Well, last Thursday, Mr. Fontaine enclosed me a note from a lady, Mrs. Featherstonehaugh, of Bracklin Castle, intimating her desire to have just such a charming young person as myself! as governess or companion to her two daughters; the eldest just returned from a great finishing school, Madame Lafarrelle’s, and the younger who has never left home.

Mrs. Featherstone was for a few days at her mother’s, the Dowager Lady Steele’s in Dominic Street, but anxious not to lose a moment, and would send her

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carriage for the young lady M. Lafontaine had mentioned in his letter (Miss Owenson) if he would send her address. And so he did, and so the carriage came—and so I went—rather downhearted from my former disappointments.

You know what a fine street Dominic Street is, and so close to my old school. Well, a handsome mansion, two servants at the door, my name taken, and I was ushered at once into a large and rather gloomy parlour, in the centre of which two ladies were sitting at a table. The one at the head of the table, a most remarkable figure both in person and costume, but who bore her ninety years with considerable confidence in her own dignity. She sat with her head thrown back, her little sharp eyes twinkling at me as I entered, and her mouth pursed up to the dimensions of a parish poor-box. She wore a fly-cap (of which I have taken the pattern), on her silver but frizzled hair,—her very fair face was drawn into small wrinkles, as though engraved with a needle over her delicate features, and when I tell you what I have since heard, that she was the rival and friend of the beautiful Lady Palmer, the belle of Lord Chesterfield’s court, and the subject of his pretty verses which you used to recite so often,—you will allow that she had every right to wrinkles and the remains of beauty.*

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Mrs. Featherstone opened the conversation by telling me that she had been a pupil of Mr. Fontaine’s as her daughters were now, and that he was the best of human beings.

The two girls looked at me as much as to say, “Don’t mind grandmamma,” and Mrs. Featherstone added,—

“Dear mamma, now, you must leave Miss Owenson to me,” and then she said to me, “I assure you, my dear, I am much prepossessed in your favour by all that our good Fontaine has told me of you; and your being so merry and musical as he tells me you are, is

with an orange lily in her bosom. Lord Chesterfield, having kissed her fair check, took out his tablets and wrote the following stanza— “Thou little Tory! where’s the jest, To wear the orange on thy breast, When that same lovely breast discloses The whiteness of the rebel roses!”

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very much in your favour with us, for we are rather dull and mopy.”

“But to begin,” interposed Lady Steele again, “What will this young person expect? she cannot offer herself as a regular governess, she is so very young.”

“She shall first offer herself as my visitor at Bracklin Castle for the Christmas holidays,” said Mrs. Featherstone, kindly, “and then we shall see how we get on and suit each other, which I am sure we shall very well.”

At this moment the footman came in to announce that the carriage was at the door, followed by a handsome jolly-looking woman, the lady’s maid, with Mrs. Featherstone’s cloak and bonnet.

Mrs. Featherstone said, “Come, my dear, and I will set you down, and we will have a little talk by the way, for I have an appointment which hurries me away at present.” The two girls ran after us and said, “Do come to us, we shall be so happy at Bracklin, and never mind grandmamma,—nobody does,” and with this dutiful observation they shook hands cordially with me, and I drove off with my bran new friend. What was amusing in all this was—that I never opened my lips till I got into the carriage, when I thanked Mrs. Featherstone for her kind reception, and accepted cordially her invitation to Bracklin. In

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short, there was a mutual sympathy between us; the result, I believe, of mutual good humour and good nature.

As we went along I settled a few points relative to my journey to Bracklin; but I was dying to ask her if this Lady Steele was any relation to Sir Richard Steele of the Spectator, which was the thought uppermost in my mind all the time.

At last I did, and she said, “Oh, yes, my father, the late Sir Richard Steele of Hampstead, was second cousin to your Sir Richard; but being of the elder branch he succeeded to the estate, as his poorer cousin did to the wit of the family. My nephew, the present Sir Richard Steele, is now the representative of the family and the possessor of the property.”

Olivia and Molly heard all this with astonishment, but agreed that it was quite right; as did also Dr. Pellegrini, who came with Madame and carried us off to dinner.

The next morning I took my darling Olivia to Madame Dacier’s—

“Some natural tears we dropped, but wiped them soon,”

full of the hope of meeting next spring.

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Molly came back with me to prepaid all my little arrangements, towards which we changed our last bank-note. And having next day received all details in a letter from Mrs. Featherstone from Bracklin, written the night she arrived, I accepted a farewell dinner and a little dance after, which Mr. Fontaine called a petit bal d’adieu for the night of my departure; he said, “the mail goes from the head of this street; it will blow its horn when it is ready for you, and we will all conduct you to your carriage.”

Well, papa, this was all very nice, for I wanted to be cheered, so I dressed myself in my school dancing dress, a muslin frock and pink silk stockings and shoes. Molly had my warm things to change in time for the mail.

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If my heart had not been so heavy, this would have been a scene I should have delighted in. And so we galloped on, changing horses only once, when I was much struck with the interior of the stable, which was

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lighted only by a lamp, but very picturesque; something one would like to paint or describe.

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“No, sir; not at present. I am expecting a carriage and servants to take me on to Mr. Featherstone’s of Bracklin.”

The waiter now appeared, and said, that Mr. Featherstone’s carriage and servants had arrived an hour before; but had put up the horses and gone to lie down, as they would not proceed till after daylight. The chambermaid now came, and said she had a room prepared and a good fire up stairs. This was a great relief to me; but the young officer seemed to deplore it. He said he knew Mr. Featherstone, and would take the liberty of coming to inquire for me.

Fancy, dear papa, my dreadful situation! My whole stock in trade consisted of a white muslin frock, pink silk stockings, and pink silk shoes, with Molly’s warm cloak and an old bonnet!

Well, sir, you know I had nothing for it, so I took my glass of hot white wine negus, threw myself on the bed, and was warmly covered up by the fat chambermaid, who had neither shoes nor stockings on, and I fell fast asleep; “but in that sleep what dreams!”

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papa; from all of which I was roused by the fat chambermaid coming to tell me that Mr. Featherstone’s coachman could not wait any longer; so I rolled Molly’s cloak round me, and proceeded to Bracklin.

The dreary Irish road from Kinigad to the pretty village of Castledown Delvin—an appendage to the domain of the Earl of Westmeath—brought me to the approach of the pine-sheltered avenue of Bracklin, which pines, green and formal as they were, screened out the black bog behind them, where the wood of ages lay buried, from among which “the mere Irish” could never be taken by their Saxon invaders “when the leaves were on the trees!”

The approach to the domain was announced by a civilized-looking lodge; large, beautiful iron gates, opened by a fairy child, and all that lay within was cultivated and promising, leading to a large, handsome mansion of white stone—two carriages were rolling before the door, at which stood two footmen, who at once ushered me into a handsome drawing-room, to a party of ladies, muffled in carriage dresses, who stood in a circle round the fire. Pinched, cold, confused, and miserable, as you may suppose, dear papa, I must have been—in my pink silk shoes and stockings—I perceived that my appearance excited a general titter; but dear Mrs. Featherstone and her girls came to my relief, and welcomed me and kissed me; but Mr. Featherstone—a grave, stern-looking man, who sat apart reading his newspaper—he just raised his eyes above his glasses, and I read in his

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glance condemnation of his lady’s indiscretion in bringing such a being for such a purpose as I had come.

Mrs. Featherstone inquired how I had come to travel in so light a dress; and so, dear papa, I thought I had better just tell the story as it happened—and so I did—from the little bal d’adieu, at dear old Fontaine’s, till I reached Bracklin gates, not forgetting the portmanteau and little bundle left behind. Well, you have no idea how it took! they screamed at the fun of my details, and I heard them mutter, “Dear little thing—poor little thing!” The two girls carried me off from them all, to my own rooms, the prettiest suite you ever saw—a study, a bedroom, and a bathroom—a roaring turf fire in the rooms, and an open piano and lots of books scattered about!

Betty Kenny, the old nurse—the “Molly” of the establishment—brought me in a bowl of laughing potatoes, and such fresh butter, and gave a hearty “much good may it do ye, miss;” and didn’t I tip her a word of Irish which delighted her. Pen, ink, and paper were brought me, and I was left to myself to rest and write to dear Olivia a line just to announce my arrival here, which was sent to the post for me.

Our dinner party were mamma and the two young ladies, two itinerant preceptors—Mr. O’Hanlon, a

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writing and elocution master, and a dancing master, and Father Murphy, the P.P.—such fun! and the Rev. Mr. Beaufort, the curate of Castletown Delvin.

Well, I was in great spirits; and Mrs. Featherstone drew out the two tutors, I think on purpose. She made Mr. O’Hanlon—a most coxcomical writing-master—tell me his story; how he was the prince of nearly all he surveyed—if he had his rights, being descended from the Princes O’Hanlon. Now, papa, you know if there is anything I am strong on it is Irish song—thanks to you—especially “Emunch ach Nuic,” (Ned o’the Hills) which song I sang for them afterwards, by-the-bye, and did I not take his pride down a peg and get him into such a passion! The servants laughed and stuffed their napkins down their throats till they were almost suffocated. James Moran, the butler, winking at the priest all the time, who enjoyed the joke more than any one, except the dancing-master, his rival, who is a very clever man, I am told, and teaches mathematics besides, and put me very much in mind of Marcus Tully. Well, sir, we got so merry, that at last Father Murphy proposed my health in this fashion—which will make you smile. He stood up with his glass of port wine in his hand, and first bowing to Mrs. Featherstone, said, “With

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your lave, madam;” and then turning to me, he said, “This is a hearty welcome to ye, to Westmeath, Miss Owenson; and this is to yer health, mind and body,” which made them all laugh till they were ready to fall under the table.

After tea, James Moran announced that the piper had come from Castletown “to play in Miss Owenson,” upon which the girls immediately proposed a dance in the back hall; and when I told them I was a famous jig dancer, they were perfectly enraptured. So we set to; all the servants crowding round two open doors in the hall.