I am just returned from St. James's-square.

But, first, I should tell you, that I had a visit from Lady Olivia and Lady Maffei. Our conversation was in Italian and French. Lady Olivia and I had a quarter of an hour's discourse in private: you may guess at our subject. She is not without that tenderness of heart which is the indispensable characteristic of a woman. She lamented the violence of her temper, in a manner so affecting, that I cannot help pitying her, though at the instant I had in my head a certain attempt, that makes me shudder whenever I think of it. She regrets my going to Northamptonshire so soon. I have promised to return her visit to-morrow in the afternoon.

She sets out on Friday next for Oxford. She wished I could accompany her. She resolves to see all that is worth seeing in the western circuit, as I may call it. She observes, she says, that Sir Charles Grandison's sisters, and their lords, are very particularly engaged at present; and are in expectation of a call to Windsor, to attend Lord W----'s nuptials: she will therefore, having attendants enough, and two men of consideration in her train, one of whom is not unacquainted with England, take cursory tours over the kingdom; having a taste for travelling, and finding it a great relief to her spirits: and when Lady L---- and Lady G---- are more disengaged, will review the seats and places which she shall think worthy of a second visit, in their company.

She professed to like the people here, and the face of the country; and talked favourably of the religion of it: but, poor woman! she likes all those the better, I doubt not, for the sake of one Englishman. Love, Lucy, gilds every object which bears a relation to the person beloved.

Lady Maffei was very free in blaming her niece for this excursion. She took her chiding patiently; but yet, like a person that thought it too much in her power to gratify the person blaming her, to pay much regard to what she said.

I took a chair to Lady G----'s. Emily ran to meet me in the hall. She threw her arms about me: I rejoice you are come, said she. Did you not meet the house in the square?--What means my Emily?--Why, it has been flung out of the windows, as the saying is. Ah madam! we are all to pieces. One so careless, the other so pa.s.sionate!--But, hush! Here comes Lady G----.

Take, Lucy, in the dialogue-way, particulars.

LADY G. Then you are come, at last, Harriet. You wrote, that you would not come near me.

HAR. I did; but I could not stay away. Ah, Lady G----, you will destroy your own happiness!

LADY G. So you wrote. Not one word, on the subject you hint at, that you have ever said or written before. I hate repet.i.tions, child.

HAR. Then I must be silent upon it.

LADY G. Not of necessity. You can say new things upon old subjects.-- But hush! Here comes the man.--She ran to her harpsichord--Is this it, Harriet? and touched the keys--repeating

"Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon she sooth'd---- ----"

ENTER LORD G.

LORD G. Miss Byron, I am your most obedient servant. The sight of you rejoices my soul.--Madam (to his lady), you have not been long enough together to begin a tune. I know what this is for--

LADY G. Harmony! harmony! is a charming thing! But I, poor I! know not any but what this simple instrument affords me.

LORD G. [Lifting up his hands.] Harmony, madam! G.o.d is my witness-- But I will lay every thing before Miss Byron.

LADY G. You need not, my lord: she knows as much as she can know, already; except the fine colourings be added to the woeful tale, that your unbridled spirit can give it.--Have you my long letter about you, Harriet?

LORD G. And could you, madam, have the heart to write--

LADY G. Why, my lord, do you mince the matter? For heart, say courage. You may speak as plain in Miss Byron's presence, as you did before she came: I know what you mean.

LORD G. Let it be courage, then.

HAR. Fie, fie, Lord G----! Fie, fie, Lady G----! What lengths do you run! If I understand the matter right, you have both, like children, been at play, till you have fallen out.

LORD G. If, Miss Byron, you know the truth, and can blame me--

HAR. I blame you only, my lord, for being in a pa.s.sion. You see, my lady is serene: she keeps her temper: she looks as if she wanted to be friends with you.

LORD G. O that cursed serenity!--When my soul is torn by a whirlwind--

LADY G. A good tragedy rant!--But, Harriet, you are mistaken: My Lord G---- is a very pa.s.sionate man. So humble, so--what shall I call it?

before marriage--Did not the man see what a creature I was?--To bear with me, when he had no obligation to me; and not now, when he has the highest--A miserable sinking!--O Harriet, Harriet! Never, never marry!

HAR. Dear Lady G----, you know in your own heart you are wrong--Indeed you are wrong--

LORD G. G.o.d for ever reward you, madam!--I will tell you how it began--

LADY G. 'Began!' She knows that already, I tell you, my lord. But what has pa.s.sed within these four hours, she knows not: you may entertain her with that, if you please.--It was just about the time this day is a week, that we were altogether, mighty comfortably, at St. George's, Hanover-square--

LORD G. Every t.i.ttle of what you promised there, madam--

LADY G. And I, my lord, could be your echo in this, were I not resolved to keep my temper, as you cannot but say I have done, all along.

LORD G. You could not, madam, if you did not despise me.

LADY G. You are wrong, my lord, to think so: but you don't believe yourself: if you did, the pride of your heart ought not to permit you to own it.

LORD G. Miss Byron, give me leave--

LADY G. Lord bless me! that people are so fond of exposing themselves!

Had you taken my advice, when you pursued me out of my dressing-room into company--My lord, said I, as mildly as I now speak, Don't expose yourself. But he was not at all the wiser for my advice.

LORD G. Miss Byron, you see--But I had not come down but to make my compliments to you. He bowed, and was about to withdraw.

I took him by the sleeve--My lord, you must not go. Lady G----, if your own heart justifies you for your part in this misunderstanding, say so; I challenge you to say so.--She was silent.

HAR. If otherwise, own your fault, promise amendment--ask pardon.

LADY G. Hey-day!

HAR. And my lord will ask yours, for mistaking you--For being too easily provoked--

LORD G. Too easily, madam--

HAR. What generous man would not smile at the foibles of a woman whose heart is only gay with prosperity and lively youth; but has not the least malice in it? Has not she made choice of your lordship in preference of any other man? She rallies every one; she can't help it: she is to blame.--Indeed, Lady G----, you are. Your brother felt your edge; he once smarted by it, and was angry with you.--But afterwards, observing that it was her way, my lord; that it was a kind of const.i.tutional gaiety of heart, and exercised on those she loved best; he forgave, rallied her again, and turned her own weapons upon her; and every one in company was delighted with the spirit of both.--You love her, my lord.

LORD G. Never man more loved a woman. I am not an ill-natured man--

LADY G. But a captious, a pa.s.sionate one, Lord G----. Who'd have thought it?

LORD G. Never was there, my dear Miss Byron, such a strangely-aggravating creature! She could not be so, if she did not despise me.

LADY G. Fiddle-faddle, silly man! And so you said before. If you thought so, you take the way, (don't you?) to mend the matter, by dancing and capering about, and putting yourself into all manner of disagreeable att.i.tudes; and even sometimes being ready to foam at the mouth?--I told him, Miss Byron, There he stands, let him deny it, if he can; that I married a man with another face. Would not any other man have taken this for a compliment to his natural undistorted face, and instantly have pulled off the ugly mask of pa.s.sion, and shewn his own?--

LORD G. You see, you see, the air, Miss Byron!--How ludicrously does she now, even now--