In the summer of 1790, being in delicate health, and disgusted at Sheridan’s treatment of her, she went with her husband to France, accompanied by Miss Wynn. They first stopped at Calais, where their daughters, Sarah and Maria, were at a boarding-school, and then went on to Lisle. The letter she wrote to Lady Harcourt on her return is so characteristic in its energetic, outspoken sincerity, that it seems unjust not to quote every word of it:— “Sandgate, near Folkestone, Kent. August 2nd. “MY DEAR LADY HARCOURT, “After so long a silence, your good nature will exalt itself to hear a long letter full of egotism, and I will begin with Streatham, where you may remember to have heard me talk of going with no great degree of pleasurable expectation, supposing it impossible that I should ever feel much more for Mrs. P.[2] than admiration of her talents; but, after having very unexpectedly stayed there more than three weeks, during which time every moment gave me fresh instances of unremitting kindness and attention to me, and, indeed, a very extraordinary degree of benevolence and forbearance towards those who have not deserved much lenity at her hands (and it is wonderful how many there are of that description), I left them with great regret; and between their very great kindness, their wit, and their music, they made me love, esteem, and admire them very much. In a few days I set out with Mr. S., Miss Wynn, and her brother, for Calais, and, after a very rough passage, arrived at Calais, and found my dear girls quite well and improved in their persons, and (I am told) in their French. I was very much struck with the difference of objects and customs when I reflected how small a space divides one nation from the other, like true English. We saw all we could, and I thought _of_ my dear Lord Harcourt, though not _with_ him, in their churches. I own (though I blame myself at the same time for it) I was disgusted with all the pomp and magnificence of them, when I saw the priests ‘playing such fantastic tricks before high Heaven as (I think) must make the angels weep’; and the people gabbling over their prayers, even in the _act of gaping_, to have it over as quick as might be. Alas! said I to myself, in the pitifulness, and perhaps vanity, of my heart, how sorry I am for these poor deluded people, and how much more worthy the Deity (‘who does prefer before all temples the upright heart and pure’) are the sublime and simple forms of _our_ religion. Indeed, my dear Madam, I am better satisfied with the ideas and feelings that have been excited in my heart in _your_ garden at _Nuneham_, than ever I have been in those fine gewgaw places, and believe Mr. Haggitt, by his plain and sensible sermons, has done more good than a legion of these priests would do if they