And now, having, as I said, once for all, prepared you to guard against a surfeit of self-praise, though delivered at second or third hand, I will go on with my narrative — But hold — my paper reminds me that I have written a monstrous letter — I will therefore, with a new sheet, begin a new one. Only adding to this, that I am, and ever will be,

Your affectionate

HARRIET BYRON.

P.S. Well, but what shall I do now? — I have just received my uncle’s letter. And, after his charge upon me of vanity and pride, will my parade, as above, stand me in any stead? — I must trust to it. Only one word to my dear and ever-ho-noured uncle — Don’t you, Sir, impute to me a belief of the truth of those extravagant compli-ments made by men professing love to me; and I will not wish you to think me one bit the wiser, the handsomer, the better, for them, than I was before.

Letter IX.

Miss Byron. In Continuation.

Thursday, February 2.

The very next morning Sir Rowland himself paid his respects to Mr. Reeves.

The knight, before he would open himself very freely as to the business he came upon, desired that lie might have an opportunity to see me. I knew nothing of him, nor of his business. We were just going to breakfast. Miss Allestree, Miss Bramber, and MissDolyns, ayoung lady of merit, were with us.

Just as we had taken our seats, Mr. Reeves intro-duced Sir Rowland, but let him not know which was Miss Byron. He did nothing at first sitting down, but peer in our faces by turns; and fixing his eye upon Miss Allestree, he jogged Mr. Reeves with his elbow — Hay, Sir? — audibly whispered he,

Mr. Reeves was silent. Sir Rowland, who is short-sighted, then looked under his bent brows, at Miss Bramber; then at Miss Uolyns; and then at me — Hay, Sir? whispered he again.

He sat out the first dish of tea with an impatience equal, as it seemed, to his uncertainty. And at last taking Mr. Reeves by one of his buttons, desired a word with him. They withdrew together; and the knight, not quitting hold of Mr. Reeves’s button, Ad’s-my-life, Sir, said he, I hope I am right. I love my nephew as I love myself. I live but lor him. He ever was dutiful to me his uncle. If that be Miss Byron who sits on the right-hand of your lady, with the countenance of an angel, her eyes sparkling with good humour, and blooming as a May-morning, the business is done. I give my consent. Although I heard not a word pass from her lips, I am sure she is all intelligence. 5ly boy shall have her. The other young ladies are agreeable: but if this be the lady my kinsman is in love with, he shall have her. How will she outshine all our Caermarthen ladies; and yet we have charming girls in Caermarthen! — Am I, or am I not right, Mr. Reeves, as to my ne-phew’s^ame, as they call it?