from your sight, I hindered you from the guilt you have pursued, and put it out of your power to ruin me. It would be no very pleasing reflection on your death-bed, that you had seduced a soul from the paths of peace and virtue; and, to give yourself a fashionable liberty, had entailed misery and infamy on a family who have served you with zeal and affection. What has my aged father left undone to support your interest in the country? With what tenderness did my mother educate your two young sisters who were committed to her care? And, in return you would bring their only daughter to the last degree of sin and shame. This may be genteel, but surely it is not noble. How false are your sentiments of honour and justice! You thought it would be a reflection on your character to marry into a family so much below you in birth and fortune; but are not ashamed to return a thousand obligations (pardon me, my Lord; for great as you are, I must call them such) with the highest injury. And, though you have not succeeded in your guilt as to that, you have robbed two ancient servants, nay friends of yours, of the joy of their eyes, and delight of their age, their only child; who, by your licentious love, is forced to seclude herself from them, and the whole world, for ever.. I dread to think how they will support this affliction. I left a letter on the ta ble to acquaint my mother with my retreat; but concealed the cause, for your sister's sake; since she might perhaps resolve to discharge herself from an office which she has executed with so much care, and has produced her so cruel a requital. Let the sorrow you brought upon my parents content you, and do not carry ruin into another family. Why should you employ the finest understanding, and the most graceful person, to promote the cause of hell? And why must the rank, power, and wealth, which were given you to diffuse happiness all around you, only serve to make you capable of splendid mischief?/

I am now in a sanctuary, where I cannot be the enter tainment of your idle hours; and where the time I spent in listening to you, shall now be employed in praying for

your reformation. The tears which I have often poured out in vain, to dissuade you from your guilty enterprise, shall be shed before God for your sins. For tho' you have used me with the utmost cruelty, your eternal welfare will always be the tenderest concern of

The unhappy ANASTASIA.

LETTER IX.

To Leonora..

I HAVE been on the very borders of the grave, and have for several months endured all the pains and languishments of a dangerous illness. But it has. pleased, God to restore me to so tolerable a measure of health that I am now able to think and write again, And with what pleasure do I feel myself once more at ease!

How ungrateful are the generality of mankind while they enjoy this blessing! and how seldom (while they are well) do they reflect on the inconvenience and faintness, the weariness and pains which attend, a sick-bed ?. I never was sensible what I owed to God for my health, till I came to want it. While my blood flowed with an even uninterrupted course in its channels, and my arte ries and sinews were able to perform their several functions, I overlooked that mercy which had contrived them for those operations. But as soon as they were obstruc ted, I was sensible of their value. And while I sickened at the sight of my food, I envied the peasant, whose health enabled him to earn his dinner with the sweat of his brow; and while I was in torment in a stately apartment, and restless on a bed of down, how joyfully would I have exchanged conditions with the hind, who, in an humble cottage, was sleeping on sheaves of straw! How readily would I have parted with all the vanity of airy titles, all the advantages of riches and grandeur, to purchase health! health which gives relish to every enjoy ment, and, like the rays of light, diffuses beauty upon every object! When I was ill, the beauty of the creation was effaced to me; I found no longer harmony in the sounds

of music, nor joy while the sun poured his meridian glory; but turned my eyes from the intolerable lustre, and wished for the shades of night to veil his radiance. I had no pleasure in seeing every thing around me flourish, while I withered and decayed. The birds that warbled near my window, seemed to sing my funeral dirge; and every fly that buzzed in my chamber, sounded like an alarm to judgment. When night came I considered that probably I might never see day light again, till the morning of the resurrection dawned upon the earth. And when I was drowsy, and inclined to sleep, I imagined that I should perhaps never wake, till I heard the voice of the archangel, and the sound of the last trumpet; nor lift up my head, till I saw the Son of man coming in the clouds, with power and great glory. This near prospect of death and judgment, has put the world and all its gaudy vanities, into a just light, and has convinced me of the falsity of human comforts. And I have reason to bless God, who has given me such an opportunity of seeing things as they really are; and, by making me sensible of the small consolatien that all the earth can afford in the time of illness, and at the hour of death, has directed my eyes and hopes to heaven, and made me know the value of those hours which were too often wasted in guilt or folly. And, believe me, Leonora, you will, some time or other,' be sensible of this important truth. You are not more secure of years to come, than I appeared to be before this illness; and will find the splendour of à court, and all the flarteries of life, miserable comforters upon a sick-bed. The pleasures of this world will withdraw, and nothing remain with you but a sense of your past conduct; and when you find yourself ready to quit the stage, you will have no concern a bout any thing, but how you have acted your part.

I am still very weak, though perfectly at ease; and I could be satisfied to remain so always, rather than hazard being again a slave to my passions and pleasures. I am, with all imaginable sincerity,

Your most faithful DIANA..

I TOLD you, sometime since, that my affairs would oblige me to pass this summer at my estate in the west. I have been at it these six weeks. I brought no company hither but Cleomedon; who is so fond of his stu dies, that I seldom see him, unless it be at meals; but then he is always sprightly and cheerful. And, at o? ther times, I entertain myself either in the park or gardens; which afford me so much amusement that I never find the day too long.

I cannot forbear repeating to you an adventure which I met with a few days ago. As I was riding over some of my farms, I came to the brow of an extreme high hill, from whence I had the prospect of the most beautiful valley imaginable. It was full of woods, and watered with a large river: In some places it run very broad and straight, in others it was more contracted, and flowed in a thousand windings; sometimes it was lost among the woods, and rose again with fresh beauty as it run through the flowery lawns. I was so charm ed with the sight of this sylvan scene, that I longed to be in it. But the difficulty was how to get down the hill; for that side next the valley was almost perpendicular, and so rocky, and covered with wood, that it seemed unpassable. However, I dismounted; and, leading my horse, found a narrow winding, by which I made a shift to get to the bottom of the hill; at the foot of which was a delightful plain, here and there interspersed with spreading oaks, beech, and sycamore trees. Here I had the pleasure to observe the spring of the river that watered that beautiful valley. It gushes out of the side of the rock; and, after falling from one cleft to another, a great height, runs even with the grass through the plains and woods. I now got on horseback again, and, following the course of the river about three or four furlongs, I came to a low house,

behind which there was a plot of trees, and before a little court, which had no other fence than a laurelhedge breast-high. There was a little wicket which stood open, and the neatness of the place tempted me to go in; which I did with the better assurance, because I imagined, by the appearance and size of the house, that it was not inhabited by any persons of distinction. I crossed the court without seeing any body; and came into a hall, the neatness of which is not to be described. But I own I was surprised to see a harpsichord, upon which lay some music-books. I had the curiosity to look into them; and found some of them were opera-airs, but the greater part hymns and anthems. There lay on the table two large folios of maps, and upon the ground I observed a pair of very fine globes. A furniture so different from what I expected, I made me uncertain whether I should follow my curio sity, which led me to go up a stair-case that was at one end of the hall; or go back without disturbing the owners of the house, who I now began to believe were of a different rank from what I at first imagined; and yet it was inconceivable to me how any persons of distinction should be in such a house. My curiosity at last prevailed, and I went up. But when I came near the top of the stairs, I heard a person reading with great justness, in a clear voice, which seemed to be a woman's. I stopped a little to listen to her; and, at last, turning on my right hand, I observed a door which stood half open, from whence I imagined the voice came, drew near it without any noise, and could see a grave well-looking woman of about fifty, who was reading aloud to two very beautiful young ones, who were at work, embroidering flowers on white silk. They were dressed alike in white satin waistcoats, and brown lutestring petticoats; and upon their heads fine laced caps, made like those of the common peasants. They had an air of innocence and modesty greater than I ever saw. She who appeared the elder of the two had dark hair, and the most blooming complexion imaginable. She was tall, and finely shaped; and might have passed for

I