II. FROM LADY CLITHEROE TO MARY CHURCHILL.

Dear Saint, I'm still at High-Hurst Park.

The house is fill'd with folks of mark.

Honoria suits a good estate

Much better than I hoped. How fate

Loads her with happiness and pride!

And such a loving lord, beside!

But between us, Sweet, everything

Has limits, and to build a wing

To this old house, when Courtholm stands

Empty upon his Berkshire lands,

And all that Honor might be near

Papa, was buying love too dear.

With twenty others, there are two

Guests here, whose names will startle you:

Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Graham!

I thought he stay'd away for shame.

He and his wife were ask'd, you know,

And would not come, four years ago.

You recollect Miss Smythe found out

Who she had been, and all about

Her people at the Powder-mill;

And how the fine Aunt tried to instil

Haut ton, and how, at last poor Jane

Had got so shy and gauche that, when

The Dockyard gentry came to sup,

She always had to be lock'd up;

And some one wrote to us and said

Her mother was a kitchen-maid.

Dear Mary, you'll be charm'd to know

It must be all a fib. But, oh,

She is the oddest little Pet

On which my eyes were ever set!

She's so outree and natural

That, when she first arrived, we all

Wonder'd, as when a robin comes

In through the window to eat crumbs

At breakfast with us. She has sense,

Humility, and confidence;

And, save in dressing just a thought

Gayer in colours than she ought,

( To-day she looks a cross between

Gipsy and Fairy, red and green,)

She always happens to do well.

And yet one never quite can tell

What she might do or utter next.

Lord Clitheroe is much perplex'd.

Her husband, every now and then,

Looks nervous; all the other men

Are charm'd. Yet she has neither grace,

Nor one good feature in her face.

Her eyes, indeed, flame in her head,

Like very altar-fires to Fred,

Whose steps she follows everywhere

Like a tame duck, to the despair

Of Colonel Holmes, who does his part

To break her funny little heart.

Honor's enchanted.‘ Tis her view

That people, if they're good and true,

And treated well, and let alone,

Will kindly take to what's their own,

And always be original,

Like children. Honor's just like all

The rest of us! But, thinking so,

‘ Tis well she miss'd Lord Clitheroe,

Who hates originality,

Though he puts up with it in me.

Poor Mrs. Graham has never been

To the Opera! You should have seen

The innocent way she told the Earl

She thought Plays sinful when a girl,

And now she never had a chance!

Frederick's complacent smile and glance

Towards her, show'd me, past a doubt,

Honoria had been quite cut out.

‘ Tis very strange; for Mrs. Graham,

Though Frederick's fancy none can blame,

Seems the last woman you'd have thought

Her lover would have ever sought.

She never reads, I find, nor goes

Anywhere; so that I suppose

She got at all she ever knew

By growing up, as kittens do.

Talking of kittens, by-the-bye,

You have more influence than I

With dear Honoria. Get her, Dear,

To be a little more severe

With those sweet Children. They've the run

Of all the place. When school was done,

Maud burst in, while the Earl was there,

With‘ Oh, Mama, do be a bear!’

Do you know, Dear, this odd wife of Fred

Adores his old Love in his stead!

She is so nice, yet, I should say,

Not quite the thing for every day.

Wonders are wearying! Felix goes

Next Sunday with her to the Close,

And you will judge.

Honoria asks

All Wiltshire Belles here; Felix basks

Like Puss in fire-shine, when the room

Is thus aflame with female bloom.

But then she smiles when most would pout;

And so his lawless loves go out

With the last brocade.‘ Tis not the same,

I fear, with Mrs. Frederick Graham.

Honoria should not have her here,—

And this you might just hint, my Dear,—

For Felix says he never saw

Such proof of what he holds for law,

That‘ beauty is love which can be seen.’

Whatever he by this may mean,

Were it not dreadful if he fell

In love with her on principle!