I have been as large and as particular in my descriptions as my cousin Molle is in his of Moor Park,—­but that you know the place so well I would send it you,—­nothing can come near his patience in writing it, but my reading on’t.  Would you had sent me your father’s letter, it would not have been less welcome to me than to you; and you may safely believe that I am equally concerned with you in anything.  I should be pleased to see something of my Lady Carlisle’s writing, because she is so extraordinary a person.  I have been thinking of sending you my picture till I could come myself; but a picture is but dull company, and that you need not; besides, I cannot tell whether it be very like me or not, though ’tis the best I ever had drawn for me, and Mr. Lilly [Lely] will have it that he never took more pains to make a good one in his life, and that was it I think that spoiled it.  He was condemned for making the first he drew for me a little worse than I, and in making this better he has made it as unlike as t’other.  He is now, I think, at my Lord Pagett’s at Marloe [Marlow], where I am promised he shall draw a picture of my Lady for me,—­she gives it me, she says, as the greatest testimony of her friendship to me, for by her own rule she is past the time of having pictures taken of her.  After eighteen, she says, there is no face but decays apparently; I would fain have had her excepted such as had never been beauties, for my comfort, but she would not.

When you see your friend Mr. Heningham, you may tell him in his ear there is a willow garland coming towards him.  He might have sped better in his suit if he had made court to me, as well as to my Lady Ruthin.  She has been my wife this seven years, and whosoever pretends there must ask my leave.  I have now given my consent that she shall marry a very pretty little gentleman, Sir Christopher Yelverton’s son, and I think we shall have a wedding ere it be long.  My Lady her mother, in great kindness, would have recommended Heningham to me, and told me in a compliment that I was fitter for him than her daughter, who was younger, and therefore did not understand the world so well; that she was certain if he knew me he would be extremely taken, for I would make just that kind of wife he looked for.  I humbly thanked her, but said I was certain he would not make that kind of husband I looked for,—­and so it went no further.

I expect my eldest brother here shortly, whose fortune is well mended by my other brother’s death, so as if he were satisfied himself with what he has done, I know no reason why he might not be very happy; but I am afraid he is not.  I have not seen my sister since I knew she was so; but, sure, she can have lost no beauty, for I never saw any that she had, but good black eyes, which cannot alter.  He loves her, I think, at the ordinary rate of husbands, but not enough, I believe, to marry her so much to his disadvantage if it were to do again; and that would kill me were I as she, for I could be infinitely better satisfied with a husband that had never loved me in hopes he might, than with one that began to love me less than he had done.