In another letter you ask Lucy, “ If Mr. Greville has not said, that flattery is dearer to a woman than her food.” Well niece, and what would you be at? Is it not so? — I do aver, that Mr. Greville is a sen-sible man; and makes good observations.

“Men’s chief strength, you say, lies in the weakness of women.” Why so it does. Where else should it lie? And this from their immeasurable love of admiration and flattery, as here you seem to acknowledge of your own accord, though it has been so often perversely disputed with me. Give you women but rope enough, you’ll do your own business.

However, in many places you have pleased me: but no-where more than when you recollect my averment (without contradicting it; which is a rarity!) “ that a woman out of wedlock is half use-less to the end of her being.” Good girl! That was an assertion of mine, and I will abide by it. Lucy simpered when we came to this place, and looked at me. She expected, I saw, my notice upon it; so did your aunt: but the confession was so frank, that I was generous; and only said, True as the gospel.

I have written a long letter: yet have not said one quarter of what I intended to say when I began. You will allow that you have given your correcting uncle, ample subject. But you fare something the better for saying, “ you unbespeak not your monitor.”

You own that you have some vanity. Be more free in your acknowledgments of this nature (you may; for are you not a woman?) and you’ll fare something the better for your ingenuousness; and the rather, as your acknowledgment will help me up with your aunt and Lucy, and your grandmamma, in an argument I will not give up.

I have had fresh applications made to me — But I will not say from whom: since we have agreed long ago not to prescribe to so discreet a girl, as in the main we all think you, in the articles of love and marriage.

With ah your faults I must love you. I am half ashamed to say how much I miss you already. We are all naturally cheerful folks: yet, I don’t know how it is; your absence has made a strange chasm at our table. Let us hear from you every post: that will be something. Your doting aunt tells the hours on the day she expects a letter. Your grandmother is at present with us, and in heart I am sure regrets your absence: but as your tenderness to her has kept you from going to London for so many years, she thinks she ought to be easy. Her example goes a great way with us all, you know; and particularly with

Your truly affectionate (though correcting) uncle,

GEO. SELBY.

Letter VIII.

Miss Byron to Miss Selby.