poems in English and Italian, which still may be read by the curious in the pages of the magazines of the day.  She entertained a correspondence with several of the European savans upon history, science, and ancient languages, and especially theology.  Her pleasure was to dispute controversial points with abbes and bishops; and her flatterers said she rivalled Madam Dacier in learning.  Every adventurer who had a discovery in chemistry, a new antique bust, or a plan for discovering the philosopher’s stone, was sure to find a patroness in her.  She had numberless works dedicated to her, and sonnets without end addressed to her by all the poetasters of Europe, under the name of Lindonira or Calista.  Her rooms were crowded with hideous China magots, and all sorts of objects of vertu.

No woman piqued herself more upon her principles, or allowed love to be made to her more profusely.  There was a habit of courtship practised by the fine gentlemen of those days, which is little understood in our coarse downright times:  and young and old fellows would pour out floods of compliments in letters and madrigals, such as would make a sober lady stare were they addressed to her nowadays:  so entirely has the gallantry of the last century disappeared out of our manners.

Lady Lyndon moved about with a little court of her own.  She had half-a-dozen carriages in her progresses.  In her own she would travel with her companion (some shabby lady of quality), her birds, and poodles, and the favourite savant for the time being.  In another would be her female secretary and her waiting-women; who, in spite of their care, never could make their mistress look much better than a slattern.  Sir Charles Lyndon had his own chariot, and the domestics of the establishment would follow in other vehicles.

Also must be mentioned the carriage in which rode her Ladyship’s chaplain, Mr. Runt, who acted in capacity of governor to her son, the little Viscount Bullingdon,—­a melancholy deserted little boy, about whom his father was more than indifferent, and whom his mother never saw, except for two minutes at her levee, when she would put to him a few questions of history or Latin grammar; after which he was consigned to his own amusements, or the care of his governor, for the rest of the day.

The notion of such a Minerva as this, whom I saw in the public places now and then, surrounded by swarms of needy abbes and schoolmasters, who flattered her, frightened me for some time, and I had not the least desire to make her acquaintance.  I had no desire to be one of the beggarly adorers in the great lady’s train,—­ fellows, half friend, half lacquey, who made verses, and wrote letters, and ran errands, content to be paid by a seat in her Ladyship’s box at the comedy, or a cover at her dinner-table at noon.  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ Sir Charles Lyndon would say, whose great subject of conversation and abuse was his lady:  ’my Lindonira will