Byron

.

P.S. — I left my mother at Southwell, some time since, in a monstrous pet with you for not writing. I am sorry to say the old lady and myself don't agree like lambs in a meadow, but I believe it is all my own fault, I am rather too fidgety, which my precise mama objects to, we differ, then argue, and to my shame be it spoken fall out a

little

, however after a storm comes a calm;

[what's]

become of our aunt the amiable antiquated Sophia

[4]

? is she yet in the land of the living, or does she sing psalms with the

Blessed