of my years
who looked so young as myself. Fool that I was! I had enough with my
pensions, perfect freedom, the best society in Europe; and I gave up
all these, and married, and was miserable. Take a warning by me, Captain
Barry, and stick to the trumps."

Though my intimacy with the knight was considerable, for a long time I
never penetrated into any other apartments of his hotel but those which
he himself occupied. His lady lived entirely apart from him; and it
is only curious how they came to travel together at all. She was a
goddaughter of old Mary Wortley Montagu: and, like that famous old woman
of the last century, made considerable pretensions to be a blue-stocking
and a bel esprit. Lady Lyndon wrote poems in English and Italian, which
still may be read by the curious in the pages of the magazines of the
day. She entertained a correspondence with several of the European
savans upon history, science, and ancient languages, and especially
theology. Her pleasure was to dispute controversial points with abbes
and bishops; and her flatterers said she rivalled Madam Dacier in
learning. Every adventurer who had a discovery in chemistry, a new
antique bust, or a plan for discovering the philosopher's stone, was
sure to find a patroness in her. She had numberless works dedicated to
her, and sonnets without end addressed to her by all the poetasters of
Europe, under the name of Lindonira or Calista. Her rooms were crowded
with hideous China magots, and all sorts of objects of VERTU.

No woman piqued herself more upon her principles, or allowed love to be
made to her more profusely. There was a habit of courtship practised
by the fine gentlemen of those days, which is little understood in our
coarse downright times: and young and old fellows would pour out floods
of compliments in letters and madrigals, such as would make a sober lady
stare were they addressed to her nowadays: so entirely has the gallantry
of the last century disappeared out of our manners.

Lady Lyndon moved about with a little court of her own. She had
half-a-dozen carriages in her progresses. In her own she would travel
with her companion (some shabby lady of quality), her birds, and
poodles, and the favourite savant for the time being. In another would
be her female secretary and her waiting-women; who, in spite of their
care, never could make their mistress look much better than a slattern.
Sir Charles Lyndon had his own chariot, and the domestics of