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said against him, was now so well-bred to behave with great civility. This meeting proved indeed a lucky circumstance, as he communicated to her the house where he lodged, with which Sophia was un. acquainted.


THE elegant Lord Shaftsbury somewhere objects

to telling too much truth ; by which it may be fairly inferred, that, in some cases, to lie is not only excusable, but commendable.

And surely there are no persons who may so pro. perly challenge a right to this commendable devia, tion from truth, as young women in the affair of love; for which they may plead precept, education, and, above all, the sanction, nay, I may say the ne. cessity, of custom; by which they are restrained, dot from submitting to the honest impulses of nature (for that would be a foolish prohibition), but from owuing them.

We are not, therefore, ashamed to say, that our beroine now pursued the dictates of the above-mentioned right honourable philosopher. As she was perfectly satisfied, then, that Lady Bellaston was ignorant of the person of Jones, so she determined to keep her in that ignorance, though at the expense of a little fibbing.

Jones had not been long gone, before Lady Bellaston cried, : Upon my word, a good pretty young fellow: I wonder who he is; for I don't remember ever to have seen his face before.'

• Nor I neither, madam,' cries Sophia. “I must say he behaved very handsomely in relation to my note.'

• Yes; and he is a very handsome fellow,' said the lady: 'don't you think so?"

• I did not take much notice of him,' answered Sophia ; ' but I thought he seemed rather awkward, and ungenteel, than otherwise.' **You are extremely right,' cries Lady Bellaston :

you may see, by his manner, that he hath not kept good company. Nay, notwithstanding his returning your note, and refusing the reward, I almost ques. tion whether he is a gentleman. I have always observed there is a something in persons well born, which others can never acquire. I think I will give orders not to be at home to him.' : Nay, sure, madam,' answered Sophia,' one can't suspect after what he hath done ;--besides, if your ladyship observed him, there was an elegance in his discourse, a delicacy, a prettiness of expression, that, that----

'I confess,' said Lady Bellaston, 'the fellow hath words-------And indeed, Sophia, you must forgive me, indeed you must.'

I forgive your ladyship!' said Sophia. Yes, indeed you must!' answered she, laughing; • for I had a horrible suspicion when I first came into the room------ I vow you must forgive it, but I suspected it was Mr. Jones himself.'

• Did your ladyship, indeed ? cries Sophia, blush. ing, and affecting a laugh.

Yes, I vow I did,' answered she. • I can't ima. gine what put it into my head; for, give the fellow his due, he was genteelly dressed; which, I think, dear Sophy, is not commonly the case with your friend.'

• This raillery,' cries Sophia, is a little cruel, Lady Bellaston, after my promise to your lady. ship.'

• Not at all, child,' said the lady. It would have been cruel before; but after you promised me never to marry without your father's consent, in which you know is implied your giving up Jones, sure you can bear a little raillery on a passion which was par.

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donable enough in'a young girl in the country, and of which you tell me you have so entirely got the better.'' What must I think, my dear Sophy, if you cannot bear a little ridicule even on his dress? I shall begin to fear you are very far gone indeed; and almost question whether you have dealt ingenuously with me.'

• Indeed, madam,' cries Sophia, your ladyship mistakes me, if you imagine I had any concern on his account.'

• On bis account!' answered the lady: 'You must have mistaken me; I went no farther than his dress; for I would not injure your taste by any other com. parison. I don't imagine, my dear Sophy, if your Mr. Jones had been such a fellow as this.'

• I thought,' says Sophia, 'your ladyship had al. lowed him to be handsome.'

Whom, pray?' cried the lady, hastily.

• Mr. Jones,' answered Sophia ;--and immediately recollecting herself, "Mr. Joues! no, no! I ask your pardon ;---I meau the gentleman who was just now here.'

• Sophy! Sophy!' cries the lady; 'this Mr. Jones, I am afraid, still runs in


head.' • Then, upon my honour, madam,' said Sophia, 'Mr. Jones is as entirely indifferent to me, as the gentleman who just now left us.'

Upon my honour,' said Lady Bellaston, “I believe it. Forgive me, therefore, a little innocent raillery; but I promise you I will never mention his name any more.'

And now the two ladies separated, infinitely more to the delight of Sophia than of Lady Bellaston, who would willingly have tormented her rival a little longer, had not business of more importance called her away. As for Sophia, her mind was not per. fectly easy wnder this first practice of deceit; upon which, when she retired to her chanıber, she reflected with the highest uneasiness and conscious shame. VOL. II.


Nos could the peculiar hardship of her situation, and the necessity of the case, at all reconcile her mind to her conduct; for the frame of her mind was too delicate to bear the thought of having been guilty of a falsehood, however qualified by circum. stances. Nor did this thought once suffer her to close ber eyes during the whole succeeding night.


Containing two days.


As several gentlemen in these times, by the won.

derful force of genius only, without the least assistance of learning (perhaps, without being well able to read), have made a considerable figure in the republic of letters ; the modern critics, I am told, have lately begun to assert, that all kind of learning is entirely useless to a writer; and, indeed, no other than a kind of fetters on the natural sprightliness and activity of the imagination, which is thus weighed down, and prevented from soaring to those high flights which otherwise it would be able to Teach.

This doctrine, I am afraid, is, at present, carried much too far: for why should writing differ so much from all other arts ? The nimbleness of a dancing. master is not at all prejudiced by being taught to move; nor doth any mechanic, I believe, exercise his tools the worse by having learnt to use them. For my own part I cannot conceive that Homer or Virgil would have writ with more fire, if, instead of being masters of all the learning of their times, they

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