Her ladyship is
one of those easy-tempered beings that are always doomed to be much
liked, but ill served by their domestics, and cheated by all the
world.
Much of her time is passed in reading novels, of which she has a most
extensive library, and has a constant supply from the publishers in
town. Her erudition in this line of literature is immense; she has
kept pace with the press for half a century. Her mind is stuffed with
love-tales of all kinds, from the stately amours of the old books of
chivalry, down to the last blue-covered romance, reeking from the
press; though she evidently gives the preference to those that came
out in the days of her youth, and when she was first in love. She
maintains that there are no novels written now-a-days equal to Pamela
and Sir Charles Grandison; and she places the Castle of Otranto at the
head of all romances.
She does a vast deal of good in her neighbourhood, and is imposed upon
by every beggar in the county. She is the benefactress of a village
adjoining to her estate, and takes an especial interest in all its
love-affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going on; every
lovelorn damsel is sure to find a patient listener and a sage adviser
in her ladyship.
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