To Colonel Bellville.
Thursday.
Emily Howard came last night. Lady
Julia and she are reading natural
history with my Lord, and examining butterflies
wings in a microscope; a pretty innocent
amusement to keep young ladies out
of mischief. I wish my Lord had thought
of it sooner, it might have been of great
use to Lady Julia: if one is but amused, it
is of no great consequence whether by a
butterfly or a lover.
Vastly severe that last sentence; it must
be allowed I have a pretty genius for
satire.
My Lord certainly intends Lady Julia for
Lord Melvin. I have wrote Harry a ridiculous
wise letter, persuading him to sacrifise
his own passion to my Lord's caprice;
and giving him advice, which I should hate
him, if I thought him capable of following.
How easy it is to be wise for any body but
ones self! I suppose Harry could with great
calmness preach on the imprudence of my
attachment to you.
We are going to a strolling play to-night.
My Lord encourages diversions on his
estate, on the same principle that a wise
Price protects the fine arts, to keep his
people at home.
We had a family to dine here yesterday,
who are very agreeable people, and to
whom my Lord shewed a particular attention.
Mr. Barker, the father, is the most
bearable man I have seen in this country;
and the daughters vastly above the stile
of the misses here: Lady Belmont intends
to take them this winter with her to town,
as she does, every year, some gentleman's
daughter in her neighbourhood.
Adieu! I am peevish beyond measure,
and scarce know what I would be at. Have
you never these kinds of feels? Never fretful,
you cannot tell why? It is well for you,
you are not here: a lover and a favourite
lap-dog have a dreadful life on these occasions;
or indeed any animal one can use ill
with impunity. Strangely severe to-day;
do not you perceive it?
Six o'Clock.
Ten thousand times more peevish than
ever: we have just had a visit from "the
best kind of woman in the world," and
her daughter, "an amiable and accomplished
young lady," who writes verses
and journals, paints, makes shell-flowers,
cuts paper, and has "every qualification
to render the marriage state happy;"
talks of the charms of rural retirement, the
pleasures of reflexion, the beauties of the
mind; and sings, "Love's a gentle generous
passion." It was not in nature to have
stood it a quarter of an hour. Heaven
be praised! the play hour is come, and the
coaches are at the door.
Eleven o'Clock.
We have seen them enact Juliet and Romeo.
Lady Julia seemed to sympathize
with the heroine:
"I'll not wed Paris; Romeo is my husband."
Buona Notte.
