most tragical manner, and requesting that her entreaties may avert so dreadful a catastrophe.

This correspondence with Mrs. Belfour commenced in October, 1748; and she thus concludes her letter to the novelist, her ladyship taking care to mystify her identity by giving her address, Post-office, Exeter, although resident at Haigh in Lancashire. "If you disappoint me," she writes, "attend to my curse."

"May the hatred of all the young, beautiful, and virtuous for ever be your portion, and may your eyes never behold anything but age and deformity! May you meet with applause only from envious old maids, surly bachelors, and tyrannical parents; may you be doomed to the company of such! and after death may their ugly souls haunt you! "Now make Lovelace and Clarissa unhappy if you dare!

"Perhaps you may think all this proceeds from a giddy girl of sixteen; but know I am past my romantic time of life, though young enough to wish two lovers happy in a married state. As I myself am in that class, it makes me still more anxious for the lovely pair. I have a common understanding, and middling judgment, for one of my sex, which I tell you for fear you should not find it out."

The correspondence thus commenced goes on, until the vanity of Richardson induces him to describe to his unknown correspondent his private circumstances and to a hint given in the January following by Lady Bradshaigh, of her intention to visit London before she is a year older, when she "shall long to see" Mr. Richardson, and “ perhaps may contrive that, though unknown to him," he replies,

"But do not, my dear correspondent (still let me call you so) say, that you will see me, unknown to myself, when you come to town. Permit me to hope, that you will not be personally a stranger to me then."

This is followed by an acknowledgment from Madame Belfour, that she is not his "Devonshire lady,” having but very little knowledge of the place, though she has a friend. there; observing archly, "Lancashire, if you please;" adding an invitation, if he is inclined to take a journey of two hundred miles, with the promise of "a most friendly reception from two persons, who have great reason to esteem " him "a very valuable acquaintance."

Richardson responded to this invitation by another—

"But I will readily come into any proposal you shall make, to answer the purpose of your question; and if you will be so cruel as to keep yourself still incognito, will acquiesce. I wish you would accept of our invitation on your coming to town. But three little miles from Hyde Park Corner. I keep no vehicle."

(This was before the age of omnibuses.)

"but one should be at yours, and at your dear man's command, as long as you should both honour us with your presence. You shall be only the sister, the cousin, the niece-the what you please of my incognito, and I will never address you as other than what you choose to pass for. If you knew, Madam, you would not question that I am in earnest on this occasion; the less question it, as that at my little habitation near Hammersmith, I have common conveniences, though not splendid ones, to make my offer good."

Richardson, in the letter from which this passage has been extracted, is again led away by his vanity into a description of his person, and very plainly hints at a meeting in the Park, through which he goes once or twice a week to" his "little retirement." He describes himself as

Short, rather plump than emaciated, about five foot five inches; fair wig; lightish cloth coat, all black besides; one hand generally in his bosom, the other a cane in it, which he leans upon under the

skirts of his coat usually, that it may imperceptibly serve him as a support, when attacked by sudden tremors or startings and dizziness." "Of a light-brown complexion; teeth not yet failing him ; smoothish faced and ruddy cheeked; at some times looking to be about sixty-five, at other times much younger; a regular even pace, stealing away ground, rather than seeming to get rid of it; a grey eye, too often overclouded by mistiness from the head; by chance lively-very lively it will be if he have hope of seeing a lady whom he loves and honours; his eye always on the ladies"—and so on.

In return to this description, Lady Bradshaigh on the 16th December, 1749, half promises a meeting in an appointed place, for she tells the elderly gentleman with “a grey eye, too often overclouded by mistiness from the head," but "by chance lively," "that she will attend the Park every fine warm day, between the hours of one and two. I do not," adds this perfect specimen of a literary coquette,

"Say this to put you in the least out of your way, or make you stay a moment longer than your business requires; for a walk in the Park is an excuse she uses for her health; and as she designs staying some months in town, if she misses you one day she may have luck another."

And Lady Bradshaigh proceeds to present, as if in ridicule of Richardson's portrait as drawn by himself, her own.

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In surprise or eagerness she is apt to think aloud; and since you have a mind to see her, who has seen the King, I give you the advantage of knowing she is middle aged, middle sized, a degree above plump, brown as an oak wainscot, a good deal of country red in her cheeks altogether a plain woman, but nothing remarkably forbidding."

Any one might think that a meeting would immediately have followed these communications, and that the novelwriter and the novel-reader would have presented them

selves to each other's gaze for admiration, at the time and place appointed, and thus the affair which their letters have left upon record might have been satisfactorily wound

up in one volume. But this did not accord with the sentimental typographical taste of the times, which required the dilution of an idea into seven or eight volumes to make it palatable. For we are told that a young Cantab, who, when asked if he had read Clarissa, replied, "D—n it, I would not read it through to save my life," was set down as an incurable dunce. And that a lady reading to her maid, whilst she curled her hair, the seventh volume of Clarissa, the poor girl let fall such a shower of tears that they wetted her mistress's head so much, she had to send her out of the room to compose herself. Upon the maid being asked the cause of her grief, she said, “Oh, madam, to see such goodness and innocence in such distress," and her lady rewarded her with a crown for the answer.

January the 9th (1749-50) has arrived-the tantalizing Lady Bradshaigh, the unknown Mrs. Belfour has been in London six weeks, and the novelist begins "not to know what to think" of his fair correspondent's wish to see him. "May be so," he writes,

"But with such a desire to be in town three weeks; on the 16th December to be in sight of my dwelling, and three weeks more to elapse, yet I neither to see or hear of the lady; it cannot be that she has so strong a desire."

of

Let any one imagine the ridiculousness of the situation

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dear, good, excellent Mr. Richardson" at this time. He had, he confesses,

"Such a desire to see one who had seen the King, that” (he speaking

of himself, says) "though prevented by indisposition from going to my little retirement on the Saturday, that I had the pleasure of your letter, I went into the Park on Sunday (it being a very fine day) in hopes of seeing such a lady as you describe, contenting myself with dining as I walked, on a sea biscuit which I had put in my pocket, my family at home, all the time, knowing not what was become of me.-A Quixotte! "Last Saturday, being a fine warm day, in my way to North End, I walked backwards and forwards in the Mall, till past your friend's time of being there (she preparing, possibly, for the Court, being Twelfth Night!) and I again was disappointed."

On the 28th January, nineteen days after this was written, Lady Bradshaigh, in a letter full of satirical banter, which, however, it may be questionable if Richardson did not receive as replete with the highest compliments to his genius, says,

"Indeed, Sir, I resolved, if ever I came to town, to find out your haunts, if possible, and I have not 'said anything that is not,' nor am at all naughty in this respect, for I give you my word, endeavours have not been wanting. You never go to public places. I knew not where to look for you (without making myself known) except in the Park, which place I have frequented most warm days. Once I fancied I met you; I gave a sort of a fluttering start, and surprised my company; but presently recollected you would not deceive me by appearing in a grey, instead of a whitish coat; besides the cane was wanting, otherwise I might have supposed you in mourning."

Could anything exceed this touch about "a grey, instead of a whitish coat," except the finishing one of the “mole upon your left cheek ?"

"To be sure on the Saturday you mention, I was dressing for court, as you supposed, and have never been in the Park upon a Sunday; but you cannot be sure that I have not seen you. How came I to know that you have a mole upon your left cheek? But not to make myself appear more knowing than I am, I'll tell you, Sir, that I have only seen you in effigy, in company with your Clarissa at Mr. Highmore's, where I design making you another visit shortly.