calls up looks and voices that we can see or hear no more on earth, but that, brought back by memory, have power to make us forget for a few moments the painful present in the happier past.

"I do not seek to offer you vain consolation because I too well know its inefficiency, and you have been too highly tried in affliction not to have learned its bitter lesson-submission.

"I hope we shall see you in England next year; you have left behind you too agreeable an impression for those who have had the pleasure of knowing you not to desire to see you here again; and among your friends, no one more anxiously desires it than myself. London has been very full, but not very gay this season. Our Opera has been brilliant, and offered a galaxy of talent such as we never had before. Pasta, Malibran, Tamburini, Rubini, Donzelli, and a host of minor stars, with a corps de ballet, with Taglioni at their head, who more than redeemed their want of excellency. I did not miss a single night, and was amply repaid by the pleasure I received.

You are so kind as to wish me to tell you of myself, and therefore I must play the egotist. My health has been good, and I have written a political novel, which appeared in June, with the reception of which I have had every reason to be satisfied, and for which I got a good sum.

"I am now coming forth with a very beautiful work, called 'The Book of Beauty;' I say beautiful, as it is to be embellished with fine engravings from beautiful female portraits, illustrated by tales in prose and verse, to which many of my literary friends have kindly contributed. You see, my dear countess, that I have not been idle since I saw you; but the truth is, I like occupation, and find it the best cure for banishing painful retrospections.

Mr. Bulwer set off yesterday for Italy, and will visit Rome and Naples. I saw Mr. Moore three days ago, and he inquired very kindly for you; and I saw Campbell lately, who does not forget you. I wish you would send me a little Italian tale, in prose or verse, for my book. I know you could if you would, but I fear you are too idle. I trust you go on with the Memoirs you promised to write. It would amuse and instruct you, and would be highly gratifying to the world. Pray write to me often, and your letters shall be punctually answered.

"Believe me, my dear Countess Guiccioli, your sincere and affectionate friend, M. BLESSINGTON."

To Madame Guiccioli, in London :

"Seamore Place, July, 1835. "As I have neither seen nor heard from you since Wednesday, I conclude that you have abandoned the project of accompanying me to Anglesea Villa. I regret this very much, as you would have liked the country, which is very beautiful, and the air and sea breezes would have prepared you for the longer journey you intend taking. M. BLESSINGTON."

To Madame Guiccioli, in London:

"I shall grow superstitious, my dearest friend, for I really had a presentiment that you were either in sickness or in sorrow, and, alas! I find that you are in both. I wish I was near you, for I understand your heart as well as I do my own, and I think I could lighten your sufferings by sharing them. I have great faith in the power of sympathy, and it is in moments of affliction that the presence of a true friend can be of use. I shall be more triste, knowing that you are unhappy and alone, than if I was near you. Be assured that I feel for you a friendship as warm as it is sincere, and that few people can love you as well, because few can appreciate you as truly as I do.

My carriage shall be at your door to-morrow at seven o'clock, to bring you to dine with me; but if you wish to take the air, or have any visits to pay, it shall be at your service at any hour you like. We felt so solitary after you left us, and missed so much your fair face and sweet voice, that we were not sorry that letters of business recalled us to London.

"Count D'Orsay charges me with mille amitiés de sa part. Adieu until to-morrow, chère et belle amie. God bless you, prays your affectionate and devoted friend, M. BLESSINGTON."

To Madame Guiccioli, in London :

"November, 1835.

"Well can I share your feelings at the fatal event that has taken place. I too lost two brothers, dear to me as the life-blood that warms my heart, and though years, long years, have passed since then, I remember the blow as if it only yesterday fell on me.

"When such an affliction befalls us, we are apt to forget that those we mourn have only preceded us to the tomb by at most a few years. We shall soon follow them, and be united never more to part, and this thought should console us. Think how quickly passes even the longest life, and be comforted with the certainty of our reunion where there are no more partings and no more tears. Heaven bless you, my dearest friend. M. BLESSINGTON."

To Madame Guiccioli, in Paris:

"October 9, 1835.

"I am truly grieved, my dearest friend, to hear that you have been so ill. I thought that your silence boded no good, but I tried to think it proceeded from the occupation and consequent fatigue of sight-seeing, which, to a person with so much imagination, and so impressionable as you are, never fails to be as exhausting as it is exciting. How fortunate that you found a skillful doctor! I shall henceforth venerate his name and laud his practice, though I trust you will no more have occasion to try its efficacy.

"Your tour has been a very interesting one, and you had need of such an excitement to lessen the tristesse that had taken possession of you since the melancholy intelligence from Italy. There is but one source of consolation,

my dear friend, under such afflictions, and I have been often, during the last six years, compelled to seek its aid, and this is the recollection that the friends torn from us by death (that ruthless destroyer of the dearest ties) only precede us at most by a few fleeting years to that only sure rendezvous where we shall all meet. Alas! such is our weakness, that we mourn as if they only were condemned to die, and that we were not to follow them. The brevity of life proves the best consolation for the pains that fall to ourselves while in it. But why dwell on the subject to you, who, like myself, have tasted deeply of the cup of affliction, and who are accustomed to its bitterness?

I hope to see you again very soon after your arrival, with the roses of health again blooming on your cheeks. Count D'Orsay charges me with his kindest regards for you. We often think and talk of the pleasant hours passed in your society at Anglesey, when your charming voice and agreeable conversation gave wings to them. I have delivered your message, in a most triumphant tone, as to 'The Life of Napoleon,' by Lockhart. It is delightful to conquer an opponent so obstinate as our friend, and the victory is yours. "M. BLESSINGTON."

To Madame Guiccioli, in London :

"Gore House, July 4th, 1836.

"It gave me great pleasure to hear from you again, for I had begun to think you had forgotten me, a supposition calculated to give pain to one who feels, as I do, a lively affection for you.

"The papers will have informed you of the result of a singular trial. The evidence, though enough to show imprudence, could not satisfy any jury of actual guilt; but the proceedings were of a nature to inflict great pain on any delicate-minded woman's feelings, and to furnish a theme of scandal to the censorious. Nothing can be more calculated to strike at the root of morals than the vile system in England of bringing forward discharged servants, often of bad character, to give evidence against their mistresses. Such should be, in nine cases out of ten, refused belief, and in this case it was so; but the misfortune is, that though the good and virtuous part of society disbelieve, the bad and vicious do not, and as they are the largest party, a poor woman's honor never comes purely out of such trials or from such commentators.

"I see a good deal of your friend, Mr. Trelawney, and like him very much; he is original, clever, and brave; and of how few men can one say so much! Comte D'Orsay charges me with his very kindest regards to you.

To Madame Guiccioli, in Paris :

"M. BLESSINGTON."

"Gore House, October 24th, 1837.

"It gave me very great pleasure, my dear friend, to see your writing again. It appeared a long, long time since you left me, and I anxiously looked for the assurance that you had got through your voyage and journey safely, and

with as little inconvenience as might be hoped. I have missed you continually, and thought of you often. You are so warm-hearted and affectionate, that, were you less aimable by many degrees than you are, it would be very difficult, after having enjoyed your society for a few weeks, to resign it without deep regret. But I console myself with the hope that you will come to me next year again, when we shall renew our sober conversations by the fireside like two philosophers who have acquired wisdom by the only true road to that science-suffering.

You ask me about my health, but, alas! I can give you no satisfactory account of it. I went to Margate the Tuesday after you left me, and remained there eight days, when, finding the sea air too cold for me, I returned home, and, though not better in health, find it less irksome to be ill at home than at an inn.

"I send you the ring engraved. It has your cipher on the centre, and a Marguerite and a pensé on the sides, to remind you of one who thinks often and affectionately of you. Comte D'Orsay charges me with mille choses aimables to you; you have, malgré all discussions, secured a very warm and sincere friend in him. M. BLESSINGTON."

To Madame Guiccioli, in Paris :

"Gore House, January 1st, 1838.

"I can not allow the first day of the new year to pass over without offering you my best wishes that it may bring you health and happiness, and without thanking you for both your kind letters. Be assured that, although I have not sooner thanked you for them, my silence has not proceeded from want of regard, but has been compelled by the pressure of literary labor, joined to a delicacy of health that still renders me a sad invalid. It gave me great pleasure to learn that you were looking so well, and are so comfortably settled in your new abode. My little Isabella was enchanted with your sweet cadeau, and has done great honor to it; how aimable and how like you it was to have thought of her.

"I want you to do me a little service at Venice, if you have any correspondent there. It is to have inquiries made, or a few lines inserted in the newspapers there, stating that if any one will deliver up the letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montague to Signor Algarotti, written many years ago, they will be bought at a reasonable price. My publisher has asked me to do him this service, and you are the only friend I could think of likely to assist me in the affair. The letters were, some years ago, in the possession of an inn-keeper at Venice.

My niece and her family have been staying with me during the last month. She is kind and gentle, and you would, I am sure, like her. Comte D'Orsay charges me with his kindest regards to you; we often think of you, and always with sincere affection.

“I have no faith in the predictions of Madame le Norman, but if only half

the good fortune she foretells you arrives, I will be ready to become one of her most zealous converts. If the good and estimable were favorites of Fortune,

you would possess every advantage.

Adieu, ma chère amie.

To Madame Guiccioli, in Paris :

M. BLESSINGTON."

"Gore House, June 26th, 1838.

“It gave me very great pleasure indeed to hear from you again, but pain to learn that you were going southward, instead of, as I hoped, turning your steps toward England, where I should have been so delighted to see you. I regret to find that your excellent father is not well, and shall be glad to hear better accounts of him. The poor Duchess D'Abrantes! Her death, and the circumstances that preceded it, were very melancholy. You have not told me whether you heard from Venice relative to Lady M. Wortley Montague's letters, or if there is any chance of their being recovered.

"London is at present insupportable. The streets and Park crowded to suffocation, and all the people gone mad. Pray let me hear from you from Aix, and do not forget that you have friends in England who think often and fondly of you. It was only to-day that Lord Fitzharris sent me your letter, and I am so hurried that I can scarcely find time to write you these few lines. "M. BLESSINGTON."

To Madame Guiccioli, in Boulogne:

"Gore House, August 15th, 1839. "I am obliged to accompany my niece, who is in very delicate health, to the seaside for a month, and this contretemps will deprive me of the pleasure of receiving you before the 20th of September. I am more annoyed at this necessity of leaving home than I can express, as it prevents me from seeing you as soon as I could wish; but I trust that it is only a pleasure delayed, and that you will come to me as soon after the 20th of September as you can, and remain with me as long as you can make it convenient. I can not express to you with what pleasure I anticipate your visit. I had been ordered sea-bathing for my own health, but did not intend to adopt the measure, as I would willingly give up any plan that only concerned myself to have the gratification of seeing you a month sooner; but the health of my niece requires my presence and care, and I can not refuse accompanying her.

“Your friend Alfred charges me with his kindest regards to you. He is now an inmate at Gore House, having sold his own residence; and this is not only a great protection, but a great addition to my comfort.

To Madame Guiccioli, in Paris :

"M. BLESSINGTON."

"Gore House, December 16th, 1839. "MY DEAREST FRIEND,-I have not yet been able to reconcile myself to