Miss L—the, No. 12, Castle-street, Oxford-market.
She wants no art to give her greater charms,
And sure 'tis heaven to die in her arms.
This lovely fountain of transport is nineteen years old, her stature tall, but quite genteel, her eyes are of a beautiful sloe black, and beam a torrent of delight at every potent glance; a sweet breath and good teeth; her breasts are in the fullest proportion and will rebound with the more grateful ardour to the hand's soft pressure; her yielding limbs, though beautiful when together, are still more ravishing when separated, her temper is affable and complaisant; an air of gaiety and tenderness breathe round her, unfortunately for this girl, the has received no education, she possesses none of those happy talents which improve and heighten so much amorous delights; her face however good, is destitute of expression, her manner rather vulgar, which mark out a low original. Half a guinea is the price of admission for any of our readers to enter such premises as will not cause a moment's regret.