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58 her. Two months after their marriage she ran away with his most intimate friend whom she had known a fortnight.—A heavy misfortune befel me the other day—one of those misfortunes which really do affect my feelings. I was ruralizing, was caught in a violent rain, and my bonnet, my best bonnet, new trimmed, was utterly hopelessly spoilt; and what was worse, my beauty, if I have any; for I caught cold, and had a great gathering in my left eye, which besides being very painful, gave me a most pugilistic appearance. I arranged a black silk handkerchief as well as I could over the poulticed side, but, alas! it did not at all resemble 'the mask which shades The face of young Arabian maids, A mask which leaves the one eye free To do its best in witchery.'"

The following reports her literary progress, on the completion of another poem, the "Golden Violet." The letter was written at the close of October of the same year, from Biggleswade, in Bedfordshire, where she was staying for a short period with some retired friends.

"Had I any intention of setting up for epistolary fame, which, however, both Heaven and I know is not in my way, I should rest my gilt-paper-and-red-seal immortality on this present letter, for it has the mark of the beast—that is to say, is written from the most selfish motives, expressly for my own amusement. I have travelled some miles since I last wrote, from Aberford to Royston, in the mail, in company with a ponderous and somniferous noun masculine, a smart-looking adjective feminine, whether a superintendant of curls or children, letters or lace, I could not