that he shall die of disappointment, or, what is as bad, shut up his
house, if he quits them unaccepted. What an alternative for the poor
youth--to be forced to marry at one-and-twenty, or deprive the world of
the fortunate master of the best cook in Christendom.

"There is a strange heterogeneous medley here. Fancy, of all living
creatures, the Bolsovers being brought hither to meet the Rochdales,
whom they suit like point ruffles with a shooting-jacket. Either Berwick
has acquired a taste for contrasts, or, in assorting his party, has
overlooked every thing but the prospective match, and drawn the rest of
the company by lot. His only other considerate arrangement is having
Charles Theobald here to swain Lady Bolsover, and talk 'Turf' with her
Lord. This is one of Berwick's 'good-natured things.' To do him justice,
nobody knows better how to place _chacun avec sa chacune_; but it is a
pity that in this case it contributes so little to the general
amusement; for really Theobald's intense flirtation with Lady Bolsover,
is the flattest piece of dull indecorum that ever met my virtuous eyes.
They are dull, these people--keep him from quadrupeds, and Theobald is a
cipher; and Lady B. has little more than the few ideas which she gets
sent over with her dresses from Paris. I know it is _mauvais ton_ to cry
them down--but I cannot help it. My sincerity will ruin me some fine
day.

"The Hartlands are here: he talks parliament, and she talks strong
sense, and tells every body how to do every thing, and seems to say,
like Madame de Sevigné's candid Frenchwoman, _Il n'y a que moi qui ai
toujours raison_. To close the list, we have that good-looking puppy,
young Leighton, an underbred youth, spoiled by premature immersion in a
dandy regiment, who goes about saying the same things to every body, and
labouring to reward the inconsiderate benevolence of you soft-hearted