“Whilst you are gone,” said Wright, “I
will make inquiries about the profit of breeding of
horses on the commons. I have an acquaintance,
a sensible old man, who has kept accounts of what
he has done in that way himself; and he will show
us his accounts, from which we shall be able to judge.”
Wright heard nothing more of him for about a fortnight;
he then received the following letter:
“DEAR COUSIN WRIGHT,
“It is a very great pity that you could not
be persuaded to come along with me to York races,
where I have seen more of life, and of the world,
in a week, than ever I did in all my life before.—York
is a surprising fine town; and has a handsome cathedral,
and assembly-room: but I am not in the humour,
just now, to describe them: so I shall proceed
to what is much better worth thinking of.
“You must know, cousin Wright, that I am in
love, and never was I so happy or so miserable in
my days. If I was not a farmer there would be
some hopes for me; but, to be sure, it is not to be
expected that such a lady as she is should think of
a mere country booby; in which light, indeed, she
was pleased to say, as I heard from good authority,
she did not consider me; though my manners wanted
polish. These were her own words. I shall
spare nothing to please her, if possible, and am not
wholly without hope, though I have a powerful rival;
no less a person than the eldest son and heir of Sir
Plantagenet Mowbray, Bart. But her virtue will
never, I am persuaded, suffer her to listen to such
addresses as his. Now mine are honourable, and
pure as her soul; the purity of which no one could
doubt, who had seen her last night, as I did, in the
character of the Fair Penitent. She was universally
admired: and another night sung and danced like
an angel. But I can give you no idea of her by
pen and ink; so I beseech you to come and see her,
and give your advice to me candidly, for I have the
highest opinion of your judgment and good-nature.
“I find you were quite right about that scoundrel
who rode with me from Spalding! He has arrested
me for a hundred guineas; and is, without exception,
the shabbiest dog I ever met with: but I am out
of his clutches, and have better friends. I will
tell you the whole story when we meet, and pay you
your hundred with many thanks. Pray set out as
soon as you receive this, for every moment is an age
to me: and I won’t declare myself, more
than I have done, if possible, till you come; for
I have a great opinion of your judgment; yet hope you
won’t put on your severe face, nor be prejudiced
against her, because of her being on the stage.
Leave such illiberality to cousin Goodenough:
it would be quite beneath you! Pray bring with
you that volume of old plays that is at the top of
my bed, under the bag of thistles; or in the basket
of reeds that I was making; or in the out-house, where
I keep the goose-quills and feathers. I don’t
find my memory so clear, since my head is so full of
this charming Alicia Barton. Pray make no delay,
as you value the peace of mind of your
