not quite so bad neither—though I am plaguy squeamish at present, a little town air will set all to rights again, and I shall no doubt fall into my old track with redoubled alacrity from this recess. So don't despair, my old friend: you will always find me,

Your lordship's devoted,

W. STANLEY.

LETTER II.

TO THE SAME.

What a restless discontented animal is man! Even in Paradise unblest. Do you know I am, though surrounded with felicity, languishing for sin and sea-coal in your regions. I shall be vapoured to death if I stay here much longer. Here is nothing to exercise the bright genius with which I am endued: all one calm sunshine;

"And days of peace do still succeed
To nights of calm repose."

How unfit to charm a soul like mine! I, who love every thing that the moderns call pleasure. I must be amongst you, and that presently. My Julia, I am certain, will make no resistance to my will. Faith! she is the wife for me. Mild, passive, duteous, and innocent: I may lead my life just as I please; and she, dear creature! will have no idea but that I am a very good husband!

"And when I am weary of wandering all day,
To thee, my delight, in the evening I, come."

I did intend, when first I began my correspondence with your lordship, to have informed you of the whole process of this affair; but, upon my soul, you must excuse me. From being idle, I am become perfectly indolent;—besides, it is unfashionable to talk so much of one's wife. I shall only say, I endeavoured, by all those little attentions which are so easily assumed by us, to gain her affections,—and at the same time, to make sure work, declared myself in form to her father.

One day, when I could hobble about, I took occasion to say to Mr. Grenville, that I was meditating a return for his civilities, which was no other than running away with his daughter Julia: that, in the whole course of my life, I had never seen a woman whom I thought so capable of making me happy; and that, were my proposals acceptable to him and her, it would be my highest felicity to render her situation such. I saw the old man was inwardly pleased.—In very polite terms he assured me, he should have no objection to such an alliance, if Julia's heart made none; that although, for very particular reasons, he had quarreled with the world, he did not wish to seclude his children from partaking of its pleasures. He owned, he thought Julia seemed to have an inclination to see more of it than he had had an opportunity of shewing her; and that, as he had for ever renounced it, there was no protector, after a father, so proper as a husband. He then paid me some compliments, which perhaps, had his acquaintance been of as long standing as yours and mine, he might have thought rather above my desert: but he knows no more of me than he has heard from me,—and the devil is in it, if a man won't speak well of himself when he has an opportunity.

It was some time before I could bring myself to the pious resolution of marrying.—I was extremely desirous of practising a few manœuvres first, just to try the strength of the citadel;—but madam house-keeper would have blown me up. "You are in love with my master's daughter," said she, one day, to me; "if you make honourable proposals, I have not a doubt but they will be accepted;—if I find you endeavouring to gain her heart in a clandestine manner,—remember you are in my power. My faithful services in this family have given me some influence, and I will certainly use it for their advantage. The best and loveliest of her sex shall not be left a prey to the artful insinuating practices of a man too well versed in the science of deceit. Marry her; she will do you honour in this world, and by her virtues ensure your happiness in the next."

I took the old matron's advice, as it so perfectly accorded with my own wishes. The gentle Julia made no objection.—Vanity apart, I certainly have some attractions; especially in the eyes of an innocent young creature, who yet never saw a reasonable being besides her father; and who had likewise a secret inclination to know a little how things go in the world. I shall very soon gratify her wish, by taking her to London.—I am sick to death of the constant routine of circumstances here—the same to-day, to-morrow, and forever. Your mere good kind of people are really very insipid sort of folks; and as such totally unsuited to my taste. I shall therefore leave them to their pious meditations in a short time, and whirl my little Julia into the giddy circle, where alone true joy is to be met with.

I shall not invite her sister to accompany her; as I have an invincible dislike to the idea of marrying a whole family. Besides, sisters sometimes are more quick-sighted than wives: and I begin to think (though from whence she has gained her knowledge I know not, I hope honestly!) that Louisa is mistress of more penetration than my rib.—She is more serious, consequently more observing and attentive.

Sylph is fixed on.—Our suite will be a Welsh fille de chambre, yclep'd Winifred, and an old male domestick, who at present acts in capacity of groom to me, and who I foresee will soon be the butt of my whole house;—as he is chiefly composed of Welsh materials, I conclude we shall have fine work with him among our beaux d'esprits of the motley tribe.—I shall leave Taffy to work his way as he can. Let every one fight their own battles I say.—I hate to interfere in any kind of business. I burn with impatience to greet you and the rest of your confederates. Assure them of my best wishes.—I was going to say services,—but alas! I am not my own master! I am married. After that, may I venture to conclude myself your's?

W. STANLEY.

LETTER III.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

How strange does it seem, my dearest Louisa, to address you at this distance! What is it that has supported me through this long journey, and given me strength to combat with all the softer feelings; to quit a respectable parent and a beloved sister; to leave such dear and tender relations, and accompany a man to whom four months since I was wholly a stranger! I am a wretched reasoner at best.—I am therefore at a loss to unravel this mystery. It is true, it became my duty to follow my husband; but that a duty so newly entered into should supersede all others is certainly strange. You will say, you wonder these thoughts did not arise sooner;—they did, my dear; but the continual agitation of my spirits since I married, prevented my paying any attention to them. Perhaps, those who have been accustomed to the bustles of the world would laugh at my talking of the agitation of spirits in the course of an affair which was carried on with the most methodical exactness; but then it is their being accustomed to bustles, which could insure their composure on such an important occasion. I am young and inexperienced—and what is worst of all, a perfect stranger to the disposition of Sir William. He may be a very good sort of man; yet he may have some faults, which are at present unknown to me.—I am resolved, however, to be as indulgent to them as possible, should I discover any.—And as for my own, I will strive to conceal them, under an implicit obedience to his will and pleasure.

As to giving you an account of this hurrying place, it is totally out of my power. I made Sir William laugh very heartily several times at my ignorance. We came into town at a place called Piccadilly, where there was such a croud of carriages of all sorts, that I was perfectly astonished, and absolutely frightened. I begged Sir William would order the drivers to stop till they were gone by.—This intreaty threw him almost into a convulsion of laughter at my simplicity; but I was still more amazed, when he told