thing, and used to sit in my lap, and kiss my cheek, and run your fingers through my gray locks. Do you remember those happy days? Your horse quite provoked me to-day. Would you believe it, the ungrateful animal went neighing, prancing, and galloping, through the paddock, in as great gaiety as if his mistress had been here? He made me angry; but I consoled myself by thinking that you would, at no remote period, I hope, repay him for his ingratitude by a daily, and long gallop over the downs.

I had intended not to have said a word about these things in my letter, but, somehow or other, they have all slipped out. But do not be uneasy at what I have told you, dearest Gusty - only never forget us. Let us have the consolation of knowing, that you think of us, miss us, and long for us, and we shall be satisfied, until you are again in our arms.

Lady Delaward behaved to us with a kindness and affection never to be forgotten; her lord, also, left nothing undone to cheer our spirits, but Lord Nottingham's considerate attention, if possible, surpassed theirs. He was so gentle, so steady, never in a hurry, as most young men always are; never betraying symptoms of impatience at hearing long stories from old people. Why, would you believe it, Gusty, he not only let your mother and I tell him every anecdote about your childhood, — and you know we have a precious long collection, -but he continually, spontaneously, asked us fresh questions? Yes, he is indeed a most amiable man, and delightful companion. What a husband he will make! How I wish that you I forgot what I was going to write, my child; but my memory, never of the best, begins to fail me of late.

Thank Lord Nottingham for all his affec

tionate kindness to us. Ah, Gusty, why have you left us?

Your letters do not satisfy us; they do not contain those outburstings of happiness that we looked for, to console us for your absence. How is this, my child? Your mother says, that it proceeds from a delicacy on your part, of not appearing too happy away from us. And now I remember it, my Gusty, I have often and often wondered why you seemed so very cold to Lord Annandale, just at the last. Was it that you found, when the time of parting drew near, that you loved us better than you had fancied, and could not reconcile your mind to leaving your poor old doting father and mother? Yes! it must have been this thought that caused your sadness. Bless you for it, a thousand times, my heart's darling! I at once suspected this; and, to save you from the pain of separation, I offered Lord Annan

dale to go up to London at once; but he, to say the truth, opposed it so much that our pride took the alarm, though often, since, we have wondered why he should have rejected our proposal. Your mother thinks that it was because he wished to have you all to himself, in order to accustom you to live without us. Perhaps it was so. I know not how you, my child, have learned the lesson, but I feel that we have not acquired it.

I promised, when I began this letter, to leave half the paper for your mother; yet I find I have nearly filled it all, without having said half what my heart dictates to you. Bless

you, my precious child, my own Gusty! prays your fond father,

VERNON.

FROM THE COUNTESS OF VERNON TO THE

COUNTESS OF ANNANDALE.

YOUR father has told you, my most beloved Augusta, how sadly we miss you. I try to comfort him, by the prospect of our soon meeting; but my efforts have not been successful. I forgot my own regrets, in endeavouring to sooth his; yet I, too, my precious child, miss your sweet and joyous face every hour, as we miss the sun when his bright beams no longer I find myself continually in your room, once so gay, and now so desolate. Your bed, with the pillow on which, from infancy, your dear head has rested—how sad does it make me to look on it now! Your writingtable, your tambour - frame, your harp and piano, all, all remind me that you, the dear presiding spirit which animated them, are far

cheer us.

away.

VOL. II.

E