When my father was convinced of his loss, he called for his dressing-
gown--searched the garret and the kitchen--looked in the maid's drawers
and the cellaret--and finally declared he was distracted. I have heard
that the servants were quite melted by his grief, and I do not doubt it
in the least, for he was always celebrated for his skill in private
theatricals. He was just retiring to vent his grief in his dressing-room,
when he met my mother. It must altogether have been an awkward rencontre,
and, indeed, for my father, a remarkably unfortunate occurrence; for
Seymour Conway was immensely rich, and the damages would, no doubt, have
been proportionably high. Had they met each other alone, the affair might
easily have been settled, and Lady Frances gone off in tranquillity;--
those d--d servants are always in the way!

I have, however, often thought that it was better for me that the affair
ended thus,--as I know, from many instances, that it is frequently
exceedingly inconvenient to have one's mother divorced.

I have observed that the distinguishing trait of people accustomed to
good society, is a calm, imperturbable quiet, which pervades all their
actions and habits, from the greatest to the least: they eat in quiet,
move in quiet, live in quiet, and lose their wife, or even their money,
in quiet; while low persons cannot take up either a spoon or an affront
without making such an amazing noise about it. To render this observation
good, and to return to the intended elopement, nothing farther was said
upon that event. My father introduced Conway to Brookes's, and invited
him to dinner twice a week for a whole twelvemonth.

Not long after this occurrence, by the death of my grandfather, my uncle
succeeded to the title and estates of the family. He was, as people