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are so completely devoted to its gratification, that we fcarcely know upon what ground to recommend them to those who do not feel it. One other thing, however, they may ferve to illuftrate; and that is, the very little change that has taken place, during all that time, in the fiyle and tone of familiar intercourse among the polite part of fociety. There is certainly nothing written fo long ago, which is fo little antiquated as these letters, or the letters of any other woman of high rank and good education. Tafte in literature and in the arts has fluctuated and advanced in many ways in that long interval; and the manners and habits of the lower and middling orders have been flowly improving through a long feries of affectations and abfurdities. But the language and manners of the old aristocracy, and efpecially of the female part of it, have been the fame, it appears, for upwards of a century. The ftyle of Lady Mary Wortley and of Mrs Montagu, is as modern as that of their great grandchildren; and not only carries in it that charm of eafe and putity which is fo often wanting in the writings of profeffed authors, but ftill bears the ftamp of good fociety fo fresh upon it, that their jokes, and scandals and pleasantries, might generally be used as they ftand, to enliven the correfpondence of any fashionable chronicler of the current year. If there be any diftinction between the ftyle of a modern lady, and that of a lady in the time of George I., it is, that the former had a ftill greater freedom, and perhaps broadnefs of allufion, than would generally be ventured on by the latter. This flight degree of additional referve or delicacy, we are not, however, difpofed to afcribe to any recent improvement either in purity of manners or refinement of tafte; but rather to that great diffemination of opulence which has made fashionable fociety lefs felect and lefs fafe; and to that intrufion of the half-bred which has made greater caution neceffary, both to avoid vulgar mifconftruction, and to reprefs grofs imitation. There are fome traits of this freedom in the letters before us, for which even thefe confiderations may not be everywhere received as an apology in the works of a virgin of nineteen; though, for our own part, we certainly confider them as no impeachment either of her innocence or her delicacy. There are a few other traits of antiquity, too, as to which it is proper to put the reader on his guard. He will hear of lace-heads and ruffles-of beaux with high toupees-of drums and tea-drinkings -of dutcheffes dining at two o'clock-of mothers and intimate friends addreffed by the lofty title of Madam-and a few other things equally strange and contemptible: but the general strain of the correspondence he will find very confonant to modern ufages and conceptions;-the fame proportion of derifion directed against the fame kind of imperfections-the fame tone of familiarity and

light-hearted philofophy-the fame felfishness an1 defire of diftinction. But it is quite time that the faid reader should be enabled to judge for himself.

Her chief correfpondents, at this early period, were the Dutchefs of Portland, who was a few years older than herself, and Mrs Donellan, a lady who was honoured with the notice of Swift in his later days. The following paffages, in a letter to the former, were written under the age of fourteen; and fhow the first stirrings of her derifive and ambitious fpirit, even before her intercourfe with fociety had fupplied it with living objects.

One common objection to the country is, one sees no faces but those of one's own family; but my papa thinks he has found a remedy for that, by teaching me to draw; but then he husbands these faces in so cruel a manner, that he brings me sometimes a nose, sometimes an eye at a time; but on the King's birth-day, as it was a festival, he brought me out a whole face with its mouth wide open. If I could draw well enough, I would send Miss W. her own musty face. I am sorry Le Brun has not seen it, that he might have put it in his book of drawings among the faces that express the several passions; for he has none that express mustiness.

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If you design to make any proficiency in that art, I would advise you not to draw old men's heads. It was the rueful countenance of Socrates or Seneca that first put me out of conceit with it. Had my Papa given me the blooming faces of Adonis and Narcissus, I might have been a more apt scholar; and when I told him I found those great beards difficult to draw, he gave me St John's head in a charger; so to avoid the speculation of dismal faces, which by my art I dismalized ten times more than they were before, I threw away my pencil. If I drew a group of little figures, I made their countenances so sad, and their limbs so distorted, that from a set of laughing Cupids, they looked like the tormented infants in Herod's cruelty, and smiling Venus like Rachel weeping for her children. I have heard of some who have been famous landscape painters; others who have been famous battle painters; but I take myself to have been the best hospital painter; for I never drew a figure that was not lame or blind, and they had all something of the horrible in their countenances; and by the arching of their eyebrows, and the opening their mouths, they looked so frightened, you would have thought they had seen their own faces in the glass.

I am very sorry I have made so very free with your cousin; but how could I imagine any person who was neither handsome nor agreeable, was your relation! I dare say she is a very distant one; had she been within four or five degreees, she must have been both. I believe Miss D and her Fubbsey are now one flesh, or rather one fat. I am,' &c. I. 14, 19-21.

The next, which contains her earlieft obfervations on life and characters, is of the age of feventeen.

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Our assembly, in full glory, has ten coaches at it; and Lad H, to make up a number, is pleased, in her humility, to cal in all the parsons, apprentices, tradesmen, apothecaries, and farm ers, milliners, mantuamakers, haberdashers of small wares, and cham bermaids. It is the oddest mixture you can imagine; here sails reverend parson, there skips an airy apprentice, here jumps a farm er and then every one has an eye to their trade; the milliner pul you by the hand till she tears your glove; the mantuamaker tread upon your petticoat till she unrips the seams; the shoemaker make you foot it, till you wear out your shoes; the mercer dirties you gown; the apothecary opens the window behind you that you ma be sick; and the parson calls out for Joan Saunderson. I must to your Grace that my papa forgets twenty years and nine childre and dances as nimbly as any of the quorum; but is now and the mortified by hearing the ladies cry, "Old Mr Robinson! Ha sides and turn your daughter." Other ladies who have a mind appear young, say, "Well! there is my poor grandpapa, he cou no more dance so!" Then comes an old batchelor of fifty, a shakes him by the hand, and cries, " Why, you dance like one us young fellows;" another, more injudicious than the rest, say by way of compliment, "Who would think you had six fine childr taller than yourself? I protest if I did not know you, I should ta you to be young;" then says the most antiquated virgin in t "Mr Robinson wears mighty well; my company, mother says looks as well as ever she remembers him; he used to come often the house when I was a girl."

I have not heard any thing of Lady A. since her weddi Sir Robert had an apoplectic fit at Sir Philip B- -'s a little bef they married Sir Philip is so fond of him and his lady, that i thought he will leave him some part of his estate, which is very c siderable. I don't know from whence the friendship arises; th may indeed be a sympathy in the souls of Sir Philip and Sir Rob but there never was less resemblance of body. Sir Robert Aust shadow, by moonlight, would make a dozen of the other. The pothecary in Caius Marius is a corpulent man in comparison of h I cannot describe him to your Grace, a shadow is too material, a a skeleton too fat. He is really the grim king of the ghosts; will be president of the court of Death. His wife and he are 1 rally but one flesh-for she has all the flesh herself. I. 43-46.

We give the following letter, which feems to have been writ at eighteen, for two reafons ;-firft, because it affords the earli and by no means the leaft favourable, fpecimen of the writer's m fententious and ferious manner; and, fecondly, because it fe to have had the fingular diftinction of being written on two f ral occafions, to the fame noble friend, at the diftance of f years. It appears firft at p. 54. of the first volume, under of the year 1738; and again at p. 281, under date of Septem

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25th, 1741. The only difference is, that, in this last edition, it has a few additional fentences interfperfed-to the fenfible deterioration, we think, of the compofition. In all other refpects, the two letters are verbatim and literatim the fame. There is fomething very ridiculous, we think, in this duplication, however it may be explained. If the fair writer actually made the fame letters do duty twice over, after a certain interval for oblivion—as economical preachers are faid to do with their fermons-it gives us rather a lower idea of her inventive powers than we fhould otherwise be difpofed to entertain; and, even if it be repeated by mistake, in confequence of two copies being found among her papers, ftill the variations and the diftance of the dates fhow that the paid a degree of attention to thefe performances which their intrinfic importance scarcely appears to merit. The letter itfelf, as it ftands in its earliest and beft form, is as follows.

As your Grace tenders my peace of mind, you will be glad to hear I am not so angry as I was. I own I was much moved in spirit at hearing you neglected your health; but since you have had advice, there is one safe step taken. As for me, I have swallowed the weight of an apothecary in medicine; and what I am the better, except more patient and less credulous, I know not. I have learnt to bear my infirmities, and not to trust to the skill of physicians for curing them. I endeavour to drink deep of philosophy, and be wise when I cannot be merry-easy when I cannot be glad-content with what cannot be mended-and patient where there is no redress. The mighty can do no more, and the wise seldom do as much. You see I am in the main content with myself, though many would quarrel with such an insignificant idle inconsistent person: but I am resolved to make the best of all circumstances around me, that this short life may not be half lost in pains, "well remembering and applying, the necessity of dying." Between the periods of birth and burial I would fain insert a little happiness, a little pleasure, a little peace : to-day is ours, yesterday is past, and to-morrow may never come. I wonder people can so much forget death, when all we see before us is but succession; minute succeeds to minute, season to season; summer dies as winter comes. The dial marks the change of hour; every night brings death-like sleep; and morning seems a resurrection; yet, while all changes and decays, we expect no alteration; unapt to live, unready to die, we lose the present and seek the future; ask much for what we have not; thank Providence but little for what we have: our youth has no joy, our middle age no quiet, our old age no ease, no indulgence: ceremony is the tyrant of this day; fashion of the other; business of the next. Little is allowed to freedom, happiness, and contemplation; the adoration of our Creator; the admiration of his works; and the inspection of ourselves. But why should I trouble your Grace with these reflections. What my little knowledge can suggest, you must know better: what my short

VOL. XV. NO. 29.

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short experience has shown, you must have better observed. ' I. 54-56.

We add the following short passages from Bath in the year 1740; to show that the fair writer's vivacity was not chilled by arriving at the mature age of twenty.

I hear every day of people's pumping their arms or legs for the rheumatism; but the pumping for wit is one of the hardest and most fruitless labours in the world. I should be glad to send you some news; but all the news of the place would be like the bills of mortality; palsy, four; gout, six; fever, one, &c. &c. We hear of no. thing but Mr Such-a-one is not abroad to-day. Oh! no, says another, poor gentleman, he died to-day. Then another cries, My party was made for quadrille to night; but one of the gentlemen has had a second stroke of the palsy, and cannot come out. There is no depending upon people; nobody minds engagements. Indeed, the only thing one can do to-day, we did not do the day before, is to die, not that I would be hurried, by a love of variety and novelty, to do so irreparable a thing as dying,' &c.-' As for modern marriages, they are great infringers of the baptismal vow; for 'tis commonly the pomps and vanities of this wicked world on one side, and the sinful lusts of the flesh on the other. For my part, when I marry, I do not intend to enlist entirely under the banners of Cupid or Plutus, but take prudent consideration and decent inclination for my advisers. I like a coach and six extremely; but a strong apprehension of repentance would not suffer me to accept it from many that possess it. I had little acquaintance with ; for I never

run into Aaron's idolatry, nor could I ever bow the knee to Mammon. To say the truth, he is the god of our fathers, and the god of our mothers. As the Israelites made their children pass through the fire to Baal, there are few good Christians who would not make their children pass through misery to Mammon. I. 76. 77. 83.

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This last extract will give our readers some idea of the fashionable freedom, from which, we have hinted, that our more prudage has shrunk back. There is a great deal of a more decided character, after she comes to be married;-but we shall satisfy ourselves with adding this lively hint to her sister, upon the first appearance of a fashion which we had thought far more modern.

I do not know what will become of your fine shape; for there is a fashionable make which is very strange. I believe they look in London as they did in Rome after the rape of the Sabines.' I. 126, 127.

And this little anticipation of the exploits of some of her military beaux, who had been ordered on foreign service.

، I think they will die of a panic, and save their enemies' powder. Well, they are proper gentlemen. Heaven defend the nunneries ! As for the garrisons, they will be safe enough. The father confessors will have more consciences to quiet than the surgeons will have

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