524 
Letter of the late Mrs. Grant to a 
Friend of Mr . Stephens. 
Richmond , March 14 th y 1804. 
Dear Madam, 
It gave, me great pleasure to find any 
effort, either of my rattling sticks or 
rambling quill, could afford Mrs. Mal- 
liet the least gratification. Both these 
performances were to me amusing re¬ 
laxations ; they now derive a kind of 
consequence from having pleased those 
I sincerely wish to please. The first¬ 
lings of the infant year could not have 
gratified or even decorated you more 
than your jea d‘ esprit did our friend ; 
for she was even vain of it, and though 
Fursorina does sometimes forget that 
pride was not made for woman, it is 
not often that she condescends to be 
vain. I, myself, did verily think you 
were playful, with singular ease and 
felicity. I think diffidence and solici¬ 
tude are unnecessary to those 
“ Who far from envy’s lucid eye 
The fairest fruits of genius rear, 
Content to see them bloom and die 
In friendship’s small but genial sphere.” 
My imagination for your encourage¬ 
ment is visibly on the wane. Your’s 
need have no other fear of approaching 
it than the fat kine of coming near the 
lean. If there was any such thing as 
descending to plain matters of fact after 
all this, I would tell you how I went to 
see Mrs. Peochon last Thursday, and 
how many reasons I had to be glad I 
had done so. How I thought to see 
you on Friday, but found it incom¬ 
patible with returning in the evening 
to our friend, whom I had left very 
poorly. How I was, after all, by a 
disappointment in meeting with Mrs. 
Tod, and some other people, obliged 
to stay till Saturday morning in Fen- 
church-street ; came away in the ear¬ 
liest coach, which was a very shabby 
one, and only carried me to Kew 
Bridge, from whence I thought the 
walk would be a pleasant one, but 
mark the end, 
When o’er the bridge I took my way, 
Methought I was right glad, 
But there I saw a dog astray, 
And feared that dog was mad. 
The dog drew near with waggingiail, 
And snuffling nose, so kind, 
Yet though my fear to pity chang’d, 
I left this dog behind. 
Then in a grave and solemn tone 
I to myself did say, 
t( Why shouldst thou take the public road 
Through Richmond’s city gay, 
[Jan. ], 
“ Thine ancient muff may waken mirth 
In Maid of Honour Row, 
Thy pockets swelled, may laughter move 
In sauntering belle or beau. 
“ Go seek some lone sequestered walk, 
And muse some favourite theme, 
Where no rude noise or passing crowd 
Will break thy noon-day dream.” 
Then to a chubby little boy 
I soberly did say, 
“ To Marshgate thro’ yon new-tilled field, 
O, will you point the way ?” 
<( These are the fields where kingly herds 
la peaceful plenty stray, 
And through those royal pathways, you 
May safely take your way.” 
O, long and lonely was the path, 
’Twixt bowering hedges high, 
And long I walked with lofty looks, 
Communing with the sky. 
Now weary, faint, and hungry grown, 
I wistful gazed around, 
No trace appeared of Marshgate fair. 
No dinner-bell did sound. 
When lo ! I saw a man in black, 
Who seemed a peaceful soul, 
And graceful in his dexter hand 
He waved a paper roll. 
“ That man will surely ne’er dismiss 
My unprepared soul, 
Or rob me of my empty purse, 
Or shoot me with yon roll.” 
He seemed upon more near approach 
A gentleman to be. 
And gazed and wondered in that path 
A matron grave to see. 
“ O whither tends this lonely road ? 
O, tell me true, 1 pray 
u This lonely road hath led to Sheen 
Full many a lady gay.” 
“ Alas 1 I fear I’ve wandered wide 
From Mr. Wakefield’s door;” 
“ Tow’rds London, lady, you have gone 
An English mile and more. 
“ But I will lead your wandering steps 
To Mr. Wakefield’s door, 
Well known to all the worthy rich. 
And all the helpless poor.” 
With stately march we stalked along 
To Furserina’s gate, 
Then lowly to his protege 
He bowed his powdered pate. 
To Furserina when I told 
The chances that befel, 
She graciously postponed her scold. 
And rung the dinner bell. 
“ Now ponder well,” Louisa dear, 
How far 1 lost my way, 
Nor let false shame, or needless fear 
Ever lead your steps astray. 
I have squandered my own time and 
encroached 
Stephensiaua. — No; 1V. 
