"nued intimacy with that Mr. Belford was wholly unac'countable, and as wholly inexcusable.

What made the wished-for reconciliation, she said, more difficult, was, first, that you yourself acknow. 'ledged yourself dishonoured; (and it was too well known, 'that it was your own fault that you ever were in the 'power of so great a profligate ;) of consequence, that ' their and your disgrace could not be greater than it was; 'yet, that you refuse to prosecute the wretch. Next, that the pardon and blessing hoped for must probably be attended with your marriage to the man they hate, and who hates them as much: very disagreeable circumstances, ' she said, I must allow, to found a reconciliation upon.

As to her own part, she must needs say, that if there 'were any hope that Mr. Lovelace would become a re'formed man, the letter her cousin Morden had read to 'them from him to you, and the justice (as she hoped it 'was) he did your character, though to his own con'demnation, (his family and fortunes being unexception. able,) and all his relations earnest to be related to you, were arguments that would weigh with her, could they ' have any with your father and uncles.' To my plea of your illness, she could not but flatter ' herself, she answered, that it was from lowness of spirits, and temporary dejection. A young creature, she 'said, so very considerate as you naturally were, and 'fallen so low, must have enough of that. Should they 'lose you, which God forbid! the scene would then in. 'deed be sadly changed; for then those who now most resented, would be most grieved; all your fine qualities 'would rise to their remembrance, and your unhappy 6 error would be quite forgotten.

She wished you would put yourself into your cousin's 'protection entirely, and have nothing more to say to Mr. 'Belford.'

And I would recommend it to your most serious consideration, my dear Miss Clary, whether now, as your cousin (who is your trustee for your grandfather's estate,) is come, you should not give over all thoughts of Mr. Lovelace's intimate friend for your executor; more espe cially, as that gentleman's interfering in the concerns of your family, should the sad event take place (which my heart aches but to think of) might be attended with those consequences which you are so desirous, in other cases, to obviate and prevent. And suppose, my dear young lady, you were to write one letter more to each of your uncles, to let them know how ill you are?—And to ask their advice, and offer to be governed by it, in relation to the disposition of your estate and effects?-Methinks I wish you would.

I find they will send you up a large part of what has been received from that estate since it was your's; toge ther with your current cash which you left behind you: and this by your cousin Morden, for fear you should have contracted debts which may make you uneasy.

They seem to expect, that you will wish to live at your grandfather's house, in a private manner, if your cousin prevail not upon you to go abroad for a year or two.

Friday Morning.

BETTY was with me just now. She tells me, that your cousin Morden is so much displeased with them all, that he has refused to lodge any more at your uncle Antony's; and has even taken up with inconvenient lodgings, till he is provided with others to his mind. This very much

concerns them; and they repent their violent treatment of him: and the more, as he is resolved, he says, to make you his sole executrix, and heir to all his fortune.

What noble fortunes still, my dearest young lady, await you! I am thoroughly convinced, if it please God to preserve your life and your health, that every body will soon be reconciled to you, and that you will see many happy days.

Your mother wished me not to attend you as yet, because she hopes that I may give myself that pleasure soon with every body's good liking, and even at their desire. Your cousin Morden's reconciliation with them, which they are very desirous of, I am ready to hope will include theirs with you.

But if that should happen which I so much dread, and I not with you, I should never forgive myself. Let me, therefore, my dearest young lady, desire you to command my attendance, if you find any danger, and if you wish me peace of mind; and no consideration shall withhold me.

I hear that Miss Howe has obtained leave from her mo. ther to see you; and intends next week to go to town for that purpose; and (as it is believed) to buy clothes for her approaching nuptials.

Mr. Hickman's mother-in-law is lately dead. Her jointure of 600l. a-year is fallen to him; and she has, more. over, as an acknowledgment of his good behaviour to her, left him all she was worth, which was very considerable, a few legacies excepted to her own relations.

These good men are uniformly good : indeed could not else be good; and never fare the worse for being so. All the world agrees he will make that fine young lady an excellent husband: and I am sorry they are not as much agreed in her making him an excellent wife. But I hope a

woman of her principles would not encourage his address, if, whether she at present love him or not, she thought she could not love him; or if she preferred any other man to him.

Mr. Pocock undertakes to deliver this; but fears it will be Saturday night first, if not Sunday morning.

May the Almighty protect and bless you!-I long to see you-my dearest young lady, I long to see you; and to fold you once more to my fond heart. I dare to say happy days are coming. Be but cheerful. Give way to hope.

Whether for this world, or the other, you must be happy. Wish to live, however, were it only because you are so well fitted in mind to make every one happy who has the honour to know you. What signifies this transitory eclipse? You are as near perfection, by all I have heard, as any creature in this world can be: for here is your glory-you are brightened and purified, as I may say, by your sufferings!-How I long to hear your whole sad, yet instructive story, from your own lips!

For Miss Howe's sake, who, in her new engagements will so much want you; for your cousin Morden's sake, for your mother's sake, if I must go on farther in your family; and yet I can say, for all their sakes; and for my sake, my dearest Miss Clary; let your resumed and accustomed magnanimity bear you up. You have many things to do which I know not the person who will do if you leave us.

Join your prayers then to mine, that God will spare you to a world that wants you and your example; and, although your days may seem to have been numbered, who knows but that, with the good King Hezekiah, you may

have them prolonged? Which God grant, if it be his

blessed will, to the prayers of

Your

JUDITH NORTON.

LETTER II.

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.

Monday, Sept. 4.

THE lady would not read the letter she had from Mrs. Norton till she had received the Communion, for fear it should contain any thing that might disturb that happy calm, which she had been endeavouring to obtain for it. And when that solemn office was over, she was so composed, she said, that she thought she could receive any news, however affecting, with tranquillity.

Nevertheless, in reading it, she was forced to leave off several times through weakness and a dimness in her sight, of which she complained; if I may say complained; for so easy and soft were her complaints, that they could hardly be called such.

She was very much affected at divers parts of this letter. She wept several times, and sighed often. Mrs. Lovick told me, that these were the gentle exclamations she broke out into, as she read :-Her unkind, her cruel brother!- How unsisterly!-Poor dear woman! seeming to speak of Mrs. Norton. Her kind cousin!-0 these flaming spirits! And then reflecting upon herself more than once-What a deep error is mine! —What evils have I been the occasion of!—