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As to clothes for Thursday, Monmouth-street will afford a ready supply. Clothes quite new would make your condition suspected. But you may defer that care, till you see if she can be prevailed upon. Your riding-dress would do for the first visit. Nor let your boots be over clean. I have always told you the consequence of attending to the minutiæ, where art (or imposture, as the ill-mannered would call it) is designed-your linen rumpled and soily, when you wait upon her-easy terms these-just come to town-remember (as formerly) to loll, to throw out your legs, to stroke and grasp down your ruffles, as if of significance enough to be careless. What though the presence of a fine lady would require a different behaviour, are you not of years to dispense with politeness? You can have no design upon her, you know. You are a father yourself of daughters as old as she. Evermore is parade and obsequiousness suspectable. It must show either a foolish head or a knavish heart. Assume airs of consequence, therefore, and you will be treated as a man of consequence. I have often more than half ruined myself by my complaisance; and, being afraid of control, have brought control upon myself.

I think I have no more to say at present. I intend to be at Slough, or on the way to it, as by mine to the lady. Adieu, honest McDonald.

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TO CAPTAIN ANTHONY TOMLINSON.

[Inclosed in the preceding; to be shown to the lady as in confidence.] M. Hall. Tuesday morn, June 27. EAR CAPT. TOMLINSON,-An unhappy misunderstanding having arisen between the dearest lady in the world and me (the particulars of which she perhaps may give you, but I will not, because I might be thought partial to myself), and she refusing to answer my most pressing and respectful letters; I am at a

most perplexing uncertainty whether she will meet us or not next Thursday, to solemnize.

My lord is so extremely ill, that if I thought she would not oblige me, I would defer going up to town for two or three days. He cares not to have me out of his sight; yet is impatient to salute my beloved as his niece before he dies. This I have promised to give him an opportunity to do; intending, if the dear creature will make me happy, to set out with her for this place directly from church.

With regret I speak it of the charmer of my soul; that irreconcileableness is her family fault-the less excusable indeed in her, as she herself suffers by it in so high a degree from her own relations.

Now, Sir, as you intended to be in town some time before Thursday, if it be not too great an inconvenience to you, I could be glad you would go up as soon as possible, for my sake and this I the more boldly request as I presume that a man who has so many great affairs of his own in hand as you have, would be glad to be at a certainty himself as to the day.

You, Sir, can so pathetically and justly set before her the unhappy consequences that will follow if the day be postponed, as well with regard to her uncle's disappointment, as to the part you have assured me her mother is willing to take in the wished-for reconciliation, that I have great hopes she will suffer herself to be prevailed upon. And a man and a horse shall be in waiting to take your dispatches, and bring them to me.

But if you cannot prevail in my favour, you will be pleased to satisfy your friend Mr. John Harlowe, that it is not my fault that he is not obliged. I am, dear Sir,

Your extremely obliged, and faithful servant,
R. LOVELACE.

PATRICK MCDONALD TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.

Wednesday, June 28, near 12 o'clock.

JONOURED SIR,-I received yours, as your servant desired me to acquaint you, by ten this morning. Horse and man were in a foam.

I instantly equipped myself, as if come off from a journey, and posted away to the lady, intending to plead great affairs that I came not before, in order to favour your antedate; and likewise to be in a hurry, to have a pretence to hurry her ladyship, and to take no denial for giving a satisfactory return to your messenger; but, upon my entering Mrs. Sinclair's house, I found all in the greatest consternation.

You must not, Sir, be surprised. It is a trouble to me to be the relater of the bad news; but so it is the lady is gone off. She was missed but half an hour before I

came.

Her waiting-maid is run away, or hitherto is not to be found; so that they conclude it was by her connivance.

They had sent, before I came, to my honoured masters, Mr. Belton, Mr. Mowbray, and Mr. Belford. Mr. Tourville is out of town.

High words are passing between Madam Sinclair and Madam Horton, and Madam Martin; as also with Dorcas, and your servant William threatens to hang or drown himself.

They have sent to know if they can hear of Mabell the waiting-maid at her mother's, who it seems lives in Chicklane, West Smithfield; and to an uncle of hers also, who keeps an alehouse at Cowcross, hard by, and with whom she lived last.

Your messenger, having just changed his horse, is come back so I will not detain him longer than to add, that I

am, with great concern for this misfortune, and thanks for your seasonable favour and kind intentions towards me. I am sure this was not my fault.

Honoured sir,

Your most obliged and humble servant,

PATRICK MCDONALD.

MR. MOWBRAY TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.

Wednesday, 12 o'clock.

EAR LOVELACE,-I have plaguy news to acquaint thee with. Miss Harlowe is gone off

Quite gon, by my soul!-I have no time for particulars, your servant being going off. But iff I had, we are not yet come to the bottom of the matter. The ladies here are all blubbering like devils, accusing one another most confoundedly whilst Belton and I damn them all together in thy name.

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If thou shouldst hear that thy fellow Will. is taken dead out of some horsepond, and Dorcas cutt down from her bed's teaster from dangling in her own garters, be not surprized. Here's the devil to pay. Nobody serene but Jack Belford, who is taking minnutes of examminations, accusations, and confessions, with the signifficant air of a Middlesex Justice; and intends to write at large all particulars, I suppose.

I heartily condole with thee: so does Belton. But it may turn out for the best; for she is gone away with thy marks, I understand. A foolish little devill! Where will she mend herself? For nobody will look upon her. And they tell me, that thou wouldst certainly have married her had she staid, but I know thee better.

Dear Bobby, adieu. If Lord M. will die now, to com

fort thee for this loss, what a seasonable exit would he make! Let's have a letter from thee. Pr'ythee do. Thou canst write devill-like to Belford, who shows us nothing at all.

Thine heartily,

RD. MOWBRAY.

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