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206 to come, at the least. Give my kind remembrances to your eldest daughter who be kindly remembers me, and give a kiss for me to your youngest, that dear little play-thing who cannot remember me. but whom I shall never forget; nor her Father's fond look at her, when the tear was forgot as soon as shod.

Ever affectionately, Dear Mrs. Ticknor,
 * Your obliged friend,


 * and as the children's Fairy boards say, " You shall see what you shall see."

N.B. — Among the various scratchifications and scarifications in this volume, you may remark that there have been reiterated scratches at Mrs. and Miss Wilmot, and attempts alternately to turn the lady into Mrs. and Miss.

But be it now declared and understood that the lady is not either Mrs. or Miss Wilmot, but Mrs. Bradford — born Wilmot, daughter of a Mr. and Mrs. Wilmot of Cork — went over to Russia to better herself at the invitation of the Princess Dashkoff, who had, in a visit to Ireland, become acquainted with some of her family. What motives induced her to go to Russia — except the general notion of bettering her fortune — I cannot tell. But she did better her fortune, for the princess gave her pearls in strings, and diamonds in necklaces and rings, and five thousand solid pounds in her pocket, for all which she had like to have been poisoned before she could clear away with them out of Russia.

When she came back she married, or was married to, Mr. Bradford, a clergyman, and now lives in Sussex. England.

Now, in consideration of my having further bored you with all this, be pleased whenever yon see Mrs. or Miss Wilmot in the foregoing pages to read Mrs. Bradford, and you will save me thereby the trouble and danger of scratching Mrs. or Miss Wilmot into ten or eleven holes.

The visit to London referred to was paid. Part of the time was spent agreeably visiting friends, seeing sights, and reading new books, among them Darwin's Voyage in the Beagle, which delighted Miss Edgeworth. But the larger portion of her stay was occupied in nursing her sister Fanny through a weary illness, with the added mental anxiety of knowing