West and Lowe, the prisoners at Aix, are come upon me. I have vowed and swore that I am sure you are hard at work for them, but that nothing can be done till a cartel is settled. Windsor, the gallant captain, who fought his ship so well, is gone home, they tell me, upon his parole, and they think they ought to do the same. Pray tell me what I shall say next.

[Captain Windsor, "the gallant captain" alluded to in this letter, was the Hon. Thomas Windsor, second son of Other Lewis, second Earl of Plymouth. The spirited action, referred to by Doctor Warner, deserves a passing notice. Captain Windsor, being in command of the Fox frigate, of twenty-eight guns, had been despatched to reconnoitre the movements of the French fleet. Whilst thus employed he fell in, on the 10th of September, 1778, with a French ship and a sloop, to which he gave chase, and during which he was borne down upon by a large French frigate mounting thirty-four guns, and in every respect vastly superior to his own vessel. Captain Windsor, however, gallantly engaged his adversary; and though eventually compelled to strike his colours, it was not till he had fought a hot and spirited action, which lasted three hours and a half; till he had received a severe wound in his right arm; and till all his masts and guns had been disabled, and eleven of his crew killed and forty-nine

wounded. Captain Windsor died on the 20th of February, 1793.]

The Rev. Doctor Warner to George Selwyn.

Sunday evening, January 24, 1779.

I think, sir, your affairs are in as fine train as they can be. As to the thing which is really, nay, serious in its nature, your opus magnum, happily there is no room for the shadow of a doubt. You have hit me off exactly, in angulo cum libello, and as it is not very likely that I shall ever "set my foot on a wide place," as the Psalmist saith, and with the number of pensioners I am crowded with, it is pretty lucky that I can while away time, not discontentedly, with a book in a corner. I'll assure you I will never want money to keep it warm, at least with tobacco.

But, sir, I have just had a piece of good luck here. This poor girl of a sister that I have here was not in a way either to her mind or mine, and I was afraid of having her again entirely upon my hands, from which, indeed, she has never been entirely off. The best thing in the world were to marry her to some little marchand, the honestest I could find, and I was determined to give her a portion of deux mille écus; a young lady, you see, of great beauty and fortune, for whom we wanted a man, and the Abbé Raynal had promised to look out for one for me. But, behold, she has found a parti for herself; a parti with whom she

says she shall be very happy; and as she is sure I wish her happy she should not have made so heavy a fuss as she did about making me acquainted with it, and fearing my anger, and I do not know what; especially as she is going to be married to heaven. All the portion she asks is only my picture on a snuff-box. I suppose I must make a little addition, and put something in the box, as I do not know whether they have agreed to find her in snuff and pin-money.

You will suppose that the dialogue between the Protestant divine and his newly converted sister was curious. When one knows so many good people of her religion, how could one be angry? She was lately at confession, it seems, at St. Eustache,' when I passed through the church, and was in terrors lest I should discover her. Pauvre fille! My grief upon the occasion was sooner got the better of than my bad cold; and her sisters and nephews will not, I apprehend, be quite inconsolable when they learn that she can inherit nothing of the petit paquet that is to be divided amongst them when I tip off the perch. I wish the thing were done, for fear of accidents, though perhaps it were better done at any time than when

The church of St. Eustache is situated at the eastern end of the Rue Coquillière in Paris, and is the parish church of the third arrondissement. It is the largest place of worship in Paris, except Notre Dame, and is considered as the finest specimen in the French capital of the style known in France as la Renaissance des Arts, and in England as the Elizabethan Italic.

I am in Paris, lest it should ever come to be known where it ought not; but to slight such an opportunity, would it not be irreligious?

The good man I am so much obliged to, who has taken the pains to convert her, and find her this place, where she is to be made a nun for nothing, is gone to Amiens to be made a chanoine: I wish he were made a bishop. He is to return at the purification, on the 2d of February, soon after which the holy knot is to be tied. I may one of these days, perhaps, have the pleasure of bringing her to dine with you in her habit. You see, sir, she is provided for for life; and, faith, according to her account, not uncomfortably. At this place they are not prevented from going out; there are no austerities; and, above all, none of those infernal midnight watchings, usually attached to the celestial life.

If you take this in your pocket to the House of Lords, you will be pleased to drop it, having first subscribed it with my name, upon the bishop's bench. But if you do not do that, I wish you not to drop it anywhere, either by deed or word, as I believe it will be best to keep it as snug as we can, and enjoy the luck in silence.

The Rev. Doctor Warner to George Selwyn.

Sunday evening, January 31, 1779.

DEAR SIR:- How I wish that my letters and your answers could fly ociores euro, instead of

being confined to the wretched pace of the tardy, ungrateful post.

Sir, your humble servant. I wish you a good night; for, as the Nabob of Arcot said, what can I say more? Well, if I must go on, you will let me badiner for a page or two first, and play my mad gambols, however awkward they are. But I see you are angry, and I shall incur the mortal sin of being witty. Pray then, sir, begin, if you please, with being in a rage with me because I could not alter the days of the post, because I cannot change the course of the Seine, draw down the moon, and do things impossible. As well may I be in a rage because your letter, for which I am outrageous, is not come to-day.

Now, sir, what say you to the doctor?' Shall I observe? Shall I dilate? Shall I amplify? Shall I launch forth in the flowing periods of Cicero ? Or shall I dress my thoughts in the short-skirted sentences of Sallust? "Neither one nor the other; but damn you, sir, go on!" I thought as much. You are very hasty, sir!

The doctor is fighting off Mademoiselle Julie,2 "ma reine," as she is called by the abbess, who still flatters her with the idea of being gouver But the doctor says, "No!" He believes that Julie, like her namesake of old, may be a very

nante.

2

'Doctor Gem.

Apparently a young lady, who had been recommended to George Selwyn as a governess for "Mie Mie."