Hebe. The most luxuriant tresses, of the fairest and most silken texture, eyes blue and radiant as the heavens, cheeks of rose, and lips of carnation, and a skin white and polished as-what shall I say? not marble, for that is hard-not snow, for that is cold-not satin, for that sounds like a man-milliner comparison-like nothing, that I ever saw before, or, I verily believe, shall see again, except in her. Then, her figure! by Jove, it is matchless! All the elasticity and bounding animation of the child, with all the rounded beauty of contour of the woman. Arms that might serve as models to the sculptor; hands that look as if only formed to play with flowers; and feet that seem almost too small to bear the beautiful figure, in which she excels all other women. No, my dear Nottingham, even after this description, you can no more form an idea of Lady Augusta Vernon, than I could

have believed that such transcendent loveliness existed, until I had seen her. She is a perfect child in manner and in mind, and a little of a spoilt one too, I should imagine, from a certain half pouting, half laughing look, with which I saw her resist some interference of her father, relative to a horse that he thought too spirited for her to ride. You should have seen the air mutin with which she maintained that she could perfectly master it; and yet, it was the arch vivacity of a playful child, and not the wilfulness of an obstinate woman, that she displayed in this little contest with papa. If ever again I should put on the chains of the saffron-robed god, this is just the creature to tempt me; and I should be the envy of all the men in London, could I present her there as Lady Annandale, before the roses of her cheeks have faded, or the brilliancy of her eyes been dimmed, by a London

season, which is so destructive to the freshness of beauty. Envy me for being under the same roof with this divinity; I know you would, if you could see her!

Tout à vous,

ANNANDALE.

LADY AUGUSTA VERNON TO LADY DELAWARD.

DEAREST MARY, -Though we shall meet in a few days, I know you wish to be kept au courant of the state of health and spirits of your dear father. He is well, and as cheerful as can be expected, during the first week of separation from an only child—and such a child! Until I saw the effect your absence has produced, I was not aware how much of the happiness of a parent is rent from him,

when, by the departure of his child from the paternal home, he is left to look at the vacant chair, the silent harp, and the untouched piano. How gloomy, then, appears the dwelling where no daughter's greeting meets him in the morning, and no fond good-night awaits him ere he seeks his pillow! This is all doubly experienced, when a mother shares not the solitude of a father thus bereaved; and I have endeavoured all in my power, although, I fear, inefficaciously, to supply your place to Lord Howard. I feel as if my affection for my own parents had increased, since I have witnessed how dear and essential a daughter is, to the happiness of the authors of her being.

We have had a visitor here for the last two days Lord Annandale. He is agreeable and good-looking, and, in every respect, far superior to the men I have been accustomed to see. I can hardly believe that he has been a

husband, and is a father; for, he appears almost as lively and unthinking as myself: and I have ever associated in my mind a pensiveness, if not a gravity, with my ideas of those who have filled those serious and responsible capacities. Lord Annandale has been giving me such glowing descriptions of London, and its pleasures, that I pine to be there, and to partake them. I wish I was seventeen, for, at that age I am to be presented; mais, hélas! it wants eleven long months to that period. Lord Annandale treats me quite as if I had been out, and has told me a good deal of the London gossip: he has been a little ill-natured in laughing at the Ladies Seymour, in which I fear that I too readily joined; but there was no resisting the drollery of his mimickry. He says, that they are as ambitious of conquests as ever Napoleon was, though not so successful; and, that, unlike