LETTER XCII.

Mifs HORATIA CLIFFORD to Lady DIANA

FRANKLIN.

MY DEAR LADY DIANA,

London.

THIS will free you from part of the apprehenfions you express in your laft letter on my brother's account. I had a great reliance on his natural ficklenefs; and now there is reafon to believe that my reliance was well founded. My brother has fet out for Northumberland, in fpite of all the blandishments of Mrs. Demure-I believe I might have said, partly because of them-her affiduities became oppreffive.

I not only rejoice that he is gone, but also on account of the motives that determined him to go. He became anxious to make certain arrangements, for the purpose of raifing money to clear off his debts, and particularly that which he owes lord Deanport;

which, I find, bears harder on his spirit than all the reft. Lord Deanport is preffed for money himself. You have heard, no doubt, that miss Moyfton is now the wife of lord Sordid. That young man was confidered as a miser, even when he was poor: I leave you to judge how much more fo he is likely to become now that he is immensely rich. I once heard my father fay, that a real mifer acquires nothing by an acceffion of money, but a conftant dread of lofing it.

Miss Moyston's marriage took place at the very time when lord Deanport, in compliance with the prudent remonstrances of his mother, had determined to renew his addreffes to that lady. My brother, knowing he has met with this disappointment, is become more impatient to clear off the debt he owes his lordship.

William is fo irritated against me, that it would be vain for me to attempt any friendly explanation with him at prefent; but the measures he is now adopting give me hopes

that he will be in a better difpofition foon, -which is what I moft earnestly wish. You cannot imagine how painful it is for me to be on an unfriendly footing with him.

I have written to Mr. Proctor, begging that he would forget my brother's former harfh behaviour, and meet him with his ufual goodness; affuring him, that William has the highest opinion of his integrity (which I am fure he has), and will follow his advice respecting the renewal of the leases that are nearly expired, (which I hope he will do).

I beg at the fame time that he will advance the money that my brother stands in immediate need of, on my fecurity, without letting William know that I am any way connected in the bufinefs. It would grieve me very much to fee any part of the old family estate fold. I am in great hopes that the difficulties William has experienced of late will make him more prudent and economical. A few years economy would still

clear the eftate of all incumberances.

It

would be more difficult to purchase back any part of the land, if once fold. Befides, I confider it as a fpecies of facrilege to fell any part of fo very ancient an inheritance.

I spend a great part of my time with the marchionefs, who returned to town fome days ago. She often talks to me of her husband. She feems to rejoice in the good fortune that has lately befallen them, more on his account than her own; and fpeaks of him in a strain of such affection, as gives me a higher notion of the happiness of the married state than I had. If they had lived together in a state of uninterrupted profperity, would they have been as fond of each other? would they have been as happy as they are?—I question it.-They would have occafionally felt that cold forgetfulness of each other, which those who are called the happiest married people fometimes experience. The marchionefs (and fhe is convinced it is the fame with her husband) knows none

of that. The ftorms, which for a time separate their perfons, unite their fouls more affectionately. Each can fay with truth to the other,

"When howling winds and beating rain,

In tempefts shake the fylvan cell;

Or midft the chase, in every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell.”

Although I know, my dear lady Diana, that you think fome of my notions romantic, I have come to the refolution to conceal none of them from you, however abfurd they may appear. You cannot imagine how very infipid and tiresome I feel that courfe of life with which so many people seem satisfied. I never saw so much of it as fince Juliet went to the North, and you to Devonshire. Can any thing be more flat and unprofitable, than for nearly the fame circle to meet day after day, without the least sentiment of affection or esteem, without any defire of information, without any bond of union, except that arifing from repaying dinner by dinner, affembly by affembly, having the