LETTER VII.
GRAYSMILL, August 20th.
Good evening, Mrs. Norris. I am in a very good temper,--and you?
(N.B. I had an extra letter this morning; somebody spoils me.)
Now what shall I tell you, Inquisitiveness? Indeed, I tell you all
there is to tell. You complain that I never speak about the people
I meet; that's true enough. When I find myself in their company, I
make the best of it, but I never think about them between whiles.
As for Uncle George, why, I dislike him thoroughly. He is handsome
in his way, and looks remarkably young,--not that that is exactly a
crime! One of my principal objections to his person is a kind of
bachelor smartness he carries about with him. It is quite
ridiculous to see him with his daughters, the eldest of whom is
just eighteen and engaged to be married. There is nothing of the
simplicity of the country gentleman about him,--a simplicity that
in many cases covers a multitude of faults. No, I shall never be
able to bear him,--neither his juvenility, his jewelry, nor his
whiskers--certainly never the scent on his handkerchief! Ouf! I
hate him altogether.
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