On the following day, arrived the Duchess of St. A----, a woman whose ever ascending fortunes have been remarkable enough. The earliest recollections of her infancy are those of a deserted, starving, shivering child, in a solitary barn in an English village. Thence she was taken by a band of gipsies;--quitting them, she entered a strolling company of players. By her agreeable person, high spirits, and original humour, she gained some reputation in her new profession, gradually secured patronage and friends, and lived in long and undisturbed connexion with a rich banker, who at length married her, and at his death left her seventy thousand a year. This enormous fortune afterwards promoted her to be the wife of the third English Duke, and (by a curious coincidence) the descendant of the celebrated actress Nell Gwynne, to whose charms the Duke owes his title, in the same manner as his wife has acquired hers. She is a very good-natured woman, who is not ashamed to speak of the past--on the contrary, alludes to it perhaps rather too much. * * * * * After an agreeable visit of three days, I returned hither, and now celebrate my birth-day in the profoundest solitude, with closed doors. Three-fourths of my melancholy fits I may certainly ascribe to the month in which I first saw the light. May children are far more cheerful: I never saw a hypochondriacal son of the Spring. A song called _Prognostica_ once fell into my hands: I am very sorry I did not keep it; for it told a man's fortune according to the month of his birth. I only remember that those born in October were to have a melancholy temper, and that the prophecy began thus:-- "Ein Junge geboren im Monat October Wird eim Critiker, und das ein recht grober."[71] I leave you now for a great dinner at Prince E----'s, for I will not devote the whole day to solitude; I am too superstitious for that. Adieu. _November 4th._