They have brought me two of your letters; I ought to have received them yesterday; I was very uneasy about them: Sir Harry thought they must have been forgot, he went seven miles to enquire for them. I believe I have a bad heart, for I am angry at having this obligation to him.

What you tell me of the rupture between Sir Charles and Lady Selby, appears to me incredible. What? that lover, so passionate, who adored her, who could not live without seeing her, and who threatened in his jealous furies, to stab himself before her eyes? He has quitted her, and with that unconcernedness, that eclat, without troubling himself either about her, or the world! – Happy men! what advantage does difference of education, prejudice, and custom, give to that daring sex, who blush at nothing, say and do, whatever they please! What arts will man not practice, when impelled by interest, or by pride! He cringes at our feet, without being ashamed; our scorn does not abase him, our disdain can not repulse him: Mean when he desires, insolent when he hopes, ungrateful when he has obtained. Supple, and insinuating serpent; who, like that in Milton, takest every form, triest every art to engage our attention; and then conveyest thyself from the snare thou hast spread for us! – Poor Lady Selby! How I pity her! How bitter is it to be abandoned! Ah! my dear Henrietta! with what levity you speak of her situation! If you had ever felt that tormenting misery. – May you never feel it! – This relation has recalled to my memory those hours, when my erring heart – But I will think of it no more.

Have I told you, that we have here the famous Countess of Sunderland, so beautiful, so indifferent, so beloved, and so esteemed, not only in England, but in the northern courts, of which she was the admiration? She is near forty, and does not appear thirty. I cannot better paint her to you, than by sending you the copy of a letter she wrote to Sir William Manly: He has preserved it carefully ever since he received it, which is thirteen years.