POSTSCRIPT.

Lord bless me, my dear Lady L.! I have been frightened out of my wits. This Lord G. What do we do by marriage, but double our cares? He was taken very ill two hours ago; a kind of fit. The first reflection that crossed me, when he was at worst was this What a wretch was I, to vex this poor man as I have done! Happy, happy is the wife, in the depth of her affliction, on the loss of a worthy husband; happy the husband, if he must be separated from a good wife; who has no material cause for self-reproach to imbitter reflection, as to his or her conduct to the departed. Ah, Caroline, how little do we know of ourselves, till the hour of trial comes! 1 find I have more love for Lord G. than I thought I had, or could have, for any man!

How have I exposed myself! But they none of them upbraid me with my apprehensions for the ho-nest man. He did fright me! A wretch! In his childhood he was troubled with these oddities, it seems! He is so well, that 1 had a good mind to quarrel with him for terrifying me as he did. For belter and Jar worse! A cheat! He should have

M told me that he had been subject to such an infirmity And then, from his apprehended fits, though invo-luntary, I should have claimed allowance for my real, though wilful ones. In which, however, I cheated not him. He saw me in them many and many a good time, before marriage.

I have this moment yours. I thought what would be the case with Olivia. She has certainty heard of the happy turn at Bologna, as they there must think it; or she would not resolve to leave England so soon, when she had determined to stay here till my brother’s return. Unhappy woman! Har-riet pities her! But she has pity for every one that wants it.

Repeatedly all here are earnest to get you and your lord with us. Do come if you can Were it but one week; and perhaps we will go up together. If you don’t come soon, your people will not suffer you to come one while. After all, my dear, these men are, as aunt Nell would say, odious creatures. You are a good forgiving soul; but that am not I. In a few months time I shall be as grave as a cat, I suppose: but the sorry fellow knows nothing of the matter yet. Adieu, Lady L.

Letter XVIII.

FllOM The Countess of D. To Miss Byron. [Inclosed in the preceding.’]

July 1.

My dear Harriet has allowed me to. write to her with the affectionate freedom of a mother: as such, I may go on to urge a subject disagreeable to her; when not only the welfare of both my children is concerned in it, but when her own honour, her own delicacy of sentiment, is peculiarly interested.