accomplishment. Yet one thing I am sure she wants—namely, prudence. Since of all the men I ever knew, you are the best adapted to make happy the woman of your choice in the state of wedlock. Tant pis done pour elle.
As for you, amusement and consequent forgetfulness are your best remedies. The specifics, however, are, I am well aware, not easy to be procured, but your literary turn, in a town like London, can scarcely, I should hope, fail in providing you with the first; and Shakspeare may, perhaps, now be more profitable to you than ever he has yet been. That I most sincerely feel for you, and with you, is most certain. For never having but once in my life suffered love in your way, I never could have been precisely in your predicament. I have still known enough of the passion to be thoroughly acquainted with all its effects.
Why will she not give you reason to be angry? Dépit is sometimes, though indeed not often, a tolerable resource. But this, I find, is denied you. Still, however, you are not without hopes. Neither am I. For I think it scarcely possible that a woman, such as you describe, should not finally return the passion of a man such as I know you to be. Should this happen, which I by no means think improbable, hang me if I would not, for some short time at least, endeavour to repay her in her own coin. But this, with you, I suppose is heresy.
Bewildered by what would appear the vacillating conduct of the lady, alarmed by the results of the war, doubtful of Irish loyalty, and the consequent stability of his property in that country, he proceeded in a moment of fright, and unknown to his family, to advertise it for sale. From this he was soon dissuaded. Good-nature had caused some temporary difficulty; rents were irregular; small loans had been advanced to friends on pressing emergencies, and not repaid; so that he was less at ease than usual; and this may have given the first idea of accepting, if offered, some suit-
