Stuart, my counsellor and my companion, sits by my side, directs my studies, re-assures my timidity, and corrects my mistakes. Indeed he has to correct them often; for I still retain some taints of my former follies and affectations. My postures are sometimes too picturesque, my phrases too flowery, and my sentiments too sublime. This having been the day fixed for the trials of Betterton and Grundy, the prisoners were brought to the bar, and the names of the prosecutors called. But these did not appear, and of consequence the culprits were discharged. It is supposed that Betterton, the great declaimer against bribery and corruption, had tampered with the postilion and the police, and thus escaped the fate which awaited him. Adieu. LETTER XLVIII In ridding ourselves of a particular fault, we are apt, at first, to run too far into its opposite virtue. I had poured forth my tender feelings to you with such sentimental absurdity, when I fancied myself enamoured of one man, that as soon as I began to reform, and found myself actually attached to another, I determined on concealing my fondness from you, with the most scrupulous discretion of pen. Perhaps, therefore, I should beg your forgiveness for never having hinted to you before, what I am now about disclosing to you without any reserve. Even at the very time when I thought I was bound in duty to be devotedly in love with the hateful Grundy, I felt an unconscious partiality for Stuart. But after my reformation, that partiality became too decisive to be misinterpreted or concealed. And indeed he was so constantly with me, and so kind a comforter and friend; and then so fascinating are his manners, and so good his disposition; for I am certain there is no such young man at all--you see in his eyes what he is; you see instantly that his heart is all gentleness and benevolence, and yet he has a fire in them, a fire that would delight you: and I could tell you a thousand anecdotes of him that would astonish you.--But what have I done with my sentence? Go back, good pen, and restore it to the grammar it deserves: or rather leave it as it is--a cripple for life, and hasten to the happy catastrophe. With a secret transport which I cannot describe, I began of late to perceive that Stuart had become more assiduous than usual in his visits to me; that his manners betrayed more tenderness, and his language more regard. These attentions increased daily; nor did he omit opportunities of hinting his passion, in terms which I could not mistake. This morning, however, put the matter beyond a doubt. I was alone when he came to pay his accustomed visit. At first he made some faint attempts at conversing upon indifferent topics; but all the time I could perceive an uneasiness and perturbation in his manner that surprised me. 'Pray,' said I, at length, 'what makes you so dull and absent to-day?' 'You,' replied he, with a smile. 'And what have I done?' said I.