In their manners, the Sardinian ladies are more like the French. They say every thing that comes uppermost, and have no idea of reserve. You kiss their hands as a mere compliment; and, in dancing, whenever you turn a lady, she expects you to put your arm round her waist, whilst her's rests on your shoulder. This frankness is vastly pleasant, and is here of no evil tendency; for, in a confined society, secluded from the general world, where the characters and their connections are thoroughly known, and where the number of the profligate is too small to find either countenance or protection, confidence and sincerity on the part of the women, naturally produce honor and esteem in the breasts of the men. THE STORY of LUCILLA. MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO The Hon. Mrs. CHETWYND STAPYLTON After coffee, the ladies carried us to see a nunnery, of which there are no less than fourteen in Sardinia. I have ever thought these institutions a defect in policy, and have reprobated the idea of the Almighty being pleased at our depriving ourselves of the power of doing any one good and moral action: but, in justice to the Superintendants in this island, it must be observed, that no girl is permitted to become a Novice until she is fifteen, and must then serve a year longer before she can be allowed to take the veil; but this ceremony once performed, she must bid an eternal farewell to the world. We saw none of the Nuns but the Superiors and Novices. They stood within the inner door, which, as a particular distinction, they opened while they conversed with us across the threshold. My attention was soon arrested by the youngest of the Superiors. She appears scarcely thirty. Confinement has only softened the colour of her cheek, and composed the lustre of her eye. Her features are perfectly regular, and her countenance is animated by the cheerful glow of benevolence and virtue. With the gentleness of a saint, she possesses all the accomplishments of a woman of the world, and speaks a variety of languages, with a voice harmoniously sweet. Her name is Lucilla. She is aunt to the beautiful Villarias, and, like her, in her youth, was the pride of Sardinia. Early in life, she engaged herself to Fernando, a young nobleman, in every respect her equal. Their hearts were already united, and the day was fixed for their nuptials; but, before this happy hour could be celebrated, the sudden death of the best of parents obliged Fernando to pass over to the Continent, to perform the last offices to his deceased, and affectionate father. Before his departure, he repeated those endearing vows of eternal constancy; which both he and Lucilla had often given and received; and each promised to write by every opportunity.