enue. Harvest is not more certain than the effect of
skill is: a crop is a chance, as much as a game of cards greatly played
by a fine player: there may be a drought, or a frost, or a hail-storm,
and your stake is lost; but one man is just as much an adventurer as
another.

In evoking the recollection of these kind and fair creatures I have
nothing but pleasure. I would I could say as much of the memory of
another lady, who will henceforth play a considerable part in the drama
of my life,--I mean the Countess of Lyndon; whose fatal acquaintance I
made at Spa, very soon after the events described in the last chapter
had caused me to quit Germany.

Honoria, Countess of Lyndon, Viscountess Bullingdon in England, Baroness
Castle Lyndon of the kingdom of Ireland, was so well known to the great
world in her day, that I have little need to enter into her family
history; which is to be had in any peerage that the reader may lay
his hand on. She was, as I need not say, a countess, viscountess, and
baroness in her own right. Her estates in Devon and Cornwall were
among the most extensive in those parts; her Irish possessions not less
magnificent; and they have been alluded to, in a very early part of
these Memoirs, as lying near to my own paternal property in the kingdom
of Ireland: indeed, unjust confiscations in the time of Elizabeth and
her father went to diminish my acres, while they added to the already
vast possessions of the Lyndon family.

The Countess, when I first saw her at the assembly at Spa, was the wife
of her cousin, the Right Honourable Sir Charles Reginald Lyndon, Knight
of the Bath, and Minister to George II. and George III. at several of
the smaller Courts of Europe. Sir Charles Lyndon was celebrated as a wit
and bon vivant: he could write love-verses against Hanbury Williams, and
make jokes with George Selwyn; he was a man of vertu like Harry Walpole,
with whom and Mr. Grey he had made a part of the grand tour; and was
cited, in a word, as one of the most elegant and accomplished men of his
time.

I made this gentleman's acquaintance as usual at the play-table, of
which he was a constant frequenter. Indeed, one could not but admire the
spirit and gallantry with which he pursued his favourite pastime; for,
though worn out by gout and a myriad of diseases, a cripple wheeled
about in a chair, and suffering pangs of agony, yet you would see him
every morning and every evening at his post behind the delightful