fir-grove.

And so, my good friend, I am not likely to see you again during the summer? a circumstance, this, which chagrined me greatly, when I perused your last letter: yet, even then, I could participate in your joy at the safety of Mr. Watson: but, as I have a heart capable of feeling for the woes of others, the fervor of my rejoicing is somewhat allayed by the recollection of poor Lady Gertrude Carruther's distress. How great, how severe will be her disappointment, at finding you do not meet her at Bristol hot-wells! Alas! what will become of her! she must lay by the primrose and substitute the willow. I fear she will sink under the mortification. I hope you/ have written to console her under so heavy a calamity. Yes; you must have done it; your feelings are abundantly too tender to suffer you to leave England without attempting to alleviate her misery; which would be too powerful for any thing less than your presence to remove totally. Methinks I see her now; – she has just received your letter. – Imagination carries me upon its wing. – I, at this moment, ascend Clifton's delightful hill; I seek the forlorn, desolate Lady Gertrude. At length, I find her, in some solitary spot; seated on a verdant hillock; under the spreading branches of a venerable old oak.