, the companions, of our youthful follies, we have a kind
of contempt, somewhat similar to that which we entertain for ourselves.
Four years ago I wrote to Madame G---- at Hamburg, and my letter began:

"After a silence of twenty-one years . . ."

She did not deign to reply, and I was by no means displeased. We cared no
longer for one another, and it is quite natural that it should be so.

When I tell my reader who Madame G---- is, he will be amused. Two years
ago I set out for Hamburg, but my good genius made me turn back to Dux;
what had I to do at Hamburg?

After my guests were gone I went to the Italian Opera at Covent Garden,
and met Goudar, who asked me if I would come to the Sartori's concert. He
told me I should see a beautiful young English woman there who spoke
Italian. As I had just lost Sara I did not much care about making new
acquaintances, but still I was curious to see the young marvel. I
indulged my curiosity, and I am glad to say that instead of being amused
I was wearied, though the young English woman was pretty enough. A young
Livonian, who called himself Baron of Stenau, seemed extremely interested
in her. After supper she offered us tickets for the next concert, and I
took one for myself and one for Gondar, giving her two guineas, but the
Livonian baron took fifty tickets, and gave her a bank note for fifty
guineas. I saw by this that he wanted to take the place by storm, and I
liked his way of doing it. I supposed him to be rich, without caring to
enquire into his means. He made advances to me and we became friends, and
the reader will see in due time what a fatal acquaintance he was.

One day as I was walking with Goudar in Hyde Park he left me to speak to
two ladies who seemed pretty.

He was not long absent, and said, when he rejoined me,--

"A Hanoverian lady, a widow and the mother of five daughters, came to
England two months ago with her whole family. She lives close by, and is
occupied in soliciting compensation from the Government for any injury
that was done her by the passage of the Duke of Cumberland's army. The
mother herself is sick and and never leaves her bed; she sends her two
eldest daughters to petition the Government, and they are the two young
ladies you have just seen. They have not met with any success. The eldest
daughter is twenty-two, and the youngest fourteen; they are all pretty
and can speak English, French, and German equally well, and are always
glad to see vi