LETTER III.

TO A LADY.

[Written on one column of a letter, while Lady M. wrote to the Lady's Husband on the other.]

penance.

THE wits would say, that this must needs be a dull letter because it is a married one. I am afraid indeed you will find, what spirit there is, must be on the side of the wife, and the husband's part, as usual, will prove the dullest. What an unequal pair are put together in this sheet? in which, though we sin, it is you must do When you look on both sides. of this paper, you may fancy that our words (according to a Scripture expression) are as a two-edged sword, whereof Lady M. is the shining blade, and I only the handle. But I can't proceed without so far mortifying Sir Robert as to tell him; that she writes this purely in obedience to me, and that it is but one of those honours a husband receives for the sake of his wife.

It is making court but ill to one fine woman to shew her the regard we have for another; and yet I must own there is not a period of this epistle but squints towards another over-against it. It will be in vain to dissemble: your penetrating eyes cannot but discover, how all the letters that compose these words lean forward after Lady M.'s letters, which seem to bend as much from mine, and fly from them as fast as they are able. Ungrateful. letters that they are! which give themselves to another man, in the very presence

of him who will yield to no mortal, in knowing how to value them.

You will think I forgot myself, and am not writing to you; but, let me tell you, 'tis you forget yourself in that thought, for you are almost the only woman to whom one can safely address the praises of another. Besides, can you imagine a man of my importance so stupid, as to say fine things to you before your husband? Let us see how far Lady M. herself dares do any thing like it, with all the wit and address she is mistress of. If Sir Robert can be so ignorant (now he is left to himself in the country) to imagine any such matter, let him know from me, that here in town every thing that lady says, is taken for satire. my part, every body knows it is my constant practice to speak truth, and I never do it more than when I call myself Your, &c.

For

LETTER IV.

You have put me into so much gaiety of temper, that there will not be a serious word in this day's letter. No more, you will say, there would, if I told you the whole serious business of the town. All last night I continued with you, though your unreasonable regularity drove me out of your doors at three o'clock. I dreamed all over the evening's conversation, and saw the little bed in spite of you. In the morning I waked, very angry at your phantom for leaving me so abruptly. I know you delight in my

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mortification. I dined with an old Beauty; she appeared at the table like a Death's head enamelled. The Egyptians, you know, had such things at their entertainments; but do you think they painted and patched them? However, the last of these objections was soon removed; for the lady had so violent an appetite for a salmon, that she quickly eat all the patches off her face. She divided the fish into three parts; not equal, God knows; for she helped Gay to the head, me to the middle, and making the rest much the largest part, took it herself, and cried very naively, I'll be content with my own tail.

My supper was as singular as my dinner. It was with a great Poet' and Ode-maker (that is, a great poet out of his wits, or out of his way). He came to me very hungry; not for want of a dinner (for that I should make no jest of) but having forgot to dine. He fell most furiously on the broiled relics of a shoulder of mutton, commonly called a blade-bone: he professed he never tasted so exquisite a thing! begged me to tell him what joint it was; wondered he had never heard the name of this joint, or seen it at other tables; and desired to know how he might direct his butcher to cut out the same for the future. And yet this man, so ignorant in modern butchery, has cut up half an hundred heroes, and quartered five or six miserable lovers in every tragedy he has written. I have nothing more to tell you to-day.

It is said he meant Dr. Young; and that he laughed at his frequent absence of mind: to which, but not with affectation, he was subject.

:

LETTER V.

THE ANSWER.

You should have my day too, Sir, but indeed I slept it out, and so I'll give you all that was left, my last Night's entertainment. You know the company. I went in late, in order to be better received; but unluckily came in, as Deuce-ace was flinging (Lord H. would say I came in the Nick). The lady coloured, and the men took the name of the Lord in vain; nobody spoke to me, and I sat down disappointed then affecting a careless air, gaped, and cried seven or eight times, D'ye win or lose? I could safely say at that moment I had no temptation to any one of the seven lively sins; and, in the innocent way I was, happy had it been for me, if I had died! Moralizing sat I by the hazard-table; I looked upon the uncertainty of riches, the decay of beauty, and the crash of worlds, with as much contempt as ever Plato did. But ah! the frailty of human nature! some ridiculous thought came into my head, wakened my passions, which burst forth into a violent laughter: I rose from my seat, and not considering the just resentments of the losing gamesters, hurled a ball of paper cross the table, which stopped the dice, and turned up seven instead of five. Cursed on all sides,

threw myself into a

and not knowing where to fly, I chair, which I demolished, and never spoke a word after. We went to supper, and a lady said, Miss G. looks prodigiously like a Tree. Every body agreed to

it, and I had not curiosity to ask the meaning of that sprightly fancy: find it out, and let me know. Adieu, 'tis time to dress, and begin the business of the day.

LETTER VI.

IN THE STYLE OF A LADY.

PRAY what is your opinion of Fate? For I must confess I am one of those that believe in Fate and Predestination. No, I can't go so far as that, but I own I am of opinion one's stars may incline, though not compel one; and that is a sort of free-will; for we may be able to resist inclination, but not compulsion.

Don't you think they have got into the most preposterous fashion this winter that ever was, of flouncing the petticoat so very deep, that it looks like an entire coat of lutestring?

It is a little cool indeed for this time of year, but then, my dear, you will allow it has an extreme clean, pretty look.

Ay, so has my muslin apron; but I would not chuse to make it a winter suit of cloaths.

Well now I'll swear, child, you have put me in mind of a very pretty dress; let me die if I don't think a muslin flounce, made very full, would give one a very agreeable Flirtation-air.

Well, I swear it would be charming! and I should like it of all things-Do you think there are any such things as Spirits?