’Adieu!  Would you have dreamed that Major Nightmare’s gallantry to his wife would have called forth a gallantry so truly touching and delicate?  Can you not see Providence there?  Out of Evil—­the Catholics again!

’Address.  If Lord Lax—–­’s half-brother.  If wrong in noddle.  This I know you will attend to scrupulously.  Ridiculous words are sometimes the most expressive.  Once more, may Heaven bless you all!  I thought of you in church last Sunday.

’I may tell you this:  young Mr. Laxley is here.  He—­but it was Evan’s utter madness was the cause, and I have not ventured a word to him.  He compelled Evan to assert his rank, and Mr. Forth’s face has been one concentrated sneer since then.  He must know the origin of the Cogglesbys, or something.  Now you will understand the importance.  I cannot be more explicit.  Only—­the man must go.

’P.S.  I have just ascertained that Lady Jocelyn is quite familiar with Andrew’s origin!!  She must think my poor Harriet an eccentric woman.  Of course I have not pretended to rank here, merely gentry.  It is gentry in reality, for had poor Papa been legitimized, he would have been a nobleman.  You know that; and between the two we may certainly claim gentry.  I twiddle your little good Andrew to assert it for us twenty times a day.  Of all the dear little manageable men!  It does you infinite credit that you respect him as you do.  What would have become of me I do not know.

’P.S.  I said two shawls—­a black and a white.  The black not so costly—­ very well.  And so delicate of him to think of the mourning!  But the white, my dear, must be family—­must!  Old English point.  Exquisitely chaste.  So different from that Brussels poor Andrew surprised you with.  I know it cost money, but this is a question of taste.  The Duke reconciles me to England and all my troubles!  He is more like poor Papa than any one of the men I have yet seen.  The perfect gentleman!  I do praise myself for managing an invitation to our Carry.  She has been a triumph.’

Admire the concluding stroke.  The Countess calls this letter a purely business communication.  Commercial men might hardly think so; but perhaps ladies will perceive it.  She rambles concentrically, if I may so expound her.  Full of luxurious enjoyment of her position, her mind is active, and you see her at one moment marking a plot, the next, with a light exclamation, appeasing her conscience, proud that she has one; again she calls up rival forms of faith, that she may show the Protestant its little shortcomings, and that it is slightly in debt to her (like Providence) for her constancy, notwithstanding.  The Protestant you see, does not confess, and she has to absolve herself, and must be doing it internally while she is directing outer matters.  Hence her slap at King Henry VIII.  In fact, there is much more business in this letter than I dare to indicate; but as it is both impertinent and unpopular to dive for any length of time beneath the surface (especially when there are few pearls to show for it), we will discontinue our examination.