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Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Journal entries: December 1847-November 1848
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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Preface
Vol. I Contents.
Prefatory Address
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Vol. I Index
Vol. II Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter IV
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Vol. II Index
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December 12.—What a villegiatura I have made for the last three months—a honeymoon spent with Lady Laura and Mr. Grattan, at their pretty villa at Hampton Court, then for a fortnight at Lady Webster’s, Roehampton, and, en passant, I paid a visit at the Grove, and found all the family at home except its illustrious chief. Then to Dover with my poor Jones for his health; but the place disagreed with me after a fortnight, and so I left them and went to the Deepdene, Mr. Hope’s—all en grand seigneur, and most of all the master. It is much to say that the wealthiest man in England is also the highest bred, the fine gentlemanism of good society when it was best, with great natural kindness. The party gay and charming.

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Then from Deepdene I went to Llanover Court, Monmouthshire (Sir Benjamin Hall’s, now Lord Llanover’s); staid there a week, and departed from it with my dear Mrs. Murray, for a visit to her mother’s, Baroness Braye, at Malvern, and so on to the Duchess of Cleveland’s, Yorkshire; a fine party, who moved and breathed by the Lodge Peerage, and then back to town, where my dear niece and her husband was waiting to receive me, the first time for years that I was welcomed with cordial affection in my own lonely dwelling.

December 22.—I am actually off for Brighton! on a visit to my kind old friend Lady Webster, I little thought I could visit this sad place again. All my old friends have come about me. The dear, warm-hearted and clever Horace Smith; the Duke of Devonshire reproached me for not having called on him on my first arrival, and sent me an invitation to dine, immediately he heard I was here. Alas, we first met, a few days before he came of age, at the Priory, Stanmore.

January 12, 1848.—Went to Elliot Warburton’s marriage with my friend Miss Groves—a marriage made, I do believe, on my little balcony. All the muses assisted at this literary nuptials—Monckton Milnes, Hayward, Eothen Kinglake,—I was the only she muse there. I offered two unfinished MSS. to any lady who might adopt them for the nonce, to qualify them for being present.

Dined yesterday with Milner Gibson; amongst the agreeables were Lord Dudley Stuart, that amiable
498 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
roué, Sir Henry Mildmay, and the most illustrious Mr. Punch; yes, really and literally, Punch; Douglas Jerrold—a very remarkable-looking man—diminutive, plain, and evidently a valetudinarian; his manners simple, mild and gentleman-like. We chatted across the table, and agreed about the national defences and the national timidity having brought on the coming invasion. He said he would lower the prices of house-rent at Brighton, if I would return there! I said I would; and lo! there is an admirable and humorous paper on “Brighton panic,” in the Punch of this day.

February 12.—I have been very ill indeed for a month, and my poor Sydney has been in much sorrow; and I have been more miserable than I ever thought I should be again. After my three great calamities I did not suppose time could have another in store for me; but I have been threatened with the loss of all I have left me.


November 25.—The death of Lord Melbourne is one of the triste incidents of this triste month. How many passages of my own life are recalled by his death! How long I knew him, how much I owed him, what joyous days and nights I have passed in his charming society, from my girlhood to this moment! I called to inquire for him before I left town in October; he sent his valet down to request I would come up. He was sitting in his back drawing-room, amidst books and papers, en robe de chambre; he was quite himself, pleasant and chatty, and asked me what was the little packet I had in my hands. I said, invites for a little
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soirée the next evening, and I had not the courage to ask him. “Why not?” said he, passing his hand over his head in his old way; “I should like it much.” “You don’t mean that, Lord Melbourne,” said I. “Yes I do, and if I feel up to it when the time comes, you will see me;” but when it came, he did not come, and sent me a verbal message. He was looking ill, and I did not think of asking him. Alas! I never saw him again!