With admiration let us behold the Countess de Saldar alighting on the gravel sweep of Beckley Court, the footman and butler of the enemy bowing obsequious welcome to the most potent visitor Beckley Court has ever yet embraced.

The despatches of a general being usually acknowledged to be the safest sources from which the historian of a campaign can draw, I proceed to set forth a letter of the Countess de Saldar, forwarded to her sister, Harriet Cogglesby, three mornings after her arrival at Beckley Court; and which, if it should prove false in a few particulars, does nevertheless let us into the state of the Countess’s mind, and gives the result of that general’s first inspection of the field of action.  The Countess’s epistolary English does small credit to her Fallow field education; but it is feminine, and flows more than her ordinary speech.  Besides, leaders of men have always notoriously been above the honours of grammar.  ’My dearest Harriet,

’Your note awaited me.  No sooner my name announced, than servitors in yellow livery, with powder and buckles started before me, and bowing one presented it on a salver.  A venerable butler—­most impressive! led the way.  In future, my dear, let it be de Saldar de Sancorvo.  That is our title by rights, and it may as well be so in England.  English Countess is certainly best.  Always put the de.  But let us be systematic, as my poor Silva says.  He would be in the way here, and had better not come till I see something he can do.  Silva has great reliance upon me.  The farther he is from Lymport, my dear!—­and imagine me, Harriet, driving through Fallow field to Beckley Court!  I gave one peep at Dubbins’s, as I passed.  The school still goes on.  I saw three little girls skipping, and the old swing-pole.  Seminary for young ladies as bright as ever!  I should have liked to have kissed the children and given them bonbons and a holiday.

’How sparing you English are of your crests and arms!  I fully expected to see the Jocelyns’ over my bed; but no—­four posts totally without ornament!  Sleep, indeed, must be the result of dire fatigue in such a bed.  The Jocelyn crest is a hawk in jesses.  The Elburne arms are, Or, three falcons on a field, vert.  How heraldry reminds me of poor Papa! the evenings we used to spend with him, when he stayed at home, studying it so diligently under his directions!  We never shall again!  Sir Franks Jocelyn is the third son of Lord Elburne, made a Baronet for his patriotic support of the Ministry in a time of great trouble.  The people are sometimes grateful, my dear.  Lord Elburne is the fourteenth of his line—­originally simple country squires.  They talk of the Roses, but we need not go so very far back as that.  I do not quite understand why a Lord’s son should condescend to a Baronetcy.  Precedence of some sort for his lady, I suppose.  I have yet to learn whether she ranks by his birth, or his present title.  If so, a young Baronetcy cannot possibly be a gain.  One thing is certain.  She cares very little about it.  She is most eccentric.  But remember what I have told you.  It will be serviceable when you are speaking of the family.