frost-bitten Miss Cowley was received with greetings and endearments which might have warmed her had she been congealed; and during the first enthusiasm of humanity, no one thought of chiding her for her folly in leaving a warm covert for a freezing walk. But, alas! who is perfect? Mrs. Allen, _even our Mrs. Allen is mortal_. Before night her philanthropy cooled. My colour offended her: I was, (she insisted it should be so,) _feverish_: and she gave the most solid reasons in the world for the partinacity of her opinion: 'it was _impossible_ I should be otherwise.' As my stiff joints and aching head were rather too stubborn evidences in her favour; and, being moreover too sleepy for a debate, I passively suffered her to make me up like a bale of flannel; and drinking with docility a treacle posset, to her great contentment I fell asleep; when, lo and behold! the fever had disappeared, and I had lost eight hours of my existence; for not a dream had found access to my fancy in all those dormant hours. The dear and too tender Allen is now only anxious for my _complexion_. Peeling lips are however within her diploma: and with a face more crimsoned than my own, she has now brought me some lip-salve. Who can help loving her? I am sometimes afraid I shall love her too much. She wishes me not to write any longer. The second dose of treacle posset is preparing, and my flannels are at the fire. I never felt more comfortable in my life; but no matter, she is gratified. Good night. The frost could not find the heart of your R. Cowley; that was in another latitude secure from its influence." Dec. 30th.