For a fortnight together, I was every day once with Lady Clementina. She took no small pleasure in seeing me. She was very various all that time in her absences; sometimes she had sensible intervals, but they were not durable. She generally rambled much; and was very incoherent. Sometimes she fell into her silent fits: but they seldom lasted long when I came. Sometimes she aimed to speak to me in English: but her ideas were too much unfixed, and her memory too much shattered, to make her-self understood for a sentence together, in the tongue she had so lately learned, and for some time disused. Yet, on the whole, her reason seemed to gather strength. It was a heavy fortnight to me; and the heavier, as I was not very well myself Yet I was loth to forbear my daily visits.

Mrs. Beaumont, at the fortnight’s end, made the family and me a visit of three days. In that space, Lady Clementina’s absences were stronger, but less frequent than before.

I had, by letter, been all this time preparing the persons who had the management of Mr. Jervois’s affairs, to adjust, finally, the account relating to his estate, which remained unsettled; and they let me know, that they were quite ready to put the last hand to them. It was necessary for me to attend those gentlemen in person: and as Mrs. Beaumont could not conveniently stay any longer than the three days, I acquainted the marchioness, that I should do myself the honour of attending her to Florence.

As well Mrs. Beaumont, as the marchioness, and the bishop, thought I should communicate my intention, and the necessity of pursuing it, to Lady Clementina; lest, on her missing me, she should be impatient, and we should lose the ground we had gained.

I laid before the young lady, in presence of her mother and Mrs. Beaumont, in a plain and simple manner, my obligation to leave her for a few days, and the reason for it. To Florence, said she? Does not Lady Olivia live at Florence? She does, usually, answered Mrs. Beaumont: but she is abroad on her travels.

Well, Sir, it is not for me to detain you, if you have business: but what will become of my poor Jeronymo in the mean time? But, before I could answer, What a silly question is that? I will be his comforter.

Father Marescotti just then entered O father! rambled the poor lady, you have not prayed with me for a long time. O, Sir, I am an undone creature! I am a lost soul! She fell on her knees, and with tears bemoaned herself.

She endeavoured, after this, to recollect what she had been talking of before. We make it a rule not to suffer her, if we can help it, to puzzle and perplex herself, by aiming at recollection; and there-fore I told her what was our subject. She fell into it again with cheerfulness Well, Sir, and when may Jeronymo expect you again? In about ten days, I told her. And taking her hint, I added, that I doubted not but she would comfort Signor Jeronymo in my absence. She promised she would; and wished me happy.