actually done; or, what is much the same, he is married: for they do say that there is a secret marriage between him and the fair Anastasia. I passed her in his berlin the other day, and just caught a glimpse of very pretty features, with an interesting and sad expression. I believe that she is his wife, because I always believe for the best. This I do for the sake of originality—one likes to do differently to every body else.
I must conclude with a characteristic ejaculation of Lord Portmore—a sort of plaster cast, in bread and milk, of Lord Harvey, who has quite a sect. Lord Portmore is about to build a house. A very fine situation was proposed to him, where he might have a noble view of the ocean; but he started back, with an attitude of terror Betterton might envy, when Hamlet meets his father's ghost, and cried out,—"Oh, Christ! the sea looks so fierce that it frights me!"
And now good night. If they do nothing else, my long letters ought to put you to sleep. Once for all, I make no apologies for their
