. “There is nothing like it,” said he, nodding his head sagaciously. “My Carolinewas educated at home by a good aunt, and though she cannot draw, nor play, as you and Nora do, yet she is a very sensible and good young woman, and I think you will like her.” I told him, I had postponed my own gratification, lest my visit should be troublesome, till she had somewhat recovered from the effects of her journey. “Ah, poor thing!” said he with emotion, “there is the rub! she is too good for this world! But you will say, when you know her, that you never saw a more patient sufferer!”

In a word, it appears to me, that poor Mr. Serge can talk of nothing but his daughter: that his lady can do any thing better than command her tongue: that Miss Lydia is an automaton, useful to fetch and carry; and that the beauty is neither in her element here, nor contented any where. So much for my first four-and-twenty hours knowledge of this illustrious family.

Good Night!

LETTERXL.

From the same to the same.

I supposeI shall have no intelligence of our friends at Hartley-pool, more direct than what Mary sends me from Heathcot. Malcolm is not in spirits, he confesses that he never had a more difficult lesson to practise, than the one at present assigned him, which is to amuse Mr. Serge at Tarefield, instead of guarding the Hesperian fruit at Heartley-pool. He told me this morning with a very solemn countenance, that he heard Alice’s beauty had gained her the first post of honour, and that she was much admired. I laughed him out of his folly; but it may not be amiss for Mary to give Alice a hint not to looktoo handsomeat Heartley-pool.

Miss Serge’s increased indisposition has prevented my visiting her till this morning; Doctor Douglass was consulted, and he has happily succeeded in relieving the pain she suffered. On congratulating her mother, she replied, “to be sure, it is a comfort to see herheasy: but, dear me! the thing is to see it last.” And with this observation she seemed to have dismissed the subject of her daughter’s indisposition, and she talked only of thelakes, and her surprise that she had lived so many years in the world without having heard of them till within a few months.

The fond father, in the mean time, now looks up to the doctor with the most sanguine hopes; and is as completely domesticated here as if he had been born at the Hall. Malcolm is the delight of his eyes, and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson are, in his own words, “extraordinary people.” We contrive by their aid to amuse him many hours in the day; and the good baronet has not been interrupted in his pursuits: he appears to enjoy the enlargement of the circle, particularly in the evening. Last night, after supper, Mr. Serge could talk of nothing but his day’s amusement. He had been with his friends and guides to see Wereland Place, a farm in speculation, as you know, for Malcolm. “It is very odd,” observed he, “that when I lived in London and kept tight to theboard, as I may say, I used to think of the pleasure, I should enjoy in the country; but when there, I was always weary of walking about before sunset. Now I think this was because I had nothing to do but to walk about, and that it was idleness, not the country, of which I was tired. Pray how old is Mr. Wilson?” Malcolm thought he was turned of fifty. “Surprising!” observed Mr. Serge; “what a colour, and what activity! There is nothing like the life of a farmer! I have given Mr. Wilson a hint to-day that I should like to purchase something in this neighbourhood. I should not cavil at any price, that would fix me upon you, my young friend, as an apprentice in the farming business. I see clearly that in order to enjoy the country, a man must have country business on his hands: you would, I dare say, help a young beginner to know oats from barley.” He shook Malcolm’s hand with cordiality, and added in a low voice something at which he laughed heartily, and which produced a crimson blush in Malcolm’s face. “How would Mrs. Serge and the young ladies like to give up the fashionable world, for the business of the dairy and the retirement of the country?” asked he. “Dear me!” answered Mrs. Serge, “Ihamso used to Mr. Serge’svaysthat he know I only laugh at hisvims. I am sure he is tired to death at Putney, if he stay with us a week at a time! He would make a fine hand of it, to live in this part of the world, wherevonedo not see a soul by the week together!” “Are there any noblemen’s seats near you, Mr. Maclairn?” asked Miss Leonora, checking her mother’s loquacity. “Not many,” was the answer. “So much the better,” replied Mr. Serge, “I never courted their custom nor their acquaintance: let every man keep his station and place, and ‘cut his coat according to his cloth,’ in more ways than one. I am a man who love proper subordination, though I hate slavery. An army is badly disciplined, in my mind, when the commanding officers are ‘hail fellow well met’ with the privates; and when I see a lord or a duke quit his rank, I understand how matters are going on. I have not lived in the world for nothing.” “Well but, papa,” said the lively Miss Nora, seizing in a moment her father’s allusion, “I suppose there is no sin in a private soldier’s rising in his regiment if he can do so honourably.” “Certainly not, child,” answered Mr. Serge. “Why then do you persist in refusing the borough offered you, and being knighted? Your family might be the better for good connections, sir, and yourself more useful, than in your present private station.” “You talk, Nora, like a girl,” answered the placid father; “but all the world knows, child, though it has not yet reached you, that the borough and the title, might have been purchased by any man as well as your father; I neither liked the price, nor the duty; and I trust, those who had the bargain, will like it better than I did mine for clothing the army,” added he, turning to Sir Murdoch. “It requires a better head than I have,” pursued he, “to make contracts with the present managers. I give you my word they understand very well how to make a good bargain for the public purse; and I found theirshearscut closer thanmine, notwithstanding my experience in the use of them. However, it is all well: I am quit, with knowing I never spoiled a poor fellow’s clothing of a year, for the sake of cabbaging a shilling’s worth of the stuff.” He laughed heartily at this specimen of his wit, and enjoyed ours with delight. These Serges, Lucy: amuse me, they exhibit to me characters, which, if not singular in themselves, are new to me. My standard for human nature, and human conduct, requires some medium: as it stood at Heathcot, it was too much elevated for the multitude; and in my respect for virtue, you have often reproached me, for wanting pity for folly. I am persuaded that you would at present be satisfied with me. I am neither tempted to laugh, nor to yawn, when Mrs. Serge, in all the simplicity of kindness, pities mydull life, and promises me to exact from Sir Murdoch and Lady Maclairn a positive engagement to send me to her in the winter months. “Though Putney is not St. James’s-street,” adds she, “I so manage, that it is always next door to any public amusements I like: and as Leonora will expect to see Lunnun next winter, as a young woman, you may be sure of my not being a ‘house dove.’ To say the truth,” continued she, “I think people gain nothing by giving up the pleasures of youth, supposing always they are innocent. Who would believe Lady Maclairn, for example, was not much more than three years older than I; and when I try to recall her beauty and cheerful temper to my memory as they struck me when I first knew her, I can hardly believe she is the Harriet Flamall every body was in love with. To be sure youthhaveits hour, but cheerfulness will last to all seasons, if people do not starve it out by indolence. However,” added she, “poor Harriethavehad trials I never had; and between ourselves, I have heard my aunt Priscilla say, that she was early in life doomed to sorrow, from the death of a young man she loved.” We have had many such conversations as these in our walks; for I devote my mornings to Lady Maclairn’s service. Mrs. Serge is delighted with Mrs. Wilson, and no less pleased with my friends at the cottages, to whom she has been liberal in her donations. But with all my labours I can perceive that she is heartily tired of being at Tarefield; and yesterday she consulted me very gravely on the propriety of requesting that Caroline might remain at the Hall during her excursion to the lakes. “I have no doubt,” added she with alacrity and contentment, “of Mr. Serge’s preferring to stay with Caroline. Lydia shall remain also, to amuse her; and Mr. Maclairn will not refuse to squire us. The coach will just hold us, and we shall have a charmingfrolic!” For a moment I felt angry, but the innocence of heart, which is the companion of this weak head, softened me. I with all gentleness, therefore, hinted at the appearance of unkindness and indifference which the proposal of itself would convey to the mind of her daughter; and withal asserted, that I knew Mr. Maclairn had engagements, which would prevent his leaving Tarefield for any time. “That is unlucky,” replied she; “and since matters do not favour our scheme it may be as well to say nothing about it. I should have liked to give youa frolic; I am sure you have not too much pleasure here; but trust to me for next winter: you shall see Lunnun, if it cost me a journey for myself to fetch you. I have not forgot my young days yet, nor what young folks like.” I could not be angry, Lucy. Iansweredherintention, and thanked her for her kindness, telling her also very civilly, that I had been frequently months at a time in London during the winter, but that I had never regretted the absence of London amusements at Tarefield. She lifted up her hands and eyes, and said I amazed her. I quitted her during her surprise, saying I was going to sit with Miss Serge an hour.

In continuation.—I am just returned from visiting the poor declining Caroline. She is a modest unaffected young woman, and resembles her youngest sister. I think her features are still more regular than hers, and her large black eyes more expressive, from the languor of sickness that softens down their jetty lustre. I fancy too she is naturally fairer than Leonora, at least her paleness indicates a clearer complexion. She is extremely defective in her shape: I do not recollect having seen a person more crooked; and I cannot help thinking the dreadful spasms in her stomach have originated in the distortion of her shape, and from the compression it is doomed to suffer. She was in her easy chair, and the emblem of neatness: the room in exact order, and at her hand a book. I congratulated her on her exemption from pain, and told her that our favourite, Doctor Douglass, was in danger of being spoiled by our gratitude for having relieved her. She meekly bowed, and, thanking me, spoke of Lady Maclairn’s kindness, and the fatigue she had so unfortunately introduced. “I was entirely governed by my wishes to oblige my parents,” added she, “in hazarding a journey; being convinced that I can expect no benefit to accrue to me from leaving Putney. But it amuses my family, and diverts my dear father’s thoughts from an event which he considers with too much tenderness and grief. I am pleased by Doctor Douglass’s frankness,” continued she; “he honestly owns, that he sees no advantage for me in travelling; and he has contrived to convince my friends that I cannot be better thanat home. They do not understand him;but I do, Miss Cowley.” You will suppose my reply. “You read sometimes, I see,” said I, taking up the volume on the table: it was the Economy of Human Life. “My little library contains some authors who will not disgrace yours. I will bring the catalogue.” “Your recommendation of one will suffice,” answered she, pensively smiling, “for I am not able to read much. My father reads frequently to me; and if you will favour me with any periodical work I shall be obliged to you; he is fond of works of that sort.” I promised to send the “Mirror” to her room, she not having read it; and I quitted her in a proper frame of mind to visit Miss Flint. She appears to me to be considerably mended in her health, and she was more cheerful than I have seen her for a long time. I always thought solitude a good remedy for those who could not enjoy society, or rather who spoiled it. She was chatty, and of course I was not ill humoured. She asked me many questions relative to our guests; and particularly whether the “table was abundant and handsome.” “I hope it is so,” added she; “for I was explicit with Harriet on that point. Her friends’ entertainment I shall consider as my concern; under this roof it ought to be so.” “I only wish you could contrive to share in your hospitality below stairs,” observed I, “I am certain it might be effected without pain to you, or trouble to the servants, more than one five minutes would accomplish.” She shook her head, and said she was fearful of breaking into the regimen which the doctor had prescribed, and from which she trusted for some relief; and that since Mrs. Allen had so kindly devoted her time to her, she had all the comfort her situation needed. “However,” added she, “I should be vexed if these good people fancied I shunned them from pride; and I think I am equal to receiving them as tea-visitors; will you propose it to them, when you think the gentlemen will be absent.” “Let it be this evening then,” replied I with gaiety: “you will find that company will not lessen your hopes from an abstemious diet.” She consented, and I left her to announce my commission.

In continuation.—Wednesday morning.We assembled yesterday in Miss Flint’s stale apartment: even the poor Caroline was of the party. The firstcoup d’œilconvinced me that Miss Flint had not quite done with this vain world: all was in state; and the heiress of Tarefield, in a fine muslin wrapping gown trimmed with lace, received us with much ceremony, but with no want of kindness. Lady Maclairn officiated at the tea-table; and Mrs. Serge, whose attention had been much engaged with the various decorations of the room, now suddenly surveying the ponderoussilvertea-board and tea-kettle,wondered, according to custom, that her ladyship did not exchange that heavy old fashioned plate for what was tasty and “helegant.” Miss Flint, with a spice of her ancient asperity, observed, that it had been long in the Flint family, and she preferred it to more modern. “I beg your pardon,” replied the unconscious offender, “I did not know it belonged to you, madam; but I cannot unsay what I have said. I know some folks think old-fashioned plate honourable to themselves, as it proves their family’s opulence; but for my part, it is not my notion that honour depend upon any such things. I lately sold a silver bowl which held three gallons, that had been my great-grandfather’s. You Lady Maclairn,” added she, laughing, “being of the Hatchway family: you will, perhaps, blame me; for it was anonourablebowl, as I can affirm. It was a present from the ship’showners, for his fighting with a privateer and sinking her: the whole story was engraved on therim, with the names of the ‘howners,’ and of the ship my great grandfather saved from the enemy.” “I certainly should have preserved it,” replied Lady Maclairn, “as an evidence so honourable to the captain’s bravery, and his employers’ gratitude.” “Dear me!” answered she, “who trouble themselves with things of this sort after they are past away a little while! It was quite useless to me, so I exchanged it for a “hapron” and some egg-cups, with other trifles.” The saucy Leonora laughed immoderately. “You ought to say, my dear madam, anepargne.” Without a muscle of my face being moved, “I beg your pardon,” said I, “but as the word is a French one, a stranger to the language may excuse the liberty of being corrected in the pronouncing it.Epargner, means to save, or to spare, and this elegant ornament for a table is not misnamed; for it is commonly filled with trifles which cost but little to the donor of a feast.” “Thank you, my dear Miss Cowley,” said she, with perfect good humour, “you have taught me what I did not know before; and if Nora had employed her knowledge of the French tongue as well, she would not have disgraced herheducation, by laughing at her mother.” Leonora blushed, and answered that she had called it anepargneconstantly in her hearing, but thought she might be deemedimpertinentto carry her “critique” farther. “Rather say, child,” replied the good-natured mother, “that you did not wish me to understandheparnerwasto save, lest, like your Lady Gudgeon, I should grudge you clean gloves, and fill, as shedo, myheparnerwith wax oranges and apples.” It was now her turn to laugh, and we gave no offence by joining in her mirth. A rubber of “Vhisk” completed the evening; and Miss Flint, graciously thanking her for her company, saw us depart without any signs of being fatigued by her exertions.

Next Tuesday we are to go to Durham to pass the day. Mrs. Serge has wisely given up the project of seeing the lakes; and as something must be done to please her, Lady Maclairn has promised to accompany her in this jaunt. If you are not grateful, so much the worse; for not onlytime, but labour is lost to

Your

Rachel Cowley.

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