though truth and eloquence spoke in every period? Have not his visits greatly increased within these few weeks? and do not you every day sacrifice to him a larger portion of your time? Not content with devoting to him those hours when business, and cares, and day are fled, does he not entrench upon the morning watches, break in upon your studies, and detain your mind from the pursuit of knowledge, the pursuit of pleasure, of all but the enervating indulgence of your passion? Diana, who still wishes to number you in her train, invites you to join her sports; for you Aurora bathes the new-born rose in dew, and streaks the clouds in gold and crimson, and youth and health offer a thousand pure and innocent pleasures to your acceptance. And what, tell me, can you find in the company of him to whom you are now devoted, to make amends for all you give up for his sake? Does he entertain you with any thing but the most incoherent rhapsodies, the most romantic and visionary tales? To believe the strange, improbable, and contradictory things he tells you, requires a credulity beyond that of an infant. If he has ever spoken truth, it is mixed with so much falsehood and obscurity, that it is esteemed the certain sign of a weak mind to be much affected with what he says. You answer, I know, to all this, that it is not in your power to break your chains; that your reason must be first roused before it can be exerted; and that your thoughts, will, and reason, are held fast by this powerful enchanter. You will perhaps tell me (and I must acknowledge the justice of the retort) that I myself (though my situation affords me a thousand reasons to resist him, which do not take place with you) have been but too sensible of his attractions; with blushes I confess the charge. At this moment, however, the chain is broken, my mind is collected within herself, and reason has her full empire over me. This moment, therefore, I would seize to give an impartial description of him, who now has you enslaved. I would not disguise his good qualities, and therefore will allow that he is a friend to the unhappy and the friendless; that his breast is the only pillow for misfortune to repose on; and that his approaches are so gentle and insinuating, as in some moments to be almost irresistible. If he is at all disposed to partiality, it is in favour of the poor and mean, with whom he is thought generally to associate more readily than the rich. Yet he is himself of a very ancient family, which came in long before the conquest, which was in high favour in the court of France during one whole race of kings, and has the greatest influence in the inmost palaces of eastern monarchs. The dissolution of the monasteries, however, greatly hurt its credit in England. He who is the subject of my letter has a half-brother who has made himself very famous in the world, and has destroyed more men than Marlborough or Alexander. Nevertheless he himself is fond of peace, sleek and corpulent, with a mild heavy eye, and a most placid countenance. Yet with all this opposition of form and character, there is such a resemblance between them, as often happens in family likenesses, that in some lights and attitudes you can scarcely distinguish the one from the other. To finish the description of your lover, he is generally crowned with flowers of the most languid kind, such as poppies and cowslips; and he is attended with a number of servants, thin and light footed, to whom he does not give the same livery, for some are dressed in the gayest, others in the most gloomy habits imaginable; but all fantastic. He is subject to strong antipathies, and as strong likings: the warbling of the lark, to others so agreeable, is to him most odious; and Peter did not start more at the crowing of the cock than he will do. His favourite animal is the dormouse, and his music the droppings of water, the low tinkling of a distant bell, the humming of becs, and the hollow sound of the wind rushing through the trees. enough surely has been said to let you into his character, and to convince you, I hope, how necessary it is for you to exert yourself. Let this letter break the charin; let it convince you of the excess of your attachment, and rouze you from the embraces of S. Your sincere Friend, ALLEGORICAL LETTER TO A YOUNG LADY. Madam, As you are a tenant at will in a very handsome genteel house, and are now capable of furnishing it in a genteel manner, and ruling it with the strictest maxims of economy and decorum, permit a friend to give a few cursory hints in an affair of so much importance. Your building is composed of some of the finest materials I ever saw; and is so much the more liable to discover any flaw or spot that may accidentally touch it. It is erected of a proper height, a just size, formed on a regular plan, and furnished with the inost accurate proportion. On the top stands an eminent turret, furnished with a room of a globular form, which I perceive has two crystal windows in the front; these are so constructed, as to be exceedingly useful, as they command an extensive prospect; and if always kept clean and bright will prove a very great ornament to the house. I advise you not to look through them at every object that passes by; be sure you shut them close at night, and open them as soon as you will in the morning. On each side I discover a small portal to receive company take care they do not always stand open, for then you will be crowded with visitors, and perhaps many such as you will not like. Let them never be shut against the instructing parent, the advising friend, or the supplicating orphan. I took notice of the gate in the front, at which all your company goes out; let that generally be barred close, be cautious what visitors you let go out publicly, lest by any of ill character being seen coming from it, you draw a scandal upon your house. It will be necessary therefore to lay a strict injunction of vigilance on the two porters who stand as sentinels in livery of the deepest scarlet just without the ivory palissadoes. I have seen some people paint the two pannels just below the windows; but I would advise you to the contrary, for natural colour far exceeds all the decorations of art. This part of the edifice is supported by a pillar of Corinthian marble, whose base is ornamented with two alabaster semi-globes, over which is generally drawn a fine lawn curtain of admirable needle work. Beneath is the great hall, in which you have a closet of exquisite workmanship: this, I suppose, is the place of your secret retirement, open to none but yourself, or some faithful friend. I advise you to keep this always clean: furnish it well; make it a little library of the best practical authors; and visit it frequently, especially when you come from church, or leave a circle of acquaintance which you have met at the tea table. Let the outside of the hall not appear like a hearse, hung round with scutcheons; nor like a coach of state, bedaubed with gold and colour, but let it be plain and neat, to convince the world that it is kept more for use than ornament. You are sensible, that time effaces all things: it demolishes the strength and beauty of the noblest structures; so you will not be surprised to find your little tenement subject to the same change: doubtless is has often wanted repairs, though you have lived in it no longer, which are plain intimations the house will one day fall: you may be soon turned out, the landlord may give you warning or not; that is uncertain be always ready to go when called upon; and then you will not be afraid to go at the shortest warning. One thing I would have you observe, which is, that when you quit the house, no other tenant will inhabit it, but it will lie waste and in ruins; yet the proprietor will some time or other rebuild it for your reception in a more durable manner, with the same materials, but so refined that it will be liable to no accident or decay and as it is absolutely necessary that your habitation be new reared in some other place, I heartily wish it may be in a finer country, under a milder climate, and well sheltered from all storms; then will your situation be happy and honourable, and your lease never expire. ANCIENT LIVING. THE following is a part of the journal of the celebrated Elizabeth Woodville previous to her marriage with Lord Grey. She was afterwards queen to Edward IV. and died in confinement, at Southwark, under Henry VII. in 1486. This was extracted from an ancient manuscript preserved in Drummond Castle, and communicated to the public by Lady Rothven. Monday Morning.-Rose at four o'clock and helped Catharine to milk the cows; Rachael the other dairy-maid having scalded her hand in so bad a manner the night before. Made a poultice for Rachael, and gave Robin a penny to get something from the apothecary. Six o'Clock. The buttock of beef too much boiled, and beer a little of the stalest.-Mem: To talk with the cook about the first fault, and to mend the second myself, by tapping a fresh barrel directly. Seven o'Clock.-Went into the paddock behind the house with my maid Dorothy; caught Thump the little pony myself, and rode a matter of six miles, without saddle or bridle. Eight o'Clock-Went to walk with the lady my mother in the court-yard; fed twenty-five men and women. Chid Roger severely for expressing some ill will at attending us with broken meat. Ten o'clock.-Went to dinner. John Grey a most comely youth; but what is that to me? A virtuous maiden should be always under the direction of her parents. John Grey ate but little, and stole a great many tender looks at me; said, women would never be handsome in his opinion, who were not good tempered. I hope my temper is not intolerable; nobody finds fault with it but Roger, and he is the most disorderly serving man in our family. John Grey likes white teeth; my teeth are of a pretty good colour, I think; and my hair is as black as jet, though I say it, and John, if I mistake not, is of the same opinion. Eleven o'Clock.-Rose from the table. The company all desirous of walking in the fields. John Grey would lift me over every stile, and twice squeezed my hand with great vehemence. I cannot say I should have any objection to John Grey; he plays at prison bars as well as most of the country gentlemen; is remarkably dutiful to his parents, my lord and lady, and never misses church on Sundays. Three o' Clock-Poor farmer Robinson's house burnt down by accidental fire! John Grey proposed a subscription amongst the company for the relief of the farmer, and gave no less than four pounds with this benevolent intent. -Mem. Never saw him look so comely as at that moment. Four o' Clock.-Went to prayers. Five O'Clock.-Fed the hogs and poultry. Seven o'Clock-Supper on the table-delayed till that hour on account of farmer Robinson's misfortune.-Mem. The goose-pie too much baked, and the pork roasted to rags. Nine O'Clock.-The company fast asleep. These late hours very disagreeable. Said my prayers a second time, John Grey having distracted my thoughts too much the first time. Fell asleep, and dreamed of John Grey, |