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My Dear Nellie,—

Since writing you my confessions, in that series of letters which you flattered me by calling “most interesting facts, and deliciously voluptuous reading for lovers of the rod,” the following curious narrative has been entrusted to my confidential keeping by a young Countess of my acquaintance; but as there are no secrets between us, and I think it may afford some little pleasure in the perusal, I hasten to copy it out for you, [6] from notes which I made day by day at the bedside of the dear young creature, as she told the particulars to me, at my visits during her long and painful illness, now, I am afraid, close upon a fatal termination; and you may guess how grieved I am to think that, although I now reserve her name as a secret, too solemn to be entrusted, even to you, the stillness of the grave will soon do away with all necessity for such reticence. Should my confessions ever be printed after our time, this tale certainly ought to bear them company, either as prefix or addenda.

Believe me, dear Nellie,

Your ever affectionate friend,

Rosa Belinda Coote.

London, 10th January, 1825.