are accompanied by little notes of thanks, of
interrogation, of admiration, always. See, here is the packet, marked
in Warrington's neat hand, "T's letters, 1758-9." Shall we open them and
reveal their tender secrets to the public gaze? Those virgin words were
whispered for one ear alone. Years after they were written, the
husband read, no doubt, with sweet pangs of remembrance, the fond lines
addressed to the lover. It were a sacrilege to show the pair to public
eyes: only let kind readers be pleased to take our word that the young
lady's letters are modest and pure, the gentleman's most respectful and
tender. In fine, you see, we have said very little about it; but, in
these few last months, Mr. George Warrington has made up his mind that
he has found the woman of women. She mayn't be the most beautiful. Why,
there is Cousin Flora, there is Coelia, and Ardelia, and a hundred
more, who are ever so much more handsome: but her sweet face pleases him
better than any other in the world. She mayn't be the most clever, but
her voice is the dearest and pleasantest to hear; and in her company he
is so clever himself; he has such fine thoughts; he uses such eloquent
words; he is so generous, noble, witty, that no wonder he delights in
it. And, in regard to the young lady,--as thank Heaven I never thought
so ill of women as to suppose them to be just, we may be sure that there
is no amount of wit, of wisdom, of beauty, of valour, of virtue with
which she does not endow her young hero.

When George's letter reached home, we may fancy that it created no small
excitement in the little circle round Madam Esmond's fireside. So he was
in love, and wished to marry! It was but natural, and would keep him
out of harm's way. If he proposed to unite himself with a well-bred
Christian young woman, Madam saw no harm.

"I knew they would be setting their caps at him," says Mountain. "They
fancy that his wealth is as great as his estate. He does not say whether
the young lady has money. I fear otherwise."

"People would set their caps at him here, I dare say," says Madam
Esmond, grimly looking at her dependant, "and try and catch Mr. Esmond
Warrington for their own daughters, who are no richer than Miss Lambert
may be."

"I suppose your ladyship means me!" says Mountain. "My Fanny is poor, as
you say; and 'tis kind of you to remind me of her poverty!"

"I said people would set their caps at him. If the cap fits you, tant
pis! as my papa