My dear friend, said he, you give me pain a little while ago, when I asked you after the health of Miss Bvron and her friends: you evaded my question, I thought, and your looks alarmed me. I am afraid poor Mrs. Shirley Miss Byron spoke of her always as in an infirm state: How, Charlotte, would our dear MissByron grieve, were she tolosesogoodareiation!

I intended not, answered the doctor, that you should Are I was concerned: but I think it impossi-ble, that a father can love a daughter better than I love Miss Byron.

You would alarm me, indeed, my dear friend, if Lady G. had not, by her usual liveliness just now,

Sut me out of all apprehensions for the health of liss Byron. I hope Miss Byron is well.

Indeed she is not, said I, with a gravity becoming the occasion.

God forbid! said he, with an emotion that pleased every-body

Not for your sake, Harriet Be not affectedly nice now; but for our own

His face was in a glow What, Lady L. what, Charlotte, said he, ails Miss Byron?

She is not well, brother, replied I; but the most charming sick woman that ever lived. She is cheer-ful, that she may give no uneasiness to her friends. She joins in all their conversations, diversions, amusements. She would fain be well; and likes not to be thought ill. Were it not for her faded cheeks, her pale lips, and her changed complexion, we should not know from herself that she ailed any-thing. Some people reach perfection sooner than others; and are as swift in their decay Poor Miss Byron seems not to be built for duration.

But should I write these things to you, my dear? Yet I know that Lady Clementina and you are sis-ters in magnanimity.

My brother was quite angry with me Dear Dr. Bartlett, said he, explain this speech of Charlotte. She loves to amuse Miss Byron is blessed with a good constitution: she is hardly yet in the perfection of her bloom. Set my heart at rest. I love not either of my sisters, more than I do Miss Byron. Dear Charlotte, I am really angry with you.

My good-natured lord reddened up to his naked ears, at hearing my brother say he was angry with me. Sir Charles, said he, I am sorry you are so soon angry with your sister. It is too true, Miss Byron is ill: she is i fear, in a declining way

Pardon mc, my dear Lord G. Yet I am ready to be angry with any-body that shall tell me Miss Byron is in a declining way Dr. Bartlett Pray–Indeed, Sir, Miss Byron is not well Lady G. has mingled her fears with her love, in the description. Miss Byron cannot but be lovely: her complexion is still fine. She is cheerful, serene, resigned