LADY CAROLINE LAMB
turned, assuring her that no purpose would be served by their publication.
Another literary acquaintance was a man she was pleased to call a rising poet, Wilmington Fleming. His works have not survived, and judging by the verses he wrote describing the eccentric fashion in which Lady Caroline celebrated her wedding-day at Brocket, the world is scarcely the loser. He may have helped Lady Caroline to some extent, probably in the capacity of secretary, with her own literary work. For this assistance she seems to have paid him when she had any money,—she was the most extravagant of women, her father-in-law always called her "Her Lavishship,"—and there is a curious letter in which she tells Fleming, who has evidently asked for payment: "I received no money but just what the servants got for their food. I have been much too ill to write or see you." She evidently tried to help him to get his poems published.
But Lady Caroline's health was shattered, and despite the separation she turned more and more to her husband as her best protector and truest friend. The last years were spent at Brocket, and under wise surveillance, or more probably on account of enfeebled vitality, she
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