of seeing, as sometimes I stole a bashful glance towards it, not knowing how or which way to look.  Even Mr. H. seemed to be touched very sensibly; and recollecting his behaviour to me at the Hall, he once cried out, “What a sad whelp was I, to behave as I formerly did, to so much excellence!—­Not, Mr. B., that I was any thing uncivil neither;—­but in unworthy sneers, and nonsense.—­You know me well enough.—­You called me, tinsell’d boy, though, Madam, don’t you remember that? and said, twenty or thirty years hence, when I was at age, you’d give me an answer. Egad!  I shall never forget your looks, nor your words neither!—­they were severe speeches, were they not, Sir?”—­“O you see, Mr. H.,” replied my dear Mr. B., “Pamela is not quite perfect.  We must not provoke her; for she’ll call us both so, perhaps; for I wear a laced coat, sometimes, as well as you.”

“Nay, I can’t be angry,” said he.  “I deserved it richly, that I did, had it been worse.”—­“Thy silly tongue,” said my lady, “runs on without fear or wit.  What’s past is past.”—­“Why, Madam, I was plaguily wrong; and I said nothing of any body but myself:—­and have been ready to hang myself since, as often as I have thought of my nonsense.”—­“My nephew,” said my lord, “must bring in hanging, or the gallows in every speech he makes, or it will not be he.”  Mr. B., smiling, said, with severity enough in his meaning, as I saw by the turn of his countenance, “Mr. H. knows that his birth and family entitle him more to the block, than the rope, or he would not make so free with the latter.”—­“Good! very good, by Jupiter!” said Mr. H. laughing.  The countess smiled.  Lady Davers shook her head at her brother, and said to her nephew, “Thou’rt a good-natured foolish fellow, that thou art.”—­“For what, Madam?  Why the word foolish, aunt?  What have I said now?”

“Nothing to any purpose, indeed,” said she; “when thou dost, I’ll write it down.”—­“Then, Madam,” said he, “have your pen and ink always about you, when I am present; and put that down to begin with!” This made every one laugh.  “What a happy thing is it,” thought I, “that good nature generally accompanies this character; else, how would some people be supportable?”

But here I’ll break off.  ’Tis time, you’ll say.  But you know to whom I write, as well as to yourself, and they’ll be pleased with all my silly scribble.  So excuse one part for that, and another for friendship’s sake, and then I shall be wholly excusable to you.

Now the trifler again resumes her pen.  I am in some pain, Miss, for to-morrow, because of the rules we observe of late in our family on Sundays, and of going through a crowd to church; which will afford new scenes to our noble visitors, either for censure or otherwise:  but I will sooner be censured for doing what I think my duty, than for the want of it; and so will omit nothing that we have been accustomed to do.