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280 The Malones urge my stay—but listen to my reasons for not protracting it as much as they wish. I dine to-day with Lord Sunderlin. The ladies put me down at night on their way to Lady Clonmell’s.

It was my intention (May 6) to write daily to you, but was prevented by a visitor, who occupied the only time I had left. I dined yesterday at Lord Sunderlin’s; Luttrell and Courtenay were of the party—but the irreconcileable differences between their notions on politics, morals, taste, &c, and those of Mr. M., rather dullified the day, though not altogether.

In the midst of much discomfort, he gained patience to endure it by contrasting with his own the afflictions of his friend Mr. R. M. Jephson, settled at Gibraltar, from whom accounts were at this time received. His situation was indeed deplorable. Pestilence in the form of fever had visited that fortress and made hideous ravages in every class of the population. His wife, child, brother, and many intimate associates perished in what he calls “this charnell house.” Even a dear friend (chief medical officer of