I gave each my hand; I wish you very well, gentlemen, said I: and I am obliged to your ci-vility in seeing me so far on my journey: especially as you are so kind as to leave me here.

Why, dear madam, did you not spare your espe-cially, said Mr. Greville? — Come, Fenwick, let us retire, and lay our two loggerheads together, and live over again the past hour, and then hang our-selves.

Poor Mr. Orme! The coach, at our first setting out, passed by his park-gate, you know. There was he — on the very ridge of the highway. I saw him not till it was near him. He bowed to the very ground, with such an air of disconsolateness! — Poor Mr. Orme! — I wished to have said one word to him, when we had passed him: but the coach flew — Why did the coach fly! — But I waved my hand, and leaned out of the coach as far as I could, and bowed to him.

O Miss Byron, said Mrs. Reeves (so said Mr. Reeves) Mr. Orme is the happy man.

Did I think as you do, I should not be so desirous to have spoken to him: but, methinks, I should have been glad to have once said, Adieu, Mr. Orme; for Mr. Orme is a good man.

But, Lucy, my heart was softened at parting with my dear relations and friends; and when the heart is softened, light impressions will go deep.

My cousins’ house is suitable to their fortune: very handsome, and furnished in taste. Mrs. Reeves, knowing well what a scribbler I am, and am expected to be, has provided me with pen, ink, and paper, in abundance. She readily allowed me to take early possession of my apartment, that I might pay punctual obedience to the commands of all my friends on setting out. These, you know, were to write in the first hour of my arrival: and it was allowed to be to you, my dear. But, writing thus early, what can have occurred?

My apartment is extremely elegant. A well-furnished book-case is, however, to me the most attracting ornament in it? — Pardon me, dear pen and ink! I must not prefer any thing to you, by whose means I hope to spend some part of every day at Selby-house; and even at this distance amuse with my prattle those friends that are always so partial to it.

And now, my dear, my revered grandmamma, I ask your blessing — yours, my ever-indulgent aunt Selby — and yours, my honoured and equally beloved uncle Selby. Who knows but you will now in absence take less delight in feazing your ever-du-tiful Harriet? But yet I unbespeak not my monitor.

Continue to love me, my Lucy, as I shall endea-vour to deserve your love: and let me know how our dear Nancy does.