and become mistress of Yatton again)--by the way, it certainly is a truly delightful spot, quite old-fashioned and all that and delightful grounds about it, but it seems like a nunnery to me, I am so unhappy and no one seems anxious to come to see me, though there are the ----'s, and the ----'s, and ----'s within an hour or two's drive of us, but how can you wonder? for if you only saw the sort of people that come here, such horrid wretches, a Unitarian parson and his vulgar wife and daughter and a low apothecary and auctioneer and so on, which he says is necessary (forsooth) to keep up his interest in the borough. Then he goes on in such a shameful and unfeeling and disrespectful way before the vicar (Dr. Tatham, a very nice person, who I am sure, by his looks, _feels for me_) that Dr. T. will scarcely ever come near us under one pretence or another. I am sorry to tell you Mr. Titmouse has no more _sense of religion_ than a cat or a dog, and I understand he has left a great many of his election bills unpaid (so that he is very unpopular) and positively, dear Blanche! the diamond spray the creature bought me turns out to be only _paste_!! He never goes to church, and has got up one or two dog-fights in the village, and he is hated by the tenants, for he is always raising their rents. I forgot to mention by the way he had the monstrous assurance one morning to _open my letters_!--and said he had a right to do so, with his own wife, for we were one (I hate to write it) so I have had a letter-bag of my own which is always delivered into my own room. Oh Heavens! the idea of his succeeding to the barony! but to be sure you have no notion how hard he lives; (and _entre nous_ the other day the doctor was called in to him and had to put leeches on his head, and certainly (_entre nous, dearest_ B.,) I understand such things sometimes do often lead to very _sad results_, but however he certainly does seem better now.) My papa knows nothing of all this yet, but he soon must, and I am confident a _separation_ must ensue, or I shall die, or go mad. Oh how thankful I should be!... But I could fill two or three sheets more in this way, and yet I have not told you a hundredth part of his _gaucheries_, but really you must be quite sick of hearing of them. If he will but leave me here when he goes up to town, you will surely pay me your promised visit--and I will tell you many more miserable things. In the mean while, oh dearest B., how I envy you being single, and wish I were so again!--_Be sure_ you burn this when you have read it--and believe me, your unhappy, "CECILIA.