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her usual clearness and elegance of narrative. The authenticity and accuracy of this narrative are very remarkably confirmed by a comparison with the printed correspondence of similar dates. In her letter to Mr. Wortley, of August 25, 1746, Lady Mary relates her journey from Avignon, with Count Palazzo as her escort, (naming him) in nearly the same terms as the Memoir. In another, of November 24, 1746, she praises the kindness with which she had been attended in illness at the house of his mother, the Countess Palazzo, near Brescia, as the Memoir now fully explains. From this time forward, the dates of her letters' of Brescia and Venice do not correspond so well with those in the narrative, but the reason is shown by herself when she writes to Mr. Wortley, July 17, 1748. “I have been in the country this year and a half, though I continued to date from Brescia, as the place to which I would have directed, being, though not the nearest, the safest, post town.” It is very necessary to bear this explanation in mind, especially for her letters during 1756 and 1757, when the dates of them hop strangely from Louvere to Venice and from Venice to Louvere, whereas it appears from the Memoir that she had not been to Venice between 1746 and 1757, and at the latter period departed finally from Louvere and Gotolengo. There is one intervening letter which could not be explained in this manner; it is dated May 13, 1754, speaks of her life at Venice, and complains of the incivility of Mr. Murray, the British Resident. But now it is evident that you or Mr. Dallaway have put a wrong date of year, for the letter goes

on to desire that a remonstrance on the subject may be made to Mr. Pitt, as Secretary of State, whereas Mr. Pitt did not become Secretary of State till December, 1756, and again in June, 1757. With these explanations, the order of dates for these years becomes consistent and clear. There are several other points in which the letters throw light upon the Memoir. One of the tricks of Count Palazzo, she says in the latter, was concealing from her the name of the merchant whom he had empowered to receive for her Lady Oxford's legacy, intending, no doubt, to keep the money for his own use. Accordingly Lady Mary writes to her daughter (April 3, 1758), though without giving her reason: “I desire to know the name of the merchant to whom the Duke of Portland consigned the legacy left me by Lady Oxford.” During the several years in which her stolen jewels were withheld from her, she does not mention them in her letters; but just at the period when she seems to have recovered them (September 5, 1757), takes an opportunity of alluding to them. In the same letter she speaks of some late “mortifications,” but adds, “’tis a long tiresome story.” A ring sent to her granddaughter, Lady Anne, is mentioned both in the Memoir and in her correspondence, November 2, 1751. The Count Martinenghi of the Memoir appears in the letter of October 25, 1749. The transactions which the Memoir details thus extend over nearly ten years. It does not appear that Lady Mary ever was in actual confinement, that is, no force was used to detain her; but a system of fraud and falsehood, and, quite at the end, of intimidation, supplied its place. We find, however, that though there was not the reality, there was the report of her being forcibly detained, as is shown, not only by the vague rumour in Horace Walpole's letter to Mann, of August, 1751, but by the fact, that at nearly the same period, the Signor Contarini, as Podesta or Chief Magistrate of Brescia, insisted upon sending one of his officers to Lady Mary, and learning from herself whether she had any such cause of complaint. Lady Mary being then deluded by the artifices of the Count, gave, as her answer, Che io non avevo ricevuto che politezze dalla Casa Palazzo.” By degrees, however, the eyes of the lady were opened as to the Count's real character. At Louvere she tells us, “Teneva accademia di gioco in casa sua ;” and his want of principle came still more home to her, when she found that he had, under various pretexts, defrauded her of large sums, and in all probability was the person who, some years before, purloined her jewels. In their explanations before his aunt, Madame Roncadelli, she left him, with the words, “Voi siete un ladro &ndegno." Nevertheless, from intimidation, being then in Madame Roncadelli's house, she consented to sign a sort of discharge or accommodation, and what is more remarkable, “Il Conte mi fece dimandare per ultima grazia di lasciarmi accompagnare sino a Mantova ove egli aveva de parenti; glielo permisi.” Nor did his pursuit stop then. She found him at Padua, where he had engaged a lodging to be ready for her. She consented to occupy it for two or three days, and on returning from Venice to a house she had ordered to be taken for her at Padua, she heard that the Count had taken up his quarters there, and was living in the Loge du Suisse. She was obliged to send him word that she did not keep an inn, and he then set off for Gotolengo. At this point ends Lady Mary's narrative. The remainder of her life in Italy, till Mr. Wortley's death, appears to have been passed between Padua and Venice, with the exception perhaps of a visit to Genoa in 1759, if indeed (which I doubt) her letter from thence be rightly given at that date. We come then to the question whether it would be advisable for you to insert this Memoir in the next edition of Lady Mary's works. I must own that I think your doing so will be the most consistent with . that “candour and liberality” for which your share in the publication has been already so highly, yet so deservedly, praised by the ‘Quarterly Review.’ Would those qualities be still so manifest, were you to withhold this important fragment of autobiography after its existence has been already made known to the world, and after conjecture has already done its worst upon it? The question is not, you will observe, whether or not you shall bury all these transactions in oblivion, but whether, when once stirred and glanced at, you shall throw upon them all the light your papers allow, or else leave some future critics and reviewers—no very charitable race—to surmise that the papers must contain something too shocking to publish. You may see what is already said on this subject in the ‘Quarterly Review.’ Under present circumstances, therefore — the affair being once mooted, and the existence of

this Memoir once proclaimed—I am decidedly of opinion that its publication will be more advantageous than hurtful to Lady Mary's fame. This point, for which, no doubt, you feel a just and natural anxiety, I will endeavour to unfold more fully. What is the chief fact that tells against Lady Mary's character as the story is at present known 2 That after having been forcibly kept in durance for some sinister purpose, she, instead of loud complaints, concealed the whole affair from her husband and her daughter. This I own, till I read the Memoir, seemed to me a decisive consideration. But its force is certainly blunted in no small degree, when we find that it was no sudden single act of outrage, but rather a series of petty frauds on the one part and of pecuniary losses on the other. A lady of high character could not, I think, hush up any sudden abduction or forcible detention, but might be unwilling to tell a tale of friendship abused, of judgment duped, of money gone. She would not conceal a violence, she might a delusion. Besides, as I have elsewhere shown, it appears, from comparing the Memoir and the letters, that the first steps of this friendship and delusion had been explicitly related to Mr. Wortley. On the whole, then, if I were in your place I should certainly publish the Memoir, either in the original or in an English translation, or in both ; and I should make room for it by omitting Mr. Dallaway's life. That life, besides the dates (and even of these it omits one of the most important, Mr. Wortley's death), contains nothing that is not either to be found in the letters, or that is not flatly contradicted in Lady Louisa Stuart's

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