LETTER XVI. EMILY to LOUISA. Malvern, August 29. MY DEAR LOUISA, I PROMISED to write to you again from Malvern, and, as we intend to remain here till the month after next, you will probably hear from me a third time as well as a second. How I wish you were here, my dear girl, to climb the high hills and scramble about the rocks with Fanny and myself, for we have found several fresh flowers, and among the rest a little round-leaved plant, resembling pennywort. The crevices between the dark gray stones were the places affected, as Withering says, by this new addition to our collection. Travellers generally tell tell you what they eat, and, although I do not often pay regard to etiquette in this particular, I must just tell you that the bread at Malvern is the very best I ever ate, and even surpasses in whiteness the white twists we used to have for breakfast at Carwood. Having considered this circumstance "worthy of note," I may as well just mention the water also; I do not mean the ink-like water at the spa, but the water that is usually drank, which is so excellent, that I fancy I could live very contentedly upon it and the bread together. I had forgotten till this very moment the history of our grand donkey expedition, which I promised you in my last. You must know then, that the village of Little Malvern is about three miles from hence, and that as Fanny and I had a great desire to see it, my aunt, who is ever ready to please us, formed a party for the purpose. Our party consisted of two young ladies with whom we are acquainted, Fanny, I, and one of my aunt's ser vants. I believe I told you that donkeys are very common at Malvern; no less than twenty or thirty are continually parading backwards and forwards from the Library to the Belle Vue Hotel, and from the Belle Vue Hotel to the Library, attended only by little girls, who stop every stranger they see, calling out, "Want a donkey, Ma'am? want a dònkey, Miss?" We wanted four donkeys, and therefore four were hired upon the occasion: and now, my dear, imagine you see us, each mounted, with a little ivory-handled whip in her hand, of no use by the bye, and setting off quite in style and in high glee, along the road that leads to Little Malvern. But, to make the scene still more ludicrous, imagine to yourself two of the donkeys with a girl between them holding the bridle of each in each hand, and running as fast as she can, while her sister, who is apparently several years younger than herself, and dressed in a blue stuff frock and a straw hat tied carelessly under her chin, is running behind with a stick in her hand, first striking one and then the other, in order to make them canter, -and then you have a good idea of Fanny and myself; fancy you see Georgiana and Harriet on their two donkeys in the same style behind, and then you have a good idea of the whole group. At length we reached the village of Little Malvern, which consists only of a few scattered cottages; but the church, almost gone to ruins and covered with ivy, forms a very interesting object, and I must transcribe for you a few lines, (which Georgiana repeated while we were seated upon one of the tomb-stones and taking some sketches,) not merely for their beauty, but because they are so descriptive: "Just peeping from a woody covert near, The lesser Malvern stands. Sequestered church! The spot around thee speaks of quietness. Down at the mountains' base thou long hast braved, With unmoved front, the seasons' varying hour, Yet, at this tranquil time, most fair thou art. Thou humble church, protected stand Through many a year of sunshine and of storm, When we had visited the interior of |