merced. The general use of these phrases, gives to that language a dignity and politenefs in colloquy, that scarce ad aits of being rendered into English with propriety.

The Germans also make use of the simple pronoun euer, der eure, or der eurige, to inferiors only. But superiors they addrefs in the more respectful terms ibr, dero, ibro and ibrigè.

In Swedish also they only make use of the word ee, when speaking to inferiors, ban, when addrefsing equals, and ber, adding the name of the person, which is equivalent to Mr, with the proper name in English, when they addrefs superiors.

It thus appears that this distinction of the personal pronouns, though it has been overlooked by grammarians, is natural and proper. I therefore conclude, that the personal pronouns, besides those variations already specified, of gender, number, and case, admit of another variation, denoting personal relation also. I do not find a name for this division at present sufficiently exprefsive.

All the variations above described, apply to the pronoun of the third person, in the same manner as to those of the first and second persons. But there are other peculiarities respecting the pronoun of the third person, that do not apply to the others, which require now to be noticed.

To be continued.

* I think I can perceive a peculiar delicacy in the derivation of this phrase. Merced, by itself, is a favour or a gift. The oblique reference to favours conferred, when speaking to those who, from superiority of rank, have the power of conferring these, seems to be particularly delicate. Perhaps this is only a refinement.

SIR,

To the Editor of the Bee.

Ir the partiality of a brother does not mislead my judgement, I fhould hope you will not think the letters I inclose undeserving a place in your miscellany. They are the artlefs effusions of a favourite sister, in whom my soul delighted, who is now, alas! no more! Every thing that belonged to her was justly dear to me; and I would not wish that a single word that ever escaped her lips, or came from her pen, should be forgotten. I cannot suppose that you will be equally partial as myself; but I own I fhould be much disappointed were you not interested in them. The dear innocent was scarcely sixteen when The wrote them; I have not dared to alter a single syllable of them myself, but I leave you to correct any little grammatical slip you may perceive. The names only are disguised, and the places and dates supprefsed, to prevent a too easy discovery of the persons. I am your constant reader and sincere wellwifher, ALBERT.

FROM ISABELLA ALBERT, LETTER FIRST.
My dear brother,

I HAVE been here a whole week without writing to you, though I can assure you I have waited with the utmost impatience till the time of your return; for since I have been at perfect liberty, I long very much to communicate my thoughts to you with that unreserved freedom we used to do at home; for as to letters from the boarding school, you know they must all

be read by the mistrefs, so that we can say nothing but that we are very well,-like the school exceedingly, are vastly happy in our situation, and so on; now, as I disliked my situation very much, you may believe I avoided writing from thence as much as pofsible, so that I contented myself with writing my mother in the common style, without thinking of addrefsing a single line to you.

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Now that I can write with freedom, I take the first opportunity of exprefsing my unhappiness at ever having been sent to that boarding school. It is a sad place indeed. Not that I do not think very well of our mistress, I believe the is a very good woman; but having so many young mifses to superintend, it is impofsible she can look after them in the way I could wish, or as I have been accustomed to at home. Alr

the can do is to watch over their behaviour when under her own eye, and take care of their external corduct; with regard to which points fhe is extremely vigilant indeed. But what is the consequence? The young mifses learn a habit of disguise and difsimulation that is quite fhocking to me. You know that the most scrupulous adherence to truth has been ever inculcated to us, by our dear parents, as the basis of every virtue; and the smallest deviation from it has been ever represented to us as the certain inlet to every vice; so that disguise is, to me, the most fhocking of all things: yet all at a boarding school is disguise. The surface must be polifhed, whatever be within; and would be shocked to see that some girls who are the most forward to do bad things, and in private prompt others to do them, can put on a most

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plausible appearance in public, and deceive even our mistrefs into an opinion that they are the very best in the school. I hate this conduct. They find that I will not concur in plans for cloaking their faults; and I am cordially hated by them in my turn. Nor can you easily conceive how many mortifying rubs.

I met with on this account.

But I hasten from this disagreeable subject to one that will be much more interesting to you. The family with whom I am at present, and where I hope I shall remain as long as pofsible, is in every respect different from our nunnery. It consists of Mr and Mrs Drury, and two daughters; the youngest about my own age, the other some years older; the sweetest girls you ever saw in your life; and so open! so unaffected! so kind! that you would be quite delighted with them! I cannot describe characters. You have often told me that young persons cannot discriminate traits of character; I believe it. Yet I am so delighted with the whole of the family, that I cannot help endeavouring to describe them a little. I am sure if you saw them, you should find it impofsible to avoid telling me what they are; and I love them so much, and I love you so well, that I cannot help wishing you would love them too. Indeed, indeed, dear Albert! you would love them more I believe than I can do, because you could appreciate their merit, better if you knew them.

Mrs Drury is, I suppose, about forty years of age, and is of a pleasing disposition and unaffected manners; he is calm and deliberate in her words and actions; she is never in a flurry; and he has the af

fairs of her family so arranged, as that you would think they went on of themselves without any effort or trouble to any one. Her face is to me very interesting; because I think I perceive in it that kind benevolence, my mother used so feelingly to tell us fhe possessed, though the never could be accounted beautiful. What particularly charms me, is the unaffected kindness and attention fhe bestows upon her husband, who is the best of men. It was not at first that I perceived this; for you meet with no profusion of the common terms of endearment, as Sweet! Honey! Dear! and so on. My dear, uttered softly, and as if it were half by stealth, will sometimes escape her, but even that is seldom. She makes no fufs about him; no fracas about his health, or useless questions that tend to teaze, under the appearance of kindness. She contents herself with being silently observant of every thing that will tend to please or displease him, She is particularly attentive to his taste at table. This attention is not displayed in culling out, in an os❤ tentatious manner, the nicest bits, and prefsing them upon him; but in noticing what it is he eats most readily of, and what he lets alone, when left to his own free choice. By this habit of quiet attention, she knows perfectly what is suited to his taste, both as to the nature of the victuals, and the mode of dref. sing them; and you cannot easily conceive what pais fhe is at to have these articles suited to his wishes. In cooking, the English in general far excel us. Indeed I think a great part of our best things in Scotland are spoiled by being badly dref sed And how can it be otherwise? In ordinary families, where proper cooks cannot be afforded, the