kind that e’er I saw.  By the way (this puts me in mind on’t), have you read the story of China written by a Portuguese, Fernando Mendez Pinto, I think his name is?  If you have not, take it with you, ’tis as diverting a book of the kind as ever I read, and is as handsomely written.  You must allow him the privilege of a traveller, and he does not abuse it.  His lies are as pleasant harmless ones, as lies can be, and in no great number considering the scope he has for them.  There is one in Dublin now, that ne’er saw much farther, has told me twice as many (I dare swear) of Ireland.  If I should ever live to see that country and be in’t, I should make excellent sport with them.  ’Tis a sister of my Lady Grey’s, her name is Pooley; her husband lives there too, but I am afraid in no very good condition.  They were but poor, and she lived here with her sisters when I knew her; ’tis not half a year since she went, I think.  If you hear of her, send me word how she makes a shift there.

And hark you, can you tell me whether the gentleman that lost a crystal box the 1st of February in St. James’ Park or Old Spring Gardens has found it again or not, I have strong curiosity to know?  Tell me, and I’ll tell you something that you don’t know, which is, that I am your Valentine and you are mine.  I did not think of drawing any, but Mrs. Goldsmith and Jane would need make me some for them and myself; so I writ down our three names, and for men Mr. Fish, James B., and you.  I cut them all equal and made them up myself before them, and because I would owe it wholly to my good fortune if I were pleased.  I made both them choose first that had never seen what was in them, and they left me you.  Then I made them choose again for theirs, and my name was left.  You cannot imagine how I was delighted with this little accident, but by taking notice that I cannot forbear telling you it.  I was not half so pleased with my encounter next morning.  I was up early, but with no design of getting another Valentine, and going out to walk in my night-cloak and night-gown, I met Mr. Fish going a hunting, I think he was; but he stayed to tell me I was his Valentine; and I should not have been rid on him quickly, if he had not thought himself a little too negligee; his hair was not powdered, and his clothes were but ordinary; to say truth, he looked then methought like other mortal people.  Yet he was as handsome as your Valentine.  I’ll swear you wanted one when you took her, and had very ill fortune that nobody met you before her.  Oh, if I had not terrified my little gentleman when he brought me his own letter, now sure I had had him for my Valentine!