but I must own he looked very tenderly into my eyes as
he said so. Isn't it provoking?" said she, as she arose and moved out
into the garden. "No post yet! It is always so when one is on thorns for
a letter. Now, when one thinks that the mail arrives at daybreak, what
can they possibly mean by not distributing the letters till evening? Did
I tell you what I said to Mon-signore Ricci, who has some function at
the Post Office?"

"No, but I trust it was not a rude speech; he is always so polite."

"I said that as I was ever very impatient for my letters, I had
requested all my correspondents to write in a great round legible hand,
which would give the authorities no pretext for delay, while deciphering
their contents."

"I declare, Gusta, I am amazed at you. I cannot imagine how you can
venture to say such things to persons in office."

"My dear sister, it is the only way they could ever hear them. There is
no freedom of the press here; in society nobody speaks out. What would
become of those people if they only heard the sort of stories they tell
each other; besides, I 'm going to be one of them. They must bear with a
little indiscipline.' The sergeant always pardons the recruit for being
disorderly on the day of enlistment."

The Countess shook her head disapprovingly, and was silent.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" sighed Lady Augusta. "I wonder what tidings the
post will bring me! Will my affectionate and afflicted husband comply
with my prayer, and be willing to endow the Church, and secure his own
freedom; or will he be sordid, and declare that he can't live without
me? I know you'd laugh, dear, or I'd tell you that the man is actually
violently in love with me. You 've no notion of the difficulty I have to
prevent him writing tender letters to me."

"You are too, too bad, I declare," said the other, smothering a rising
laugh.

"Of course I 'd not permit such a thing. I stand on my dignity, and say,
'Have a care, sir.' Oh, here it comes! here's the post! What! only two
letters, after all? She's a dun! Madame la Ruelle, Place Vendome,--the
cruellest creature that ever made a ball-dress. It is to tell me she
can't wait; and I 'm so sick of saying she must, that I 'll not write
any more. And who is this? The postmark is 'Portshandon.' Oh! I see;
here's the name in the corner. This is from our eldest son, the future
head of the house. Mr. Augustus Bramleigh is a bashful creature of
about my own age, who was full of going