‘Monday, July 3,’ [reads my Lord.]—­Let me see!—­that was last Monday; no longer ago!  ’Monday, July the third—­Madam—­I cannot excuse myself’—­um, um, um, um, um, um, [humming inarticulately, and skipping,]—­’I must own to you, Madam, that the honour of being related’——­

Off went the spectacles—­Now, tell me, Sir-r, Has not this lady lost all the friends she had in the world for your sake?

She has very implacable friends, my Lord:  we all know that.

But has she not lost them all for your sake?—­Tell me that.

I believe so, my Lord.

Well then!—­I am glad thou art not so graceless as to deny that.

On went the spectacles again—­’I must own to you, Madam, that the honour of being related to ladies as eminent for their virtue as for their descent.’—­Very pretty, truly! saith my Lord, repeating, ’as eminent for their virtue as for their descent, was, at first, no small inducement with me to lend an ear to Mr. Lovelace’s address.’

There is dignity, born-dignity, in this lady, cried my Lord.

Lady Sarah.  She would have been a grace to our family.

Lady Betty.  Indeed she would.

Lovel.  To a royal family, I will venture to say.

Lord M. Then what a devil—–­

Lovel.  Please to read on, my Lord.  It cannot be her letter, if it does not make you admire her more and more as you read.  Cousin Charlotte, Cousin Patty, pray attend——­Read on, my Lord.

Miss Charlotte.  Amazing fortitude!

Miss Patty only lifted up her dove’s eyes.

Lord M. [Reading.] ’And the rather, as I was determined, had it come to effect, to do every thing in my power to deserve your favourable opinion.’

Then again they chorus’d upon me!

A blessed time of it, poor I!—­I had nothing for it but impudence!

Lovel.  Pray read on, my Lord—­I told you how you would all admire her ——­or, shall I read?

Lord M. D——­d assurance! [Then reading.] ’I had another motive, which I knew would of itself give me merit with your whole family:  [they were all ear:] a presumptuous one; a punishably-presumptuous one, as it has proved:  in the hope that I might be an humble mean, in the hand of Providence, to reclaim a man who had, as I thought, good sense enough at bottom to be reclaimed; or at least gratitude enough to acknowledge the intended obligation, whether the generous hope were to succeed or not.’  —­Excellent young creature!—­

Excellent young creature! echoed the Ladies, with their handkerchiefs at their eyes, attended with music.

Lovel.  By my soul, Miss Patty, you weep in the wrong place:  you shall never go with me to a tragedy.

Lady Betty.  Hardened wretch.

His Lordship had pulled off his spectacles to wipe them.  His eyes were misty; and he thought the fault in his spectacles.

I saw they were all cocked and primed—­to be sure that is a very pretty sentence, said I——­that is the excellency of this lady, that in every line, as she writes on, she improves upon herself.  Pray, my Lord, proceed—­I know her style; the next sentence will still rise upon us.