of all vanities, that of jewels is the most ridiculous; they do not even tend to the order of dress, beauty, and cleanliness; for a woman is not a jot the handsomer or cleaner for them.” And again: “I am confined again by a little feverishness. I thought, as it was a London fever, it might be polite, so I carried it to the Ridotto, court, and opera, but it grew perverse and stubborn, so I put it into a white hood and double handkerchief, and kept it by the fireside these three days, and it is better; indeed, I hope it is worn out. On Saturday, I intend to go to Goodman’s Fields, to see Garrick act ‘Richard the Third’ that I may get one cold from a regard to sense. I have sacrificed enough to folly, in catching colds at the great puppet-shows in town.” Subsequently, she would have her friend’s husband believe that she was another fair vestal of the west, who meant to pass through the world in maiden meditation, fancy-free. She writes to the Reverend Dean of Canterbury: “I have lately studied my own foibles, and have found that I should make a very silly wife and an extremely foolish mother, and so have as far resolved as is consistent with deference to reason and advice, never to trouble any man or to spoil any children.” This was but banter. Only the year before, her sister having made a jest of her love for heroes of antiquity, Elizabeth Robinson oracularly answered, “I believe I shall do my errand before many people think; but prudence shall be my guide. A living man,” exclaims the wise virgin, “is better than a dead hero!” In 1741, this decided young lady was wooed by a fashionable lover, and also by a noble lover who was her senior by a good many years. The former was dismissed, and the young lady wrote to her sister in the above year: “Poor M. B. takes his misfortune so to heart, that I really pity him; but I have no balsam of heartsease for him. If he should die, I will have him buried in Westminster Abbey, next to the woman who died with the prick of a finger, for it is quite as extraordinary; and he shall have his figure languishing in wax, with ‘Miss Robinson fecit,’ written over his head. I really compassionate his sufferings and pity him; but though I am as compassionate, I am as cold as charity. He pours out his soul in lamentations to his friends, and all— ‘But the nymph that should redress his wrong, Attend his passion, and approve his song!’ ... I am glad he has such a stock of flesh to waste upon.... I am really quite fat; and if there were not some hope that I might get lean again, by raking in town, I should be uneasy at it. I am now the figure of ‘Laugh-and-be-fat,’ and begin to think myself a comely personage. Adieu! Supper is on table.” And the saucy nymph “really did her errand” before many thought. She declined the offer of the man of fashion, and said “Yes” to the suit of the older scholar and gentleman.