Having writ last post to Mr P., I have no occasion to make you a country commissioner. Anastasia, indeed, wants to have books about everything, but for my part and Dorothy’s we don’t put much faith in authorised receipts and directions, but trust more to nature and common sense. For instance, in fatting a goose, reason points to sage and onions,--why our own don’t thrive on it, is very mysterious. We have a beautiful poultry yard, only infested with rats,--but I have made up a poison, that, I know by the poor ducks, will kill them if they eat it. I expected to send you a quantity of wall-fruit, for preserving, and am sorry you bought the brandy beforehand, as it has all vanished in one night by picking and stealing, notwithstanding I had ten dozen of bottles broke on purpose to stick a-top of the wall. But I rather think they came over the pales, as George, who is very thoughtless, had driven in all the new tenter-hooks with the points downwards. Our apples and pears would have gone too, but luckily we heard a noise in the dark and threw brickbats out of window, that alarmed the thieves by smashing the cowcumber frames. However, I mean on Monday to make sure of the orchard, by gathering the trees,--a pheasant in one’s hand is worth two cock sparrows in a bush. One comfort is, the house dog is very vicious, and won’t let any of us stir in or out after dark--indeed, nothing can be more furious, except the bull, and at me in particular. You would think he knew my inward thoughts, and that I intend to have him roasted whole when we give our grand house-warming regalia. With these particulars, I remain, with love, my dear Dorcas, your affectionate sister, BELINDA PUGSLEY. [Illustration: WALL FRUIT.] P.S.--I have only one anxiety here, and that is, the likelihood of being taken violently ill, nine miles off from any physical powers, with nobody that can ride in the house, and nothing but an insurmountable hunting horse in the stable. I should like, therefore, to be well doctor-stuff’d from Apothecaries’ Hall, by the waggon or any other vehicle. A stitch in the side taken in time saves nine spasms. Dorothy’s tincture of the rhubarb stalks in the garden, doesn’t answer, and it’s a pity now they were not saved for pies. [Illustration: A COOLNESS BETWEEN FRIENDS.] No. VI.--_From Mrs._ PUGSLEY _to Mrs._ ROGERS. MADAM,