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Gives an account of a farther and more laudable motive to induce Mr. Trueworth to put off his intended journey into the country

Though it is impossible for a man of sense to have any real love for a woman whom he cannot esteem, yet Mr. Trueworth found enough in the agreeable person and sprightly humour of Miss Flora, to dissipate those uneasy reflections which, in spite of him, had lurked in his mind on Miss Betsy's account: the amour with this fond girl afforded him a pleasing amusement for a time; and, without filling his heart with a new passion, cleared it of those remains of his former one, which he had taken so much pains to extirpate.

Whenever he thought of Miss Betsy, as it was impossible a young lady he once loved with so much tenderness should not sometimes come into his thoughts, it was only with a friendly concern for her imagined fall. 'It is no wonder,' would he often say to himself, 'that so young and lovely a creature, under the tuition of a woman of Lady Mellasin's character, and the constant companion of one of Miss Flora's disposition, endued with charms to excite the warmest wishes, and unprovided with sufficient arms for her defence, should have yielded to the temptations of an unwarrantable flame.' In fine, he pitied her, but no more.

Thus entirely freed from all prepossession, and his heart almost in the same situation as before he ever knew what it was to love, he was easily persuaded by his friends to give over all thoughts of going into the country, and stay to partake, in a moderate way, those pleasures of the town, which the many uneasy moments he had sustained, during his courtship with Miss Betsy, had kept him hitherto from having any relish for.

But this state of indifference lasted not long; an object presented itself to him, inspiring him with a passion, which had so much of reason for its guide, as made him think it rather his glory, than his misfortune, to be a second time enslaved.

Among all the friends and acquaintance he had in town, there was none he more valued and esteemed than Sir Bazil Loveit: they had been for some time inseparable companions; but accidents, either on the one side or the other, having hindered their meeting for several days, Mr. Trueworth went one morning to visit him at his house. He found him at home, but the hall so incumbered with trunks and boxes, that there was scarce a passage to the parlour-door. 'Welcome, my dear friend!' said Sir Bazil, who, having seen him from a window, ran down stairs to receive him: 'you find me in a strange disorder here; but I have got a couple of women out of the country; and that sex, I think, like a general officer, can never move without a waggon-load of trumpery at their tail.'—'What, married!' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'No, 'faith,' said the other; 'but the arrival of two sisters last night from Staffordshire, gives me a sort of specimen of the hurry I am to expect when I become a husband.'

'The hurry,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'you seem to complain of, must needs be a very agreeable one; and I heartily congratulate you upon it. A single man, like you, makes but a very solitary figure in a great wild house: these ladies will fill the vacuum, and give a double life to your family.'—'Nay,' resumed Sir Bazil, 'I shall not have them long with me; they hate London, and never come but once in two years, to buy cloaths and see fashions: besides, one of them is married, and the other fond of her sister, that I believe she would not quit her to be a duchess. Indeed, it is not much to be wondered at; our mother dying when she was very young, Harriot, for so she is called, was brought up under her sister, who is eight years older than herself, and they never have been asunder two days in their lives.'

Mr. Trueworth then expiated on the amiableness of such an harmony between persons of the same blood: to which Sir Bazil replied, that it was more than ordinarily fortunate for his sisters; 'For,' said he, 'the elder of them being married just before my mother's death, my father committed to her the care of the younger, as she was reckoned a woman of greater prudence than might be expected from her years. My brother Wellair, (for that is the name of the gentleman she married) though a very good husband in the main, is a great sportsman, takes rather too much delight in his hawks and hounds, and gives his wife but little of his company in the day; so that, if it were not for Harriot, she would pass her time uncomfortably enough. In short, the younger is improved by the lessons of the elder, and the elder diverted by the sprightliness and good-humour of the younger.'

Sir Bazil, who had an extreme regard for his sisters, could not forbear entertaining Mr. Trueworth on this subject all the time he was there; and, at parting, told him he would not ask him to stay dinner that day, because he supposed they would be very busy in unpacking their things, and setting themselves in order; but engaged him to come on the following.

Mr. Trueworth thought no farther on what had passed, than to remember his promise, which he accordingly fulfilled. Sir Bazil received him with open arms, and conducted him into the dining-room, where the two ladies were sitting. They were both very handsome: the elder was extremely graceful; and, at first glance, appeared to be the most striking beauty of the two; but, on a second, the younger had the advantage; she was not altogether so tall as her sister, nor had a skin of that dazzling whiteness; but her shape was exquisite—her complexion clear—her eyes sparkling—all her features perfectly regular, and accompanied with a sweetness which had in it somewhat irresistibly attractive.

After the first compliments were over, neither of them lost, by their manner of conversation, any part of that admiration which their eyes had gained. Mrs. Wellair talked pretty much; yet so agreeably, that nobody could be tired of hearing her. Miss Harriot spoke much less; but all she said discovered a delicacy of sentiment, and a judgment far above her years. Sir Bazil had a large estate; he lived up to the height of it; had a very elegant taste; and, in complaisance to his sisters, as well as to his friend, who had never dined with him before since he set up housekeeping, had taken care that day to omit nothing in his bill of fare that could excite, or gratify, the most luxurious appetite; yet it was the wit, spirit, and good-humour, of the company, especially of Miss Harriot, which, to Mr. Trueworth, made the most agreeable part of the entertainment.

When the dessert was over, and the healths of absent friends toasted in Tokay and Frontiniac, they all adjourned into the drawing-room; where coffee and tea were soon brought in. Mrs. Wellair having been advised by her physicians to refrain from the use of any of those liquors, on account of some disorder she had complained of, took this opportunity of desiring leave to retire, in order to acquaint her husband, it being post-night, with her safe arrival in town.

Agreeable as her conversation was, Mr. Trueworth found no miss of her, as the lovely Harriot was left behind: on the contrary, he was rather rejoiced, in the hope she would now give her tongue a greater latitude than she had done in the presence of one whom, he easily perceived, she looked upon as her superior in understanding; as well as years; and, to provoke her to it, artfully introduced some discourse on the pleasures of the town; and said to Sir Bazil, it seemed to him a kind of miracle, that so young and beautiful a lady as Miss Harriot could content herself with the obscurity of a country life. 'Few of her age, indeed,' replied Sir Bazil, 'could chuse to live in the manner she does; but though I should, perhaps, not be of the same way of thinking, if I were a woman, and in her place, yet I cannot but say, my reason approves of her conduct in this point.'

'London,' said she, 'is a very magnificent, opulent city; and those who have their lot cast to live in it, may, doubtless, find sufficient to content them: but as for those amusements, which you gentlemen call the pleasures of the town, and which so many people take every winter such long journies merely to enjoy, I can see nothing in them which a reasonable person may not very well dispense with the want of.'

'What do you think of the Court, Madam?' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'As of a place I would always chuse to avoid,' replied she. 'I heartily pity the fatigue of those who are obliged to attend; and am tempted to laugh at the stupidity of those who undertake it without necessity. I am amazed to think how any one of common-sense can be at so great an expence for rich cloaths, to go to a place where she must suffer as great pain in shewing them. Bless me! to stand, for two or three hours together, mute as a fish—upright as an arrow; and, when the scene is over, walk backward like a crab, curtseying at every step, though their legs are so tired, they are scarce able to go through the ceremony!'

'A masquerade, then?' resumed Mr. Trueworth, willing to try her farther. 'What say you, Madam, to a masquerade? I hope you will allow no freedom of behaviour is wanting there?'—'I should like a masquerade extremely,' answered she, 'if conducted in the same manner I have been told they are in Italy, and some other places, where only persons of condition are admitted, and none presume to say that under a vizard, which he either would or ought to be ashamed of when it is plucked off. But the venal ones you have here, are my utter detestation; they seem to me to license, under a shew of innocent diversion, not only folly, but all kind of prophaneness and indecency.'

'It must be owned, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'that your sentiments on both these subjects are extremely just: but you can have no such objection against a play or opera?'—'No, Sir,' answered she; 'I look upon a good play as one of the most improving, as well as agreeable, entertainments a thinking mind can take; and as for an opera—' 'Aye, sister!' cried Sir Bazil, interrupting her, 'the opera! Take care what you say of the opera. My friend here is a passionate lover of musick; and, if you utter one syllable against his favourite science, you will certainly pass in his opinion for a stoick.'—'I should deserve it,' said she; 'and be in reality as insensible as that sect of philosophers affect to be, if I were not capable of being touched by the charms of harmony.'

'Then, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'there are two of the pleasures of London, which are so happy to receive your approbation?'—'Not only my approbation,' replied she, 'but my applause. I am, indeed, a very great admirer of both; yet can find ways to make myself easy without being present at either; and, at the distance of an hundred miles, enjoy in theory all the satisfaction the representation could afford.'

'This is somewhat extraordinary indeed, Madam,' cried Mr. Trueworth: 'be so good as to let us know by what method?'—'It is this, Sir,' answered she: 'as for the plays, I have a very good collection of the old ones by me, and have all the new ones sent down to me as they come out. When I was last in London, I was several times at the theatre; I observed how the actors and actresses varied their voices and gestures, according to the different characters they appeared in on the stage: and thus, whilst I am reading any play, am enabled to judge pretty near how it shews in representation. I have, indeed, somewhat more difficulty in bringing the opera home to me; yet I am so happy as to be able to procure a shadow of it, at least. We have two or three gentlemen in the neighbourhood who play to great perfection on the violin, and several ladies, who have very pretty voices, and some skill in musick. My sister touches the bass-viol finely; and I play a little on the harpsichord. We have all our parts in score before us, which we execute to the best of our power. It serves, however, to divert ourselves, and those friends who think it worth their while to come to hear us.'

Mr. Trueworth cried out, in a kind of rapture, as soon as she had done speaking, 'Who would not think himself happy to be one of the audience at such a performance!' He was going on; but Mrs. Wellair returned, on which he directed the compliments he was about to make Miss Harriot, equally to the other; which she returned with a great deal of politeness. The conversation afterwards turned on different subjects, and was very entertaining. Some other company coming in, Mr. Trueworth would have taken leave; but Sir Bazil would not permit him. He staid the whole evening; and, when he went home, carried such an idea of the lovely Harriot's perfection, that scarce any consideration would have been powerful enough to have made him quit the town while she continued in it.