Mr. Somerset day after day listened with deep
attention to these virtuous and energetic noblemen. He saw them full
of fire and personal courage when the affairs of Poland were
discussed; and he beheld with admiration their perfect forgetfulness
of themselves in their passion for the general good. In these moments
his heart bowed down before them, and all the pride of a Briton
distended his breast when he thought that such men as these his
ancestors were. He remembered how often their chivalric virtues used
to occupy his reflections in the picture-gallery at Somerset Castle,
and his doubts, when he compared what is with what was, that history
had glossed over the actions of past centuries, or that a different
order of men lived then from those which now inhabit the world. Thus,
studying the sublime characters of Sobieski and his friends, and
enjoying the endearing kindness of Thaddeus and his mother, did a
fortnight pass away without his even recollecting the promise of
writing to his governor. At the end of that period, he stole an hour
from the countess's society, and enclosed in a short letter to Mr.
Loftus the following epistle to his mother:--
To LADY SOMERSET, SOMERSET CASTLE, LEICESTERSHIRE.
"Many weeks ago, my dearest mother, I wrote a letter of seven sheets
from the banks of the Neva, which, long ere this time, you and my
dear father must have received.
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