Letter, the second from Miss C.

Lutturelle to Miss M Leslie in answer.

Glenford, February twelfth, I have a thousand excuses to beg for having so long delayed, thanking you, my dear Peggy, for your agreeable letter, which, believe me, I should not have deferred doing.

Had not every moment of my time during the last five weeks been so fully employed in the necessary arrangements for my sister's wedding as to allow me no time to devote either to you or myself.

And now what provokes me more than anything else is that the matches broke off and all my labor thrown away.

Imagine how great the disappointment must be to me when you consider that, after having being labored both by night and by day in order to get the wedding dinner ready by the time appointed, after having roasted beef, broiled mutton, and stewed soup enough to last the new married couple through the honey moon, I had the mortification of finding that I had been roasting, broiling, and stewing both the meat and my self to no purpose.

Indeed, my dear friend, I never remember suffering in a vexation equal to what I experienced on last Monday, when my sister came running to me in the storeroom with her face as white as a whipped syllabub, and told me that hervey had been thrown from his horse, had fractured his skull, and was pronounced by his surgeon to be in the most eminent danger.

Good God, said I, you don't say so.

Why what in the name of Heaven will become of all the vituals.

We shall never be able to eat it while it is good.

However, we'll call in the surgeon to help us.

I shall be able to manage the surloy in myself.

My mother will eat the soup, and you and the doctor must finish the rest.

Here I was interrupted by seeing my poor sister fall down to appearance lifeless upon one of the chests where we keep our table lidden.

I immediately called my mother and the maids, and had last we brought her to herself again as soon as ever she was sensible.

She expressed a determination of going instantly to Henry, and was so wildly bent on this scheme that we had the greatest difficulty in the world to prevent her putting it In execution.

At last, however, more by force than in cheaty, we prevailed on her to go into her room.

We laid her upon the bed, and she continued for some hours in the most dreadful convulsions.

My mother and I continued in the room with her, and when any intervals of tolerable composure in Eluisia would allow us, we joined in heartfelt lemon takee on the dreadful waste in our provisions which this event must occasion, And in concerting some plan for getting.

Rid of them, we agreed that the best thing we could do was to begin eating them immediately, And accordingly we ordered up the cold.

Ham and fowls and instantly began our devouring plan on them.

With great alacrity.

We would have persuaded Eluisia to have taken a wing of a chicken, but she would not be persuaded.

She was, however, much quieter than she had been the convulsions she had before suffered, having given way to an almost perfect insensibility.

We endeavored to rouse her by every means in our power, but to no purpose.

I talked to her of Henry.

Dear Aluisia said, I, there's no occasion for your crying so much about such a trifle.

For I was willing to make light of it in order to comfort her.

I beg you would not mind it.

You see, it does not vex me in the least, though perhaps I may suffer most from it.

After all, for I shall not only be obliged to eat up all the vituals I have dressed already, but must if Henry should recover, which however, is not very likely, dress as much for you again.

Or should he die, as I suppose he will, I shall still have to prepare a dinner for you whenever you marry anyone else.

So you see that, though perhaps for the present it may afflict you to think of Henry's sufferings, yet I dare say he'll die soon, and then his pain will be over, and you will be easy, whereas my trouble will last much longer.

For work, as hard as I may, I am certain that the pantry cannot be cleared in less than a fortnight.

Thus I did all in my power to console her, but without any effect.

And at last, as I saw that she did not seem to listen to me, I said no more, but leaving her with my mother.

I took down the remains of the ham and chicken and said William to ask how Henry did.

He was not expected to live many hours.

He died the same day.

We took all possible care to break the melancholy event to Weluisia in the tenderest manner.

Yet in spite of every precaution, her sufferings on hearing it were too violent for her reason, and she continued for many hours in a high delirium.

She is still extremely ill, and her physicians are greatly afraid of her going into a decline.

We are therefore preparing for Bristol, where we mean to be in the course of the next week.

And now, my dear Margaret, let me talk a little of your affairs.

And in the first place, I must inform you that it is confidently reported your father is going to be married.

I am very unwilling to believe so unpleasing a report, and at the same time cannot wholly discredit it.

I have written to my friend Susan Fitzgerald for information concerning it, which, as she is at present in town, she will be very able to leave me.

I know not who is the lady.

I think your brother is extremely right in the resolution he has taken of traveling, as it will perhaps contribute to obliterate from his remembrance those disagree evince which have lately so much afflicted him.

I am happy to find that those secluded from all the world, neither you nor Matilda are dull or unhappy.

That you may never know what it is to be.

Either is the wish of your sincerely affectionate C.

L P.

S.

I have this instant received an answer from my friend Susan, which I enclose to you, and on which you will make your own reflections the enclosed letter.

My dear Charlotte, you could not have applied for information concerning the report of Sir George Leslie's marriage to anyone better able to give it to you than I am.

Sir George is certainly married.

I was myself present at the ceremony, which you will not be surprised at when I subscribe myself your affectionate Susan Leslie.

End of letter.

The second