Letters from a Friend. The genie of M. Timotheus grew every day more prolific, and every' fucceeding day Eliza became more fenfible of the praifes that were lavished upon her. In the mean while Volange was preparing a new furprize for her, which was that which is fubjoined. It should be remembered that she had employed herfelf in forming a cypher, in which the name of Valoé was interwoven with her own. One day, being invited to a public entertainment, he intended to appear in her jewels; he opened her cabinet, but what did the fee? Her bracelets; her necklace, her grette, her ear-ings were mounted in the form of the cypher the had formed. Her first emotion was that of furprize and perplexity. 31 him difcretion; which is the principal virtue in a husband." "A little fib," faid he, "is always a trivial fin; though I fhould have been forry to have been the occafion of it. But the refemblance between Volange's name and mine, with refpect to the initials, had quite efcaped me; and I know that your husband would never go beyond appearances. I have begun in teaching The reft of the winter were paffed in mutual galantries by the Sylph and Eliza, in alternate emotions of furprize and joy; which had all the air of enchantment.. (To be continued.) LETTERS from a FRIEND. My dear Harriet, Yowhe "What will Volange think of this! What must he expect?" As the fat at her toilette, Volange came in, and "Incafting his eyes on her drefs; deed," cried he, "nothing can be more brilliant! My name and your's OU are now arrived at an age, wherein every thing appears to you in the most pleasing light. Happy is it, if your lot exempt you from very fevere trials, or if religion and a good education blunt the edge of them, when they arrive. But how, in a cypher! I fhould be highly flat-poffibly you will fay, can 1 be fup tered, my Lady, if this were a ftrok of fentement !" Eliza, instead of diffembling, was crimfoned over with a blufh; but in the evening the the chid Valoé. "You have expofed me," said she, " to a danger, which makes me tremble even now. I have feen the moment, in which I was reduced to the dilemma either of deceiving my hufband, or of giving him a very mean idea of me ; and though the advantage which the men make of our fincerity may give a fanction to our diffimulation, I know that by making ufe of that right, I could not be reconciled to myself.". Valué did not fail to praife her delicacy. pofed to fit down contented with afflictions, or to be infenfible to the woes of others?-I mean not, my dear friend, to have you infenfible; I mean not to teach you a callous tubborn method of bearing misfortunes, nor a filly weak contempt of every accident that happens.-On the contrary, you mutt, if poffeft of any fenfation, feel both for yourfelf and your friends; but you may feel as becomes a Chriftian and a benevolent being.-There is nothing which tends more to foften the mind than anxiety; a vain folicitude after every trifle affords the most wearifome fenfations, that can afflict the human heart. Some, and those very fenfible people, I have met with, who from a habit of entering too deeply into every idle concern, have infinitely hurt both their temper and their health, (for it is inconceivable how much effect the mind has upon the body) They fret, they vex, and buille about matters which are either impoffible to be prevented, or perfectly infignificant whether they hap pen the harp is then incomparable," added | Or announcing to the fwains "I believe it," faid Eliza, afide in a low voice. "Come, my Lady, try thefe fweet "Far be the flighty honour, far Flora fhall refume the reins. Zephyr's fond love may ceafe to deck the plain. "How! At night, as I was a fleep, and dreaming, my genie appeared and dictated thefe verses to me, "What, Mr. Timotheus! what! did you make thefe yerfes ?"" "I my Lady, I never made a verfe in my life. My ginie dictated them. He has been more liberal; he has fet them; and you will find that he has done them juftice." "Well, my Lady," faid he, after he had fung," what do you think of them? Am I not happy in having such a genie." "But, Sir, do you know who the Eliza is, whofe praise you have celebrated?" notes." Eliza ftretched her trembling fingers to the ftrings, and every note the played pervaded her very heart. "That is miraculous!" cried Ti- "Do you then write verfe?" faid fhe, my belief." "No, my Lady: but I think it is just like ufing the name of Phillis, Cloris, or Iis. I fuppofe my genie made ufe of that of Eliza, because it is mufical." "Then you do not regard the fenfe of the verses you fung to me?" "No, my Lady, that is of no imIportance; they are melodious, full of expreffion, and that is enough for a finger." "I infift upon it," replied she, "that no one fhall know any thing of them but myfelf; and if your fhould infpire you again, I beg you will referve his production for 99 me. She waited, with impatience for her Sylph, to thank him for his infpiring her mufic mafter. He pretended that he was totally ignorant of the matter; but at the fame time granted that it was reafonable that fine writers fhould be thought to be infpired. "They are," faid he, "the favourites of the Sylphs, and every one of them has his genie likewife. It is, therefore, no furprifing thing, that M. Timotheus fhould have one; and if it fhould infpire him with verfes, which you are pleafed with, he may think himfelf next time, one of the happiest inhabitants of the air." The Letters from a Friend. The genie of M. Timotheus grew every day more prolitic, and every fucceeding day Eliza became more fenfible of the praises that were lavished upon her. In the mean while Volange was preparing a new furprize for her, which was that which is subjoined. It should be remembered that she had employed herself in forming a cypher, in which the name of Valoé was interwoven with her own. One day, being invited to a public entertainment, fhe intended to appear in her jewels; fhe opened her cabinet, but what did the fee? Her bracelets; her necklace, her grette, her ear-ings were mounted in the form of the cypher the had formed. Her first emotion was that of furprize and perplexity. "What will Volange think of this! What must he expect?" As the fat at her toilette, Volange came in, and cafting his eyes on her drefs; "Indeed," cried he, "nothing can be more brilliant! My name and your's in a cypher! I fhould be highly flattered, my Lady, if this were a ftrok of fentiment !" Eliza, instead of diffembling, was crimfoned over with a blush; but in the evening the the chid Valoé. "You have expofed me," said she, " to a danger, which makes me tremble even now. I have feen the moment, in which I was reduced to the dilemma either of deceiving my husband, or of giving him a very mean idea of me ; and though the advantage which the men make of our fincerity may give a fanction to our diffimulation, I know that by making ufe of that right, I could not be reconciled to myself.". Valué did not fail to praife her delicacy. "A little fib," faid he, "is always a trivial fin; though I should have been forry to have been the occafion of it. But the refemblance between Volange's name and mine, with refpect to the initials, had quite efcaped me; and I know that your husband would never go beyond appearances. I have begun in teaching 31 him difcretion; which is the principal virtue in a husband." The reft of the winter were paffed in mutual galantries by the Sylph and Eliza, in alternate emotions of furprize and joy; which had all the air of enchantment. (To be continued.) LETTERS from a FRIEND. LETTER My dear Harriet, YOU OU are now arrived at an age, wherein every thing appears to you in the most pleafing light. Happy is it, if your lot exempt you from very fevere trials, or if religion and a good education blunt the edge of them, when they arrive. But how, poflibly you will fay, can I be fuppofed to fit down contented with afflictions, or to be infenfible to the woes of others?-I mean not, my dear friend, to have you infenfible; I mean not to teach you a callous ftubborn method of bearing misfortunes, nor a filly weak contempt of every accident that happens. On the contrary, you mutt, if poffeft of any fenfation, feel both for yourfelf and your friends; but you may feel as becomes a Chrif tian and a benevolent being.-There is nothing which tends more to foften the mind than anxiety; a vain folicitude after every trifle affords the most wearifome fenfations, that can afflict the human heart. Some, and those very fenfible people, I have met with, who from a habit of entering too deeply into every idle concern, have infinitely hurt both their temper and their health, (for it is inconceivable how much effect the mind has upon the body) They fret, they vex, and buffle about matters which are either impoffible to be prevented, or perfectly infignificant whether they hap pen pen or not, fometimes foreboding mif- The Hiftory of a CLERGYMAN'S fortunes which never come to pafs DAUGHTER. fometimes hovering over the ideas of vexation, which ought long fince to have been forgotten; and very often indeed, because they have not dif agreeable circumstances enough in their own affairs, lamenting and brooding over those of others. Now, my dear friend, inftead of this conduct, I would, by every method in my power, perfuade you to adopt one widely different: instead of recollecting misfortunes, banish them from your mind. If you can by any means affist a friend in diftrefs, do it instantly, not by freting and vexing, and fo making bad worfe; but by actions, advice, and comfort. You may be concerned at any affliction, but you need not be miferable; you need not let that engrofs all your thoughts and attention, and prevent your complying with every active duty in life If you are fick, you can be patient, chearful, and refigned; and if you fuffer the most fevere affliction that can happen, I mean the lofs of friends, yet calmness and a perfect acquiefence in the will of Providence will prevent you from fhewing more than a decent and proper concern for an event totally out of your own power to alter In all events, my friend, let me entreat you to preferve upon every, even the most trying occafions, a ferenity of countenance, and a compofure of mind; this difpofition, if founded, as it ever ought to be, upon religious principles, will carry you through more trouble, I fpeak from experience, than all the anxiety, all the folicitude in the word, The one will make you unhappy to yourself, and a burthen to your friends; the other will procure you peace and eafe, a contented mind, and a happy exiftence. May you, my dear Harriet, convinced of the reality of my affertions, follow them in every, even the moft trifling event. May you, upon every occafion, preferve a behaviour un ruffled and ferene, is the fincere wifh of Your's ever." (To be continued.) In a Letter from a Lady to her Friend. I Am forry you are angry with me, for not antwering your letters as ufual, which 1 fhould have done, for I am too fenfible of your favours and friendship, ever willingly to give you the leaft offence. I know you expect, when I write, I fhould fend you the news of the neighbourhood; and fuch an accident, fuch a misfortune has befallen one of our particular acquaintance, that I am afraid it will break your tender heart when you hear it, as it has almoft done mine. 'Tis poor Polly White 1 am speaking of, the only child of that exemplary man and your much efteemed friends, the Rev. Mr. White and his lady, to whom we have long been endeared by a thoufand thousand acts of diftinguished friendfhip. It is of her I am going to communicate a melancholy tale fhe has been killed, fhe has been most inhumanly murdered by that worft of villains, that Devil, Sir Robert. I have often fat down to write an account of this infamous, this cruel tranfaction to you, and have been as often interrupted. Whenever I attempt it indeed, methinks I behold that venerable good man the father, and that amiable woman the mother, ftanding before me with their unfortunate child in a mangled and bloody condition, as if I had been privy to the horrid deed. Her mother committed her to my care at her death, and I took all the care of her which was in my power: but what could I do? I could not reftrain the lawless luft of a deep defigning villain. The living of our parish is, you know, but fmall, not above forty pounds a year; yet as Mr. White was a refpectable and pious man, and greatly beloved by the people of fortune in the neighbourhood, he lived well, and brought up his daughter in a genteel ftyle.-Ah, poor Polly! and would have done very well for her, had Hiftory of a Clergyman's Daughter. had it pleafed heaven to have fpared his life a few years longer; but he died, this good man died, and left his dear widow and child, with only about fixty pounds in their poffeffion, after the payment of his debts. Mrs. White, after her husband's much lamented death, found herself greatly difppointed by the behaviour of thofe friends, whofe former carriage had filled her mind with very flattering expectations; for now scarce any body took the leaft notice either of her or her daughter, Mrs. Lumley, Mrs. Smith, and myself, excepted. Some of the great people indeed, who had often been merry and familiar at their houfe, in the hufband's time, condefcended to flop their coaches, and afk after the widow and her daughter; but their enquiries were made in a manner, which fufficiently proved the mere formality of them. Sixty pounds was no fum, you know, to fupport two perfons, and therefore fome way of bulinefs was to be thought of, for their fubfiftence. As there were a great many children at that time in the neighbourhood, and nobody to inftruct them, Mrs. White fet up a fchool, and took in plain-work. This fcheme had a promifing appearance; but before fhe had been a fchool-miftrefs two months, fhe was feized with a violent fever, which deprived her dear daughter of the beft mother in the world, and you and me of the fincereft friend. She had been too well fortified by the precepts, and animated by the practice of her husband, and too ftrongly fuftained by her own virtue and good fenfe, to be difconcerted or difmayed, at the approaches of death; but her peace was disturbed whenever her daughter came in fight the tears of maternal love would then run copiously down her cheeks. Juft before the expired, the took me tenderly by the hand, and thus addreffed herself to me : My dear Mrs. Parker, my old, my conftant friend, have an eye to my daughter, and take her under your direction; fhe has good, virtuous, and religious difpofitions, but this is a wide VOL. XIL 66 33 Her world, and a wicked world. beauty too may prove the cause of her ruin; fo, dear Mrs. Parker, take care of her: God will blefs you for it, and return it to your children an hundred fold." Then calling her daughter fhe kiffed her-wept over her-and foon expired. Our old friend's illness was expenfive, fo that when the undertaker's bill was added to the apothecary's, there were but thirty pounds left for poor Polly, towards her maintenance and education. Mr. Parker, however, thinking to get a collection made for her among the people of fashion, sent her to fchool at fome diftance, but not being able to fucceed agreeably to his wishes, and hearing that Sir Robert's houfeheeper wanted a companion and affiftant, fhe was, by the advice of every body, taken from fchool and fent to the baronet's castle. There he behaved in her ufual engaging manner, and acquired the love and efteem of the whole family. Among the reft, Sir Robert diftinguifhed himself by making her preients continually, and taking her to walk with him in his gardens. Sir Robert is, indeed a young man, but as he had always careffed and apparently eftecmcd Polly's father, his diftinguishing behaviour was fuppofed to arife entirely from the recollection of those virtues which he profeffedly admired, and confidered as a debt due to the memory of his deceafed friend. Time, however, foon difcovered the true foundation of his civilities. Being with her one afternoon, in a grotto, and not imagining that any creature was near, he made a vile, but vain attempt upon her virtue; for on her fcreaming out, the gardener, who was in the wildernefs behind, coming up defeated his bafe defigns. She, almost lifelefs, in confequence of her furprife, and terror, was ready to faint when the gardener arrived: and Sir Robert, in order to conceal bis villainy, told him, fhe had been frightened by a fnake, which ran that moment from the fide of the grotto. While they were afterwards walking F hon |