thoughts toward the muses. I chose "Captivity" for the subject of my
pen, and soon composed a quarto poem of some length; it was superior to
my former production, but it was full of defects, replete with weak or
laboured lines. I never now rend my early compositions without a
suffusion on my cheek, which marks my humble opinion of them.

At this period I was informed that the Duchess of Devonshire[21] was the
admirer and patroness of literature. With a mixture of timidity and hope
I sent her Grace a neatly bound volume of my poems, accompanied by a
short letter apologising for their defects, and pleading my age as the
only excuse for their inaccuracy. My brother, who was a charming youth,
was the bearer of my first literary offering at the shrine of nobility.
The duchess admitted him, and with the most generous and amiable
sensibility inquired some particulars respecting my situation, with a
request that on the following day I would make her a visit.

I knew not what to do. Her liberality claimed my compliance; yet, as I
had never, during my husband's long captivity, quitted him for half an
hour, I felt a sort of reluctance that pained the romantic firmness of
my mind, while I meditated what I considered as a breach of my domestic
attachment. However, at the particular and earnest request of Mr.
Robinson, I consented, and accordingly accepted the duchess's
invitation.

During my seclusion from the world, I had adapted my dress to my
situation. Neatness was at all times my pride; but now plainness was the
conformity to necessity. Simple habiliments became the abode of
adversity; and the plain brown satin gown, which I wore on my first
visit to the Duchess of Devonshire, appeared to me as strange as a
birthday court-suit to a newly married citizen's daughter.