female society, I am not blessed with it; the daughter of a neighbour, where I often took a cup of tea, made a breach in my heart. and I had a serious inclination of making proposals. When her father committed suicide, I condoled with her upon the occasion, she slightly remarked, "that he always threatened to do so, and was glad he could bother them no more!" This brutish speech made me an exile from the house, and I fixed my attention on a pretty bar-maid, not far from Newcastle-street-but one day observing a gentleman give her a sovereign for a shilling, I told her of the mistake-"Poh" said she, "I should be a flat to return it, 'tis my maxim to do every body I can!”. “Then, by Heavens, you shall never do me," I muttered, as I left; and now, Sir, as you are a Rambler, and a man of the world, your advice in the choice of a wife would very much oblige me.

I shall not point out what kind of a wife would suit me-you may gather, from this letter, my disposition: I am tolerably good looking-never out of temper-no drinker or smoker-and of an active disposition-indeed, I would enter into any business to please my spouse, (except that of a grocer and cheesemonger, Matt Figgins gave me a sickener of that.) Your compliance will oblige your well-wisher and friend,

THOMAS FIGGINS CHESHIRE.

Clare Street, Clare Market.

LETTER FROM A GRASS WIDOW; OR, A MARRIED WOMAN SEPARATED FROM HER HUSBAND.

To the Editor of the Rambler.

MY GOOD SIR. Having been a bit of a Rambler myself, to whom can I so properly apply for advice as one who is perpetually on the move to do good to his fellow creatures. From a constant indulgence in all my wishes from being a child, I acquired a froward disposition; and, from a maiden aunt, cunning to disguise it when my interests were in question. Thus I got married to a very amiable man, who was quite ignorant of my real temper for full six months after marriage: then, indeed, I broke out, and annoyed him daily. He carries on a large paper-hanging manufactory, and was often compelled to be absent on business. I affected to be jealous of him, at which he smiled; I fell sick-he

let me recover, and never asked me once how I did. I then flirted with two or three young men; and, God forgive me! half committed myself, in order to make him jealous: he bore all with patience, and so put me out of all patience. I wanted attention, more than any tradesman's wife has a right to expect from a man continually engaged in providing for his family, and, to gain this, I fear I have lost the affections of a worthy and ge

nerous man.

My beauty was much praised, and my vanity flattered: in truth, every one told me I was an angel, except my husband; he dryly remarked, that my temper was scarcely mild enough for a fallen angel. These cool observations irritated me, and, in process of time, I took the liberty of throwing at his head sundry utensils, such as cups and basins, and now and then a wine glass. All this did not do; so one evening I called a coach, put in my trunks, and drove off to my mother's: he made no movement towards preventing me, nor has he ever made any enquiry after me. I have had occasion to send to him for money several times, and have written long letters on the occasion. To these, he never deigned to send any reply, except enclosing a bank note, or notes, with the number marked in the cover.

Now, Mr. Editor, I have had time to reflect upon my folly, and sincerely repent of my perverseness; and if you can only put me in the way how to be reconciled to him, and not humble my pride too much, I shall be deeply indebted to your kindness; and, at the same time, tell me what line of conduct I should pursue to retain my husband's affections, when they are once more in my power.

I am, Sir, with true respect,

Your afflicted, constant reader,
REBECCA REPENTANCE.

We insert this, and the letter preceding, from motives of philanthrophy. In neither case are we capable of giving advice. We are not looking out for a wife, nor are we acquainted with the cases of Grass Widows, but we have no doubt that some of our intelligent Correspondents will reply to them both, and we promise to give the answer a conspicuous place in our next number.-ED.

To the Editor of the Rambler's Magazine.

"I hate the man who can travel from DAN to BEERSHEBA, and exclaim it is all barren."-STERNE.

SIR,-In my early days I travelled much from necessity, and at a more advanced period, I continue to do so from choice, whim, or curiosity. I have not, like the traveller in the Spectator, gone to Egypt, merely to ascertain the size of the great pyramid, and returned without further enquiry. I like, to use a homely saying, to "have an eye upon every thing." It amuses me, and frequently instructs. My rambles are not confined to the three kingdoms; I occasionally thread the mazes of society abroad; my absence cannot injure my country, as my little property is not taxable; and merely suffices to support me, with the assistance of an oak stick, through the world as an humble pedestrian.

From the fortunate circumstances of being poor, and seeming poor, I have been rejected by all political societies, for which God's holy name be praised; I have thus escaped the notice of spies and gaolers. I have perambulated France without the misfortune of being mistaken for a "Milord Anglois," (a term synonimous with fool;) I have trod the Exchange of Rotterdam, and not.been suspected of coming from London a swindling stockjobber. In Italy I was never taken for a man of gallantry, (though under Wilkes's number;) and in America, notwithstanding the suspicious appearance of my frize coat and oak stick, I was never pointed out as a public robber, shunning the arm of the English law, which, in the United States, is impotent alike to punish or proteét.

My reason for troubling you is as follows :-Rambling near the Lake of Geneva, an adventure occurred to me worth noticing. I am a very early riser, and sallied out one morning in last December, from my lodgings on a small hill, not half a mile from where John Kemble enjoys the "Otium cum dignatate," beneath a temperate sky, and surrounded by all the elegancies and comforts that are requisite to make the evening of a good man's life an earnest of what he may expect hereafter.

The brilliant morning sun had just glanced upon the waters of the Lake, as if to illumine the path of a small boat, in which were

two ladies, who landed about five hundred yards below me. Isuspected by their dress that they were English, and was soon convinced by their language, as they passed within a few yards of where I had taken my stand. The one was a tall and elegantly formed figure; her complexion was pale, and a langour in her countenance that denoted "a mind ill at ease." The other was an attendant, evidently, from her carrying the apparel used in bathing.

My curiosity prompted me to watch them at a distance, and under the brow of the mountain they entered a thicket of myrtles, whither I followed, and perceived them cross a small garden, and go into a plain but very neat cottage of two stories; the only domestic I saw was a British mastiff, who reposed at the door, and denoted his satisfaction at the approach of his mistress by wagging his tail.

I felt that I was trespassing where I had no right, and hastily retreated, and on my return, met the boat-woman with some fish and fruits. I addressed her in English, which she did not comprehend, but told me in French, that she was going to her home, and advised me to go to mine. I took her advice though rudely given.

I was now upon the fidget; every morning I saw from my eminence the female trio go to fish and bathe, and return; and in the evening I generally noticed them climbing the hills, or ranging the vallies, attended by the mastiff. I purposely avoided crossing or interfering with their walks. I never was, and am now, thank God, too old either for a fiery lover, or romantic enthusiast, but I was strangely perplexed to imagine what could induce a lovely and young Englishwoman, apparently not thirty years of age, to bury herself in the shades of Mont Buerie, on the Lake of Geneva..

I understood from the surrounding peasants, that they had occupied the white cottage nearly two years; their only attendant being the old woman; and the garden was cultivated occasionally by one of the cottagers, who also went twice a week to market for their little supplies; they were not supposed to be affluent, but far from being in want of pecuniary assistance.

I had not any introduction to Mr. Kemble, and he also being a recluse, could possibly have given me little information; but this I learnt, that Mr. Gibbon, the historian, lived two summers in the same cottage, and anglicised it as it now appears.

Chance directed me to a person who gave me all the information I longed for, and that on the day preceeding my departure for Italy. This was no other than the " Village Cure," to whom I had occasion to apply for a medicine, as he practised physic gratuitously. I discovered him to be a native of Ireland, and an intelligent man, judge of my surprise when I found the fair recluse to be the C― of R-~, whom the gallant world must recollect eloped a few years ago with a dashing Baronet, against whom £20,000 damages were given.

The singularly passionate letters which were read-the allusion to the garters which were wont to twine around the fair frail one's thighs"-and above all, the bed-chamber scene, where the mocksailor introduced his pistols, must be fresh in every one's memory.

It was with pain I learnt that the seducer soon became sick of love and after twelve months passed together at Paris and Rome, he abandoned the woman whom he had deprived of her innocence, leaving her the legacy of a broken heart, and the stings of self-disapprobation.

It is impossible to speak calmly on a subject so degrading to manhood: if her faults were many-'twas he that caused them. If her passions were strong-'twas he who fanned them into a flame. If her weakness was deplorable-she was only weak towards him; and he who caused the crime should not have inflicted punishment.

I am told, the gay seducer is rambling with another "Chere Amie," and whether he allows the lady the small pittance she exists upon, I am not informed. This lady's fate ought to be a lesson to all her sex: degraded and abandoned in the morning of her days, she has not even a pure conscience to look to for consolation. We may hence infer, that one false step over the pale of virtue can never be retrieved, and that no compact of the heart is lasting which is stamped upon the broad page of infamy, and impressed with the seal of vice and immorality.

I am, Sir, your obedient Servant,

THE RAMBLER OF GENEVA.