At Colonel M’Guire’s death her ladyship was released.  The editor, within this year, saw the gentleman who accompanied her to England after her husband’s death.  When she first was told of his death she imagined that the news was not true, and that it was told only with an intention of deceiving her.  At his death she had scarcely clothes sufficient to cover her; she wore a red wig, looked scared, and her understanding seemed stupefied; she said that she scarcely knew one human creature from another; her imprisonment lasted above twenty years.  These circumstances may appear strange to an English reader; but there is no danger in the present times that any individual should exercise such tyranny as Colonel M’Guire’s with impunity, the power being now all in the hands of Government, and there being no possibility of obtaining from Parliament an Act of indemnity for any cruelties.]

Then his honour had a great deal of company to dine with him, and balls in the house, and was as gay and gallant, and as much himself as before he was married; and at dinner he always drank my Lady Rackrent’s good health and so did the company, and he sent out always a servant with his compliments to my Lady Rackrent, and the company was drinking her ladyship’s health, and begged to know if there was anything at table he might send her, and the man came back, after the sham errand, with my Lady Rackrent’s compliments, and she was very much obliged to Sir Kit—­she did not wish for anything, but drank the company’s health.  The country, to be sure, talked and wondered at my lady’s being shut up, but nobody chose to interfere or ask any impertinent questions, for they knew my master was a man very apt to give a short answer himself, and likely to call a man out for it afterwards:  he was a famous shot, had killed his man before he came of age, and nobody scarce dared look at him whilst at Bath.  Sir Kit’s character was so well known in the country that he lived in peace and quietness ever after, and was a great favourite with the ladies, especially when in process of time, in the fifth year of her confinement, my Lady Rackrent fell ill and took entirely to her bed, and he gave out that she was now skin and bone, and could not last through the winter.  In this he had two physicians’ opinions to back him (for now he called in two physicians for her), and tried all his arts to get the diamond cross from her on her death-bed, and to get her to make a will in his favour of her separate possessions; but there she was too tough for him.  He used to swear at her behind her back after kneeling to her face, and call her in the presence of his gentleman his stiff-necked Israelite, though before he married her that same gentleman told me he used to call her (how he could bring it out, I don’t know) ‘my pretty Jessica!’ To be sure it must have been hard for her to guess what sort of a husband he reckoned to make her.  When she was lying, to all expectation, on her death-bed of a broken heart, I could not but