creation seem sensible of these beauties;-there is a species of mild cheerfulness in the face of a lamb, which I have but indifferently expressed in a corner of my paper, and a demure contented look in an ox, which, in the fear of expressing still worse, I leave unattempted.

Business calls me away-I must dispatch my letter. Yet what does it contain? No matter, you like any thing better than news.-Indeed you never told me so, but I have an intuitive knowledge upon the subject, from the sympathy which I have constantly perceived in the taste of Julia and Cher Jean. What is it to you or me

If here in the City we have nothing but riot,
If the Spital-field weavers can't be kept quiet,
If the weather is fine, or the streets should be dirty,
Or if Mr. Dick Wilson died aged of thirty?

-But if I was to hearken to the versifying grumbling I feel within me, I should fill my paper, and not have room left to intreat that you would plead my cause to Honora more eloquently than the enclosed letter has the power of doing.-A propos of verses, you desire me to recollect my random description of the engaging

appearance of the charming Mrs.

at your service

Here it is,

Then rustling and bustling the lady comes down,
With a flaming red face, and a broad yellow gown,

And a hobbling out of breath gait, and a frown,

This little French cousin of ours, Delarise, was my sister Mary's play-fellow at Paris. His sprightliness engages my sisters extremely. Doubtless they talk much of him to you in their letters.

How sorry I am to bid you adieu! Oh let me not be forgot by the friends most dear to you at Lichfield !Lichfield! Ah! of what magic letters is that little word composed!-How graceful it looks when it is written! Let nobody talk to me of its original meaning, *"The

* Field of blood.-Here is a small mistake.-Lichfield is not the field of blood, but "the field of dead bodies," alluding to a battle fought between the Romans and the British Christians, in the Dioclesian Persecution, when the latter were massacred.Three slain kings, with their burying-place, now Barrowcop-hill, and the Cathedral in miniature, form the City Arms. LICH is still a word in use. The Church-yard Gates, through which fumerals pass, are often called Lich-gates, vulgarly Light-gates.

field of blood!" Oh! no such thing!-It is the field of joy! "The beautiful City, that lifts her fair head in

the valley, and says, I am, and there is none beside me!"-Who says she is vain ?-Julia will not say sonor yet Honora-and least of all, their devoted

LETTER III.

Clapton, November 1, 1769.

My ears still ring with the sounds of Oh Jack !

Oh Jack! How do the dear Lichfieldians ?-What do they say? What are they about?-What did you do while you were with them?-Have patience, said I, good people !—and began my story, which they devoured with as much joyful avidity, as Adam did Gabriel's tidings of heaven-My mother and sisters are all very well, and delighted with their little Frenchman, who is a very agreeable lad.

Surely you applaud the fortitude with which I left you! Did I not come off with flying colours? It was a great effort, for, alas! this recreant heart did not second the smiling courage of the countenance; nor is it yet as it ought to be, from the hopes it may reasonably

entertain of seeing you all again, ere the winter's dreary hours are past.-Julia, my dear Julia, gild them with tidings of our beloved Honora!-Oh that you may be enabled to tell me, that she regains her health and her charming vivacity!-Your sympathizing heart partakes all the joys and pains of your friends.-Never can I forget its kind offices, which were of such moment to my peace!-Mine is formed for friendship, and I am blest in being able to place so well the purest passion of an ingenuous mind!-How am I honored in Mr. and Mrs. Seward's attachment to me!-Charming were the anticipations which beguiled the long tracts of hill and dale, and plain, that divide London from Lichfield!-With what delight my eager eyes drank the first view of the dear spires !-What rapture did I not feel on entering your gates-in flying up the hall steps!-in rushing into the dining room!-in meeting the gladdened eyes of dear Julia and her enchanting friend!-That instant convinced me of the truth of Rousseau's observation, "that there are moments worth ages."-Shall not those moments return? Ah Julia! the cold hand of absence is heavy upon the heart of your poor Cher Jean. He is forced to hammer