In truth, I have none.

There is no young gentleman of these parts, who might be in rank or fortune a match for Miss Julia, that I think at all likely to play such a character.

But on the other side of the lake, nearly opposite to Mervyn Hall, is a d--d cake-house, the resort of walking gentlemen of all descriptions--poets, players, painters, musicians--who come to rave, and recite, and madden about this picturesque land of ours.

It is paying some penalty for its beauties, that they are the means of drawing this swarm of coxcombs together.

But were Julia my daughter, it is one of those sort of fellows that I should fear on her account.