had scarcely grown very tired of her, when he broke his neck in a
fox-chase, and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has remained
on her estate in the country ever since, and has never shown any
desire to return to town, and revisit the scene of her early triumphs
and fatal malady. All her favourite recollections, however, revert to
that short period of her youthful beauty. She has no idea of town but
as it was at that time; and continually forgets that the place and
people must have changed materially in the course of nearly half a
century. She will often speak of the toasts of those days as if still
reigning; and, until very recently, used to talk with delight of the
royal family, and the beauty of the young princes and princesses. She
cannot be brought to think of the present king otherwise than as an
elegant young man, rather wild, but who danced a minuet divinely; and
before he came to the crown, would often mention him as the "sweet
young prince."

She talks also of the walks in Kensington Garden, where the gentlemen
appeared in gold-laced coats, and cocked hats, and the ladies in
hoops, and swept so proudly along the grassy avenues; and she thinks
the ladies let themselves sadly down in their dignity, when they gave
up cushioned head-dresses, and high-heeled shoes. She has much to say
too of the officers who were in the train of her admirers; and speaks
familiarly of many wild young blades, that are now, perhaps, hobbling
about watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes.

Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony discouraged her or
not, I cannot say; but though her merits and her riches have attracted
many suitors, she has never been tempted to venture again into the
happy state. This is singular, too, for she seems of a most soft and
susceptible heart; is always talking of love and connubial felicity,