with a gift we shall prize beyond all others, we can think only of a table. Not a dining one, but a sort of table for a little work and a few books, en gala-without which, a room looks always forlorn. I need not say how we shall love it; and I must not say how we shall blush at it; and I cannot say how we feel obliged at it for the room will then be complete in loveofferings. Mr. Lock finished glazing or polishing his impression border for the chimney on Saturday. It will be, I fear, his last work of that sort, his eyes, which are very long-sighted, now beginning to fail and weaken at near objects. But dédommagement for early blindness is in later years—when all the short-sighted become objects of envy to those for whom, in juvenile years, they are objects of pity or sport.

My Alex. intends very soon, he says, to marry→ and, not long since, with the gravest simplicity, he went up to Mr. William Lock, who was here with his fair bride, and said, "How did you get that wife, William? because I want to get such a one-and I don't know which is the way." And he is now actually employed in fixing sticks and stones at convenient distances, upon a spot very near our own, where he means to raise a suitable structure for his residence, after his nuptials. You will not think he has suffered much time to be wasted before he has begun deliberating upon his conjugal establishment.

We spent the greatest part of last week in visits at Norbury Park, to meet M. de Lally, whom I am very sorry you missed. He is delightful in the country; full of resources, of gaiety, of intelligence, of good humour; and mingling powers of instruction with entertainment. He has read us several fragments of works of his own, admirable in eloquence, sense, and

feeling; chiefly parts of tragedies, and all referring to subjects next his heart, and clearest in his head; namely, the French Revolution and its calamities, and filial reverence and enthusiasm for injured parents.

F. D'A.

Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.

West Hamble, October 3, 1810.

GOD avert mischief from this peace, my dearest father! For in our hermitage you may imagine, more readily than I can express, the hopes and happiness it excites. M. d'Arblay now feels paid for his long forbearance, his kind patience, and compliance with my earnest wishes not to revisit his native land while we were at war with it. He can now go with honour as well as propriety; for every body, even the highest personages, will rather expect he should make the journey as a thing of course, than hear of it as a proposition for deliberation. He will now have his heart's desire granted, in again seeing his loved and respectable uncle, and many relations, and more friends, and his own native town, as well as soil; and he will have the delight of presenting to that uncle, and those friends, his little pet Alex.

With all this gratification to one whose endurance of such a length of suspense, and repetition of disappointment, I have observed with gratitude, and felt with sympathy-must not I, too, find pleasure? Though, on my side, many are the drawbacks; but I ought not, and must not, listen to them. We shall arrange our affairs with all the speed in our power, after the ratification is arrived, for saving the cold

and windy weather; but the approach of winter is unlucky, as it will lengthen our stay, to avoid travelling and voyaging during its severity; unless, indeed, any internal movement, or the menace of any, should make frost and snow secondary fears, and induce us to scamper off. But the present is a season less liable in all appearance to storms, than the seasons that may follow. Fêtes, joy, and pleasure, will probably for some months occupy the public in France; and it will not be till those rejoicings are past, that they will set about weighing causes of new commotion, the rights of their governors, or the means, or desirability of changing them. I would far rather I would far rather go immediately,

than six months hence.

I hope, too, this so long wished view of friends and country gratified, my life's partner will feel a tranquillity without which, even our little Hermitage and Great Book Room cannot make him completely happy. F. D'A.

[The projected journey of Madame d'Arblay with her husband did not take place this year; the season being already advanced, and their little boy not strong enough to bear the fatigue of such an expedition. Monsieur d'Arblay went alone to France.]

Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.

West Hamble, November 11, 1801.

I DID not purpose writing to my dearest father till my suspense and inquietude were happily removed by a letter from France; but as I find he is already anxious himself, I will now relate all I yet know of my

dearest traveller's history. On Wednesday the 28th of October, he set off for Gravesend. A vessel, he was told, was ready for sailing; and would set off the following day. He secured his passage, and took up his abode at an inn, whence he wrote me a very long letter, in full hope his next would be from his own country. But Thursday came, and no sailingthough the wind was fair, and the weather then calm: he amused his disappointment as well as he could by visiting divers gardeners, and taking sundry lessons for rearing and managing asparagus. Friday, also, came—and still no sailing! He was more and more vexed; but had recourse then to a chemist, with whom he revised much of his early knowledge. Saturday followed-no sailing! and he found the people waited on and on, in hopes of more passengers, though never avowing their purpose. His patience was now nearly exhausted, and he went and made such vifs remontrances that he almost startled the managers. They pretended the ballast was all they stayed for: he offered to aid that himself; and actually went to work, and never rested till the vessel was absolutely ready: orders, enfin, were given for sailing next morning, though he fears, with all his skill, and all his eloquence, and all his aiding, they were more owing to the arrival of four passengers than to his exertions. That night, October the 31st, he went on board; and November the 1st he set sail at five o'clock in the morning.

You know how high a wind arose on Sunday the 1st, and how dreadful a storm succeeded, lasting all night, all Monday, and all night again. How thankful, how grateful am I to have heard of his safety since so terrifying a period. They got on, with infinite difficulty and danger, as far as Margate; they there took

anchor, and my kind voyager got a letter for me sent on shore, "moyennant un schelling." To tell you my gratitude in knowing him safe after that tempest-no I cannot! Your warm affections, my dearest father, will easily paint to you my thankfulness.

Some of the letters for me

These two pas

Next, they got on to Deal, and here anchored again, for the winds, though they abated on shore, kept violent and dangerous near the coast. passengers went on shore, and put two in the post, assuring me all was safe. sengers, who merely meant to dine on shore, and see the town, were left behind. The sea rose so high, no boat could put off to bring them back; and, though the captain hoisted a flag to announce he was sailing, there was no redress. They had not proceeded a league before the sea grew yet more rough and perilous, and the captain was forced to hoist a flag of distress. Everything in the vessel was overset: my poor M. d'Arblay's provision-basket flung down, and its contents demolished; his bottle of wine broken by another toss, and violent fall, and he was nearly famished. The water now began to get into the ship, all hands were at work that could work, and he, my poor voyager, gave his whole noble strength to the pump, till he was so exhausted, so fatigued, so weakened, that with difficulty he could hold a pen to repeat that still-I might be tranquille, for all danger was again over. A pilot came out to them from Dover, for seven guineas, which the higher of the passengers subscribed for [and here poor M. d'A. was reckoned of that class], and the vessel was got into the port at Dover, and the pilot, moyennant un autre schelling, put me again a letter, with all these particulars, into the post.

This was Thursday the 5th. The sea still so boister