I MUST acknowledge to you, Mrs. _Holmes_, there is a certain _je ne sais quoi_ in my amiable friend, that has always interested her in my favour—I have an affection for her which comes from the heart—an affection which I do not pretend to account for—Her dependance upon Mrs. _Francis_ hurts me—I do not think this lady is the gentle, complaisant being, that she appears to be in company—To behold so fine a girl in so disagreeable a situation, might at first attract my commiseration and esteem, and a more intimate knowledge of her virtues might have ripened them into love. Certain it is, however, that whom I admire as a friend, I could love as a SISTER. In the feelings of the heart there can be no dissimulation. PLEASE to tell Mr. _Worthy_, he may continue to write, and that I will condescend to read his letters. Farewel! LETTER XXVII. _Worthy_ to _Myra_. _Belleview_. I AM just returned from a melancholy excursion with _Eliza_. I will give you the history of it—We generally walk out together, but we this time went further than usual—The morning was calm and serene—all Nature was flourishing, and its universal harmony conspired to deceive us in the length of the way. WHILE we were pursuing our walk, our ears were struck with a plaintive, musical voice, singing a melancholy tune.—“This,” said Mrs. _Holmes_, “must be _Fidelia_—the poor distracted girl was carried off by a ruffian a few days before her intended marriage, and her lover, in despair, threw himself into the river,”—_Eliza_ could say no more—for _Fidelia_ resumed her melancholy strain in the following words:— TALL rose the lily’s slender frame, It shed a glad perfume; But ah! the cruel spoiler came, And nipt its opening bloom. Curse on the cruel spoiler’s hand That stole thy bloom and fled— Curse on his hand—for thy true love Is number’d with the dead. Poor maiden! like the lily frail, ’Twas all in vain you strove; You heard the stranger’s tender tale— But where was thy true love? Thou wast unkind and false to him, But he did constant prove; He plung’d headlong in the stream— Farewel, farewel, my love! ’Twas where the river rolls along, The youth all trembling stood, Opprest with grief—he cast himself Amidst the cruel flood. White o’er his head the billows foam, And circling eddies move; Ah! there he finds a watery tomb— Farewel, farewel, my love!