Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. I expect company. There's one person in the house whom I wouldn't frighten for the world. Adieu! my charmer. Always! I don’t believe there is any strong natural affection at all between parents and growing-up children. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. And we'll see whether it won't put the Italian opera out of fashion, with Cutzoni, Senesino, and the 'divine' Farinelli at its head. But sadly, at Lullingstone we are too far off the coast to be of use. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder.
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