and the apartments appropriated to me are not those occupied by the dear, the wronged Augusta. The furniture, too, is all new; so that no vestige of its former mistress remains. Yet she is seldom absent from my memory; that recalls her mild and beautiful face to each apartment where she so lately dwelt in innocence and loveliness; that gives back the touching sound of her sweet voice and affectionate words; and renews, too, the cankering reflection, that I destroyed her.

Lord Annandale's son, the child of which she was so fond, was brought to me the day after my arrival. He came bounding into the room, and rushed to embrace me; but, on approaching near enough to distinguish my face, he stopped abruptly short, and said,—“ No, it is not my own mamma!" and an expression of the deepest disappointment clouded his little face.

It is clear he still remembers her. Poor, dear Augusta! who that ever experienced her gentleness and affection, could ever forget her? I must not dwell on this theme, for every thought connected with her is fraught with sadness.

Already have all the ancient habitués of Annandale House flocked to my doors, with professions of friendship and smiles of welcome. But they find me changed-gravely, if not sadly changed: for I know them too well to esteem or respect them; and I wish to draw round me a circle widely different from theirs, composed of honourable and clever men, and virtuous and dignified women. Such are not rare in England, though they are not frequently to be met in the circle arrogating to itself the appellation of exclusive-an appellation I trust it will ever retain - keeping without its pale all the good and wise, whose

qualities must ever unfit them for belonging to it.

And yet, it was in this demoralised society that, a short year ago, I was ambitious to enter! But what changes may not a year produce? I have learned to appreciate virtue, by having strayed from its path; and discovered the hollowness, the deformity of vice, by having, unhappily, approached it too nearly.

How erroneously would persons judge of the English character, who formed their opinions of it from that class among which I formerly lived in London-a class which affects all the frivolity of French society, but which has none of its redeeming qualities—its gaiety, wit, or ease! The more conscious I am of my own demerits, the more do I desire to avoid intimacy with those who are unworthy, and to dwell henceforth among persons I can respect

and esteem.

Who can love virtue like those who have

experienced the misery produced by vice? Ah, none! and I would fain cling to it (though deeply conscious of my unworthiness), even as the wrecked mariner clings to the shore from which the waves are bearing him.

I am to be presented at court to-morrow, and am to wear, for the first time, the family jewels. It seems like yesterday that I saw poor Augusta wear them on her presentation, when her beauty attracted all eyes. Where is she now? But I must not dwell on this thought.

An aunt of Lord Annandale is to present me; an excellent old lady, and universally beloved and respected. She was absent from England when her nephew married poor Augusta, so never saw her; which is, perhaps, the reason why she is partial to me, not being able to compare me with one so every way

my superior.

Lady Wilmington is an especial favourite at court, and numbers among

her friends the most estimable of the aristocracy, whose acquaintance she has already procured for me.

The Comtesse of Hohenlinden has left England, which I rejoice at; and her coterie here console themselves for the humiliating flatteries they administered to her when present, by the lavish abuse they bestow on her in her absence. Lord Annandale has quite set his heart on my making a brilliant appearance to-morrow; he has even superintended the preparations for my toilette, and wishes me to wear, in addition to the family jewels, some valuable ones which he has given me.

I shall leave this letter unfinished, that I may write to you, to-morrow, the details of my presentation.