Lady Frances was left by her father the entire possession of the family estate.--She immediately wrote to Mr Burt, desiring he would leave a place which must necessarily revive in him such melancholy ideas, and bring her nephew and niece to Munster house; enclosing him a sum of money to discharge debts, and to defray the expenses of the journey. He instantly complied with her request, and resided with her, though she immediately not only settled on him the annuity he had formerly been promised, but also paid the arrears due on it. Had Lord and Lady Finlay lived a few weeks longer, Lady Frances would have cheerfully assigned to them the estate bequeathed to her, and which their virtues so justly entitled them to. It is a strong argument for a state of retribution hereafter, that in this world _virtuous people_ are often _very miserable_, and _vicious ones happy_, which is wholly repugnant to the nature of a Being, who appears infinitely wise and good in all his works, unless we may suppose, that such a promiscuous and undistinguishing distribution of good and evil, which was necessary for carrying on the designs of Providence in this life, will be rectified and made amends for in another. Lady Frances possessed the most attractive beauty, was surrounded with every grace, and blessed with every virtue, that could enslave the affections, and captivate the soul of the most stubborn philosophers. The sound of her voice had an engaging sweetness; and her expressions were well chose, without being affected.--In a word, it was her character and mind that gave charms to her person. Lord Darnley made his addresses to her, in which he had been countenanced by Lord Munster, and every preparation was making for their nuptials, before her father's death. Lord Darnley was one of the most amiable of men. He gave a grace to every thing he said--a refined and delicate wit enlivened all his discourse, and the vivacity of his imagination discovered itself continually in fresh sallies. But what irresistibly fixed Lord Munster's partiality; was the art with which he disguised his _own wit_ and _knowledge_ to make _him shine_. He conformed entirely to that pleasing criterion of true humour which Mr Addison gave,--'That it looks grave itself, while it makes all others laugh.' He had a turn for placing things in a ridiculous point of view, which was highly diverting--but by this he never offended; he formed his ridicule on a circumstance, which the party attacked, was not in his heart unwilling to grant him; that he was guilty of an excess in something which in itself was laudable[2]. He very well understood what he chose to be, what was his predominant passion, and knew he need not fear his anger, for declaring he was a little _too much the thing_.