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FRENCH EMIGRANTS; LETTER TO MRS. TAYLOR; LETTER OF THE DUKE D’AIGUILLON; VISIT TO LONDON, AND LETTER FROM THENCE; LONDON AGAIN; LETTER FROM MRS. WOLLSTONECROFT; FIRST INTRODUCTION TO MR. OPIE; MR. OPIE’S EARLY HISTORY; RETURN TO NORWICH; PREPARATIONS FOR MARRIAGE.

The sufferings endured by the upper and proscribed classes in France during the time of the French Revolution, obliged (as is well known) multitudes of them to take refuge in this country; and, in the year 1797, London and its suburbs alone were found, by an official return, to contain seven thousand and forty-one Aliens. Many of these were subjected to the extremes of want and misery; their condition exciting the compassion, as well as the indignation, of the humane. Amongst them were not a few men of high standing and repute, who were received into society, and found friends among the wealthier classes of the community. It was just at this period, that the celebrated Count de Lally Tolendal, published his “Defence of the French Emigrants;” a work well known all over Europe, as soon as it was published. To this gentleman Mrs. Opie addressed a “Quatrain,” on reading his “Defence of his Father,” which subsequently appeared among her published poems. This favour he acknowledged, in a letter dated from Cossey, (near Norwich,) accompanied by a French poem of one hundred lines, which she preserved among her papers. It was very natural that she, whose sympathies were ever so keenly alive to the sorrows of others, should become warmly interested on behalf of these unhappy exiles; and she appears to have formed many acquaintances among them, during the time she spent in London. The following letter to Mrs. Taylor gives a lively narrative of one of the soirées, at which she met a party of the emigrants, among whom was the Duc d’Aiguillon; and we have added a letter from him, received by her the following year, on the cover of which she has written, “From the Duke d’Aiguillon, the ex-minister; one of the second importation of emigrants.”

TO MRS. TAYLOR.

Sunday Morning, 1795.

It is so long, my dear friend, since I conversed with you, even through the imperfect medium of a letter, that I joyfully take advantage of the first favourable opportunity for writing you a long epistle, in hopes that I may rouse you to pay me in coin. Besides you are in a state of widowhood and require all the attention possible to console you for so forlorn a condition! What shall I tell you by way of anecdote? My father has read you, perhaps, my account of Charles Lameth; take some more particulars respecting that extraordinary man. You may suppose that I felt a new and pleasing sensation while contemplating him, as I knew him to be one of the actors in the first revolution; and as soon as my silence yielded to my curiosity, I began questioning him concerning some of the patriotic leaders. Amongst others I inquired what he thought of Legendre? He says Legendre, though misled, has some good points in his character, and is not a bad man; he then gave us the following instance of his determined spirit and resolution; “I was, at the time I mention,” said Lameth, “president of the National Convention, and had been supping at your house, (turning to the Duc d’Aiguillon,) when, at midnight, my servant came to me, and said, ‘A man muffled up is in a hackney coach at the door, and wants to see you.’ ‘Tell him to come in.’ ‘He refuses.’ ‘Go and ask his name.’ He did so, and returned saying, ‘His name is Legendre.’ Hearing this, I went into the coach to him, and demanded his business. ‘I come to you,’ replied he, ‘as president of the National Convention; I hear that an accusation is bringing forward against me, and as I shrink not from the charge, I came to surrender myself, and save you the trouble—here I am, guillotine me, if you will, I am firm and steady.’ I endeavoured to convince him the decree of accusation might be repealed, and that all that was necessary was his concealment till the danger was gone by. ‘Conceal me then in your house, my own is not safe,’ cried he; but I convinced him that mine was too public. However, I sent to a friend in whom I could confide, who concealed Legendre in his, till the decree was annulled.”

“Oh!” said Sam. Rogers to me, some time after, “I do not like the fellow’s looks, I would not have gone muffled up to his house, at midnight, and have given him leave to kill me, for fear he should have taken me at my word!” This led Mr. Rogers to give his opinion of the three émigrés then with us, and of Duport, another of considerable talents, who was prevented coming; and he defined them thus:—“Though I have often entertained Lameth at my house, I should expect he would treat me insolently, and make me feel the distance between us, even if he admitted me to his table. The Marquis would grin at me, and pass on; the Duc would be glad to see me, and do me immediately all the service and civility in his power; but Duport would open his arms to me!” Lameth entertained the gentlemen very much, by his account of the fascinating Madame de Condorcet, and of her method of acquiring votes for the members whom she wished returned. These favoured men were called “the majority of Madame de Condorcet;” and, on my innocently asking what it meant, I saw enough, from the laugh I excited, and L’s mysterious manner of answering, to know that the majority of Madame de Condorcet meant no good. “Does she live still?” said I; “Oh, yes,” cried the Duc, “she is in no danger; all parties will be her friend; she is so pretty and so accommodating; and I’m sure she’ll be the friend of all parties.” The Marquis, who was the intimate friend of the Duc de Rouchefoucault, says, though he brought Condorcet forward, fed him, lodged him, and married him, Condorcet was justly suspected of being privy to his assassination. When Lameth was forced to fly, as he was denounced in the Jacobin Club, and orders given for his detention, he sent to desire such a portmanteau to be forwarded directly to him; having received it, and wanting some of the money and papers which it contained, he opened it as soon as he was out of France, and found, to his utter surprise and dismay, that the wrong portmanteau had been sent, and instead of money, that it contained his wife’s child-bed linen! “Et les voilà encore, mesdames! (continua-t-il) car, en vérité, je n’ai pas eu encore occasion d’en faire usage.” * *

à Hambourg, chez Mr. Fortune de la Vigne,

Negociant, ce 6 février, 1796.

TO MISS AMELIA ALDERSON, MR. ALDERSON’S, NORWICH.

Mademoiselle,

Daignez agréer l’assurance bien sincère, de la vive reconnaissance que m’inspire le marque aimable, de souvenir et d’intérêt, que vous avez bien voulu me donner. Je vous dois mille remerciemens, et de la lettre donc vous avez chargé Mr. le Chevalier de Bercley, et de m’avoir procuré le plaisir de le connaitre. Je l’ai vu assez pour que le peu de séjour qu’il a fait ici, m’ai laissé beaucoup de regrets. J’ai mille excuses à vous faire d’avoir autant tardé à vous répondre; mais j’ai été, pendant plus de quinze jours, tellement malade d’un rhume mêlé de fievre, et de goutte (ma constante ennemie) que j’étois dans l’impossibilité absolue d’écrire un seul mot. Croyez, je vous prie, Mademoiselle, qu’il a fallu une raison aussi forte, pour m’empêcher de vous exprimer plutot toute ma gratitude, et le plaisir que j’ai, d’être assuré par vous, que je ne partage pas le sort ordinaire aux absens.

Recevez mes remerciemens des jolis airs que vous m’avez envoyés. Je les conserverai avec soin, et ne les donnerai quoique vous en disiez, à personne. Ils ont renouvellé mes regrets, en me rappellant ces tendres et jolies romances que vous chantiez avec l’expression de la musique et toute celle du sentiment, ce qui vaut bien mieux.

Je vous rends graces, Mademoiselle, des souhaits, vraiment pleins de bonté que vous faites en ma faveur. Je crains qu’ils ne soyent encore longtems à s’accomplir; cependant, je n’en suis pas moins sensible à vôtre obligeance. Mais vous! que desirer pour vôtre bonheur? La nature n’a-t-elle pas pourvu à tout, en vous donnant les qualités du cœur, celles de l’esprit, des graces, des talents? Je me bornerai donc à souhaiter que vous soyez toujours aussi heureuse que vous méritez de l’être, et c’est tout dire.

Il me paroit que vous avez à Norwich une Societé de Français assez agréable. Je ne connois point ceux que vous me nommez; mais j’envie leur sort, d’être aupres de vous, et de vous plaire,—à propos!—que peut fonder ce reproche d’aristocratie fait à mon ami, M. de L.? Voilà, vraisemblablement, la première fois qu’il en est accusé. Cela est assez plaisant, et le singularité du fait, l’empêche, en verité, d’être aussi affligé qu’il le seroit, d’être jugé par vous aussi sévèrement.

Adieu, Mademoiselle. Adieu! Croyez que je regarderois comme un vrai bonheur d’être instruit quelquefois de ce qui peut vous intéresser. Veuillez bien agréer l’hommage du tendre respect et de l’attachement sincère, que je vous ai voué.

D’Aiguillon.

Miss Alderson’s visit in London seems to have been protracted to a period of some months; a season full of constant occupation and variety, passed amidst a gay round of visits and amusements, which, however, did not merely serve the end of the fleeting hour’s enjoyment, but in which she studied human nature, and became acquainted with the world and its ways, to good practical purpose. There are two other letters to her friend, of this period, from which we make the following extracts:—

* * * Yesterday morning I had the unexpected pleasure of a visit from Mr. Wrangham. He did not stay long, but he has promised to call again, and is as gentle, elegant, and interesting as ever; he gained the Seatonian prize for a poem this year, which is published, and he has promised to send me one. I am much pleased with Mr. W. Taylor’s Ode to the ship that conveys Gerald. Though he would not favour me with a copy of the elegant sonnet he sent me on the morning of my departure, my memory retains every word of it; and I catch myself repeating the first and last line, whenever home and its varied associations crowd on my mind. Month follows month in this wilderness of pleasure, if I may call it so, where fruits and flowers dispute pre-eminence with weeds; and yet I cannot say, “I’ll stay here no longer,” till, as I said before, my natal soil and its comforts press on my mind, and I exclaim, “Ah! not for ever quaff at pleasure’s distant fount!” To-morrow I am going to enjoy “the feast of reason and the flow of soul,” with Mrs. Barbauld and Dr. Geddes, at Mrs. Howard’s. I wish I could wish you there. Godwin drank tea and supt here last night; a leave-taking visit, as he goes to-morrow to spend a fortnight at Dr. Parr’s. It would have entertained you highly to have seen him bid me farewell. He wished to salute me, but his courage failed him. “While oft he looked back, and was loth to depart.” “Will you give me nothing to keep for your sake, and console me during my absence,” murmured out the philosopher, “not even your slipper? I had it in my possession once, and need not have returned it!” This was true; my shoe had come off, and he had put it in his pocket for some time. You have no idea how gallant he is become; but indeed he is much more amiable than ever he was. Mrs. Inchbald says, the report of the world is, that Mr. Holcroft is in love with her, she with Mr. Godwin, Mr. Godwin with me, and I am in love with Mr. Holcroft! A pretty story indeed! This report Godwin brings to me, and he says Mrs. I. always tells him that when she praises him, I praise Holcroft. This is not fair in Mrs. I. She appears to me jealous of G.’s attention to me, so she makes him believe I prefer H. to him. She often says to me, “Now you are come, Mr. Godwin does not come near me.” Is not this very womanish? We had a most delightful conversation last night. A dispute on the merits of different poets,—Mr. G. abusing Collins, I defending him,—G. setting Gray above him, and I putting him below him; but we agreed about Churchill, who was one of my flames. How idle I am! I cannot write, and I read but little, but I shall mend. Farewell! Mr. Batty and I both wear you “in our heart’s core,” and so would Mrs. B., if she knew you. I love and admire them more every day. Love to the Barnards; my love to the Smiths. Dear love and good wishes to the boys and girls.

Yours, ——

Thursday.

My dear Mrs. Taylor,

* * * * I flatter myself with the idea that you hear most of my letters to my father; consequently that you know my movements, and can judge of the probable quantity of enjoyment I experience. I am now about to enjoy pleasant society in a pleasant country, one of the first luxuries at this season of the year; but still I sigh for home, that is, I sigh for a day or two of confidential intercourse with you and others, and to wash off the dirt of London in the sea of Cromer; to write poetry on the shore, to live over again every scene there that memory loves (and never did she love them so dearly as now;) and, having rioted in all that my awakened fancy can give, return to Norwich, and endeavour to make one of my plays, at least, fit to be offered to one of the managers of the winter theatres. Such is my plan; and in it I live, move, and have my being.

Bless me! what a busy place Norwich has been, and I not in it! but then I heard H. Tooke and Fox speak, and that’s something. To be sure I had rather have heard Buonaparte address his soldiers; but as pleasure delayed is not pleasure lost, I may still hope to hear him when the bonnet rouge has taken place of the tiara, and a switch from the tree of liberty dangles from that hand which formerly wielded the crozier. But alas! this is no laughing matter,—or rather let us laugh while we can, for I believe an hour to be approaching when salut et fraternité will be the watchwords for civil slaughter throughout Europe; and the meridian glory of the sun of Liberty, in France, will light us to courting the past dangers and horrors of the republic, in hopes of obtaining her present power and greatness. It will be an awful time; may I meet it with fortitude! But I shrink, and shrink only, from the idea of ties dear to my heart, which it will for ever break; of the friendships I must forego; of the dangers of those I love; and of friends equally dear to me, meeting in the field of strife opposed in mortal combat! I feel heart-sick at such possibilities; yet which amongst us dare assert that such possibilities may not, ere long, be probable?

Mrs. Imlay tells me, no words can describe the feelings which the scenes she witnessed in France gave birth to continually—it was a sort of indefinite terror. She was sitting alone, when Imlay came in and said, “I suppose you have not heard the sad news of to-day?” “What is it? is Brissot guillotined?” “Not only Brissot, but the one-and-twenty are.” Amongst them she immediately could conjure up the faces of some lately endeared acquaintances, and before she was conscious of the effect of the picture, she sunk lifeless on the floor: and Mrs. Imlay is not a fine lady—if any mind could be unmoved at such things hers would; but a series of horrors must have a very weakening tendency. When we meet I shall have much to tell you. Yesterday I had a letter from Catherine; she is well and happy, she says; but we’ll read her letter together.

Farewell! Mrs. Barbauld is more charming than ever; both he and she speak of you as you deserve. Love to Mrs. Beecroft, and Fanny Smith, and all the circle of home. * * *

In the spring of 1797 we find her again in town, accompanying her friend Mrs. Inchbald on the 17th April, to Westminster, to hear a sermon from Bishop Horsley. Again she extended her visit to several months; and a most eventful time it proved to be in her history, as will be gathered from her communications to Mrs. Taylor. Some unexpected changes too had occurred amongst her acquaintances, since she left them, twelve or fourteen months before. The philosophic Godwin had justified her opinion of him, and proved that his heart was not so wise as his head; he had married Mrs. Wollstonecroft, a strange incomprehensible woman, whose unhappy existence terminated shortly after this marriage. A letter from her to Miss Alderson, seems to have been written at this time, and as it is of painful interest, and curious in more respects than one, we subjoin it:—

My dear Girl,

Endeavouring, through embarrassment, to turn the conversation from myself last night, I insensibly became too severe in my strictures on the vanity of a certain lady, and my heart smote me when I raised a laugh at her expense. Pray forget it. I have now to tell you that I am very sorry I prevented you from engaging a box for Mrs. Inchbald, whose conduct, I think, has been very rude. She wrote to Mr. Godwin to-day, saying, that, taking it for granted he had forgotten it, she had spoken to another person. “She would not do so the next time he was married.” Nonsense! I have now to request you to set the matter right. Mrs. Inchbald may still get a box; I beg her pardon for misunderstanding the business, but Mr. G. led me into the error, or I will go to the pit. To have done with disagreeable subjects at once, let me allude to another. I shall be sorry to resign the acquaintance of Mrs. and Mr. F. Twiss, because I respect their characters, and feel grateful for their attention; but my conduct in life must be directed by my own judgment and moral principles: it is my wish that Mr. Godwin should visit and dine out as formerly, and I shall do the same; in short, I still mean to be independent, even to the cultivating sentiments and principles in my children’s minds, (should I have more,) which he disavows. The wound my unsuspecting heart formerly received is not healed. I found my evenings solitary; and I wished, while fulfilling the duty of a mother, to have some person with similar pursuits, bound to me by affection; and beside, I earnestly desired to resign a name which seemed to disgrace me. Since I have been unfortunately the object of observation, I have had it in my power, more than once, to marry very advantageously; and of course, should have been courted by those, who at least cannot accuse me of acting an interested part, though I have not, by dazzling their eyes, rendered them blind to my faults. I am proud perhaps, conscious of my own purity and integrity; and many circumstances in my life have contributed to excite in my bosom an indignant contempt for the forms of a world I should have bade a long good night to, had I not been a mother. Condemned then, to toil my hour out, I wish to live as rationally as I can; had fortune or splendor been my aim in life, they have been within my reach, would I have paid the price. Well, enough of the subject; I do not wish to resume it. Good night! God bless you.

Mary Wollstonecroft,

femme Godwin.

Tuesday Night.

From this letter, it is cheering to turn to the bright joyous spirit, evinced in the following, which contains the first announcement of the important event to which we alluded just now.

TO MRS. TAYLOR.

Tuesday, 1797.

Why have I not written to you? it is a question I cannot answer; you must answer it yourself, but attribute my silence, not to any diminution of affection for you * * * * Believe me, I still hear the kind fears you expressed for me when we parted, and still see the flattering tears that you shed when you bade me adieu. Indeed, I shall never forget them. I had resolved to write to you as soon as ever I had seen Richard, but it was a resolution made to be broken; like many others in this busy scene. Had I written to you as soon as I left, of all those whom I have heard talk of and praise you as you deserve, I should have ruined you in postage. Poor Mr. C. is desperately in love with you, by his own confession, and his wife admires his taste. Mr. Godwin was much gratified by your letter, and he avowed that it made him love you better than he did before, and Mrs. Godwin was not surprised at it; by the bye, he never told me whether you congratulated him on his marriage or not; but now I remember, it was written before that wonder-creating event was known. Heigho! what charming things would sublime theories be, if one could make one’s practice keep up with them; but I am convinced it is impossible, and am resolved to make the best of every-day nature.

I shall have much to tell you in a tête à tête, of the Godwins, &c.—so much that a letter could not contain or do it justice; but this will be entre nous; I love to make observations on extraordinary characters; but not to mention those observations if they be not favourable.

“Well! a whole page, and not a word yet of the state of her heart; the subject most interesting to me”—methinks I hear you exclaim; patience, friend, it will come soon, but not go away soon, were I to analyze it, and give it you in detail. Suffice, that it is in the most comical state possible; but I am not unhappy, on the contrary, I enjoy everything; and if my head be not turned by the large draughts which my vanity is daily quaffing, I shall return to Norwich much happier than I left it. Mr. Opie, has (but mum) been my declared lover, almost ever since I came. I was ingenuous with him upon principle, and I told him my situation, and the state of my heart. He said he should still persist, and would risk all consequences to his own peace, and so he did and does; and I have not resolution to forbid his visits. Is not this abominable? Nay more, were I not certain my father would disapprove such, or indeed any connexion for me, there are moments, when, ambitious of being a wife and mother, and of securing to myself a companion for life, capable of entering into all my pursuits, and of amusing me by his,—I could almost resolve to break all fetters, and relinquish too, the wide, and often aristocratic circle, in which I now move, and become the wife of a man, whose genius has raised him from obscurity, into fame and comparative affluence; but indeed my mind is on the pinnacle of its health when I thus feel; and on a pinnacle one can’t remain long! But I had forgotten to tell you the attraction Mr. O. held out, that staggered me beyond anything else; it was that, if I were averse to leaving my father, he would joyfully consent to his living with us. What a temptation to me, who am every moment sensible, that the claims of my father will always be, with me, superior to any charms that a lover can hold out! Often do I rationally and soberly state to Opie the reasons that might urge me to marry him, in time, and the reasons why I never could be happy with him, nor he with me; but it always ends in his persisting in his suit, and protesting his willingness to wait for my decision; even while I am seriously rejecting him, and telling him I have decided. * * * Mr. Holcroft too, has had a mind to me, but he has no chance. May I trouble you to tell my father that, while I was out yesterday, Hamilton called, and left a note, simply saying, “Richardson says he means to call on you, I have seen him this morning.” Before I seal this letter I hope to receive my farce from him; I will put my letter by till the boy returns from R. I have been capering about the room for joy, at having gotten my farce back! now idleness adieu, when Dicky and I have held sweet converse together! * * *

The first time Mr. Opie saw his future wife, was at an evening party, at the house of one of her early friends; among the guests assembled, were Mr. Opie, and a family, personally known to the writer of these Memoirs. Some of those present were rather eagerly expecting the arrival of Miss Alderson; but the evening was wearing away, and still she did not appear; at length the door was flung open, and she entered, bright and smiling, dressed in a robe of blue, her neck and arms bare; and on her head a small bonnet, placed in somewhat coquettish style, sideways, and surmounted by a plume of three white feathers. Her beautiful hair hung in rich waving tresses over her shoulders; her face was kindling with pleasure at sight of her old friends; and her whole appearance was animated and glowing. At the time she came in, Opie was sitting on a sofa, beside Mr. F., who had been saying, from time to time, “Amelia is coming; Amelia will surely come: why is she not here?” and whose eyes were turned in her direction. He was interrupted by his companion eagerly exclaiming “Who is that? Who is that?” and hastily rising, he pressed forward, to be introduced to the fair object whose sudden appearance had so impressed him. He was evidently smitten; charmed, at first sight, and, as she says, “almost from my first arrival Mr. Opie became my avowed lover.”

It will not be necessary for us to give more than a short reference to Mr. Opie’s career before he became acquainted with Amelia Alderson. He was born of poor and respectable parents, and early showed a remarkable strength of understanding and indomitable perseverance. His father would fain have brought him up to his own business, (that of a carpenter,) but to this the boy evinced a most decided disinclination, and even so early as his 10th year the bent of his talents was determined. In vain his father endeavoured to discourage his attempts at drawing; he persisted in covering the walls of their house with pictures of his family, his companions, and favourite animals. Accident brought him to the knowledge of Dr. Walcot, (the Peter Pindar of well-known celebrity,) who assisted and recommended him, and eventually introduced him, in his 20th year, to the notice of the artistic world in London; there he was hailed as a wonder and a genius, and immediately surrounded and employed by amateurs and many of the nobility. The street in which he lived was so crowded with carriages that, as he jokingly observed, he thought he should have to plant a cannon at his door to keep the multitude off! This popularity, however, did not last long; although he was really improving by diligent practice, and advancing towards excellence, the world began to cool upon him when he ceased to be a novelty; and soon neglected one it had perhaps at first somewhat overvalued. By a wise economy he had, even at this time, secured a considerable sum of money; and with praiseworthy diligence cultivated his mind, and in some degree supplied his early want of education.

About this time, he unhappily married a woman, wholly unworthy of him, who is reported to have possessed some property. Before long he found himself compelled to procure a divorce from her. Probably this domestic trouble had a serious effect upon his temper and manners. His address was naturally somewhat rugged and unpolished, especially before his second marriage; but those who knew him well, found that his disposition was the very reverse of unfeeling or vindictive. Mrs. Inchbald says, “the total absence of artificial manners was the most remarkable characteristic, and at the same time the adornment and the deformity of Mr. Opie.” At the time when he paid his addresses to Miss Alderson he was in his 36th year. Mr. Allen Cunningham, in the pleasing biography he has given of him in his “Lives of the Painters,” says, “in person Opie looked like an inspired peasant.”

We have no further record, reporting how he fared in his courtship; she vowed that his chances of success were but one to a thousand! But the indomitable one persevered. He knew his mind, and persuaded her at length, that he had read her heart. So she went home again to Norwich, to think of the future, and prepare for it; one last short note heralded her approach; probably the last she ever addressed to her friend, bearing the signature, “A. Alderson.”^[6]

Englefield Green,

Friday, August 12th, 1797.

My very dear Friend,

I cannot meet even the kindest glance of your eye, without having written a few lines, before our reunion. I must tell you, that of all the letters I have received from my friends, yours gave me the most pleasure, though I had not the grace to say so till now: when we meet I will tell you why; indeed I must put off a great many communications till that time. Suffice, that whatever you hear about me, you must disbelieve!

Here I am, on a high hill, wishing most fervently, though not warmly, for a fire, and in the middle of August too! Shall we, (I fear not,) have some hot evening walks? I shall want them by way of relaxation from my studies, (do not laugh.) Positively, I must set hard to work, as the theatre opens in September. Farewell! I must conclude, I have been writing a long time; with love to your spouse and children, believe me most affectionately yours,

A. Alderson.

The time was approaching when she was to leave her father’s house, and the home and friends of her youth, to become the wife of Mr. Opie. An ardent love letter, still in existence, tells with what intense desire he was awaiting her arrival; for it was arranged that she should go, accompanied by her father, to the house of one of their friends in London, and be married from thence; towards the close of this epistle he enters into some details respecting the preparations he was making, in his domestic arrangements, for the reception of his bride; and concludes:—

I am puzzled, dearest, to know whether you expect to hear from me to-morrow. If I think of anything particular I’ll write; else not. To love thee much better than I did, is, I think, impossible; but my heart springs forward at the thought of thy near approach. God bless thee ever, my dearest love, and guard thee up safe to thy fond, anxious, devoted,

J. O.

[6]

For the benefit of our fair readers we subjoin a list found among her old letters, of what probably formed a part of the contents of her Trousseau.Blue satin bonnet russe with eight blue feathers; nine small feathers and a feather edge; three blue round feathers and two blue Scotch caps; one striped gold gauze bonnet russe; four scollop’d edged caps, à la Marie Stuart; one bead cap; one tiara; two spencers, one white, one black.2nd Box, No. 1. Two yards broad figured lace, for neck and wrists; buff satin slip; buff net gown; three muslin gowns and one skirt; three frilled handkerchiefs; one lace cap and two bands; a set of scarlet ribbon for the gown lined with blue; three lace frills; worked cambric gown and flounces; seven flat feathers and three curled ones, &c., &c., &c.