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Lord Byron and his Times: http://lordbyron.org
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Lady Morgan
In this preparation of her papers,
In this labour many eager hands have joined. The services of
As
In the new edition many errors of the press, especially in the names and
quotations, have been corrected. third
hand,” was one that neither she nor anybody else could read. If errors have still escaped
notice, it is hoped they may be found few in number and of little importance.
To those who have lived all the days of their life in society,
who know the elements of which it is composed—its proneness to that peculiar feature
of morbid civilization called Ridicule, of which no savages except the New Zealanders have
any notion,—it is no faint effort of moral courage to exhibit themselves even in
Kit-cat, and with all appliances and means to boot, de se
peindre en pied!
The author of the following pages has, however, lived so continually
before the scene, even from her earliest childhood upwards; she has been so often drawn
from the life—caricatured to the uttermost—abused, calumniated, misrepresented,
flattered, eulogized, persecuted; supported as party dictated or prejudice permitted; the
pet of the Liberals of one nation, the bête-noire
The success of my first Irish national novel, The Wild Irish Girlsans peur et sans tache. Memoires pour
servir
The sum of my long experience in society leaves in its total a large
balance in favour of what is good. I have no reason to complain of memory; I find in my
efforts to track its records, guided by the fond feelings of my life, and warmed by the
fancifulness of my Celtic temperament, bright hues come forward like the colours of the
tesselated pavement of antiquity when the renovating water is flung upon them. I pause here
for a moment to mention as a curious physiological fact, that this memory is much preserved
not, and never will be, “light from Heaven.”
Mon ami le chèvre commencez par le commencement.
“I was born under fortunate auspices;
the sun was in the sign of the Virgin, at the utmost degree of elevation; the aspects of
Jupiter and Venus were favourable to the day, Mercury testified no signs of hostility,
Saturn and Mars were neutral. The moon, however, then near her full, was an important
obstacle. She retarded my entrance into the world until the moment had elapsed.” Thus
writes
This dependence on astrology opens a very nice volume of mysticism for
the more spirituelle of the sexes, and pleads in favour of that
miscalled “the weakest.”
“That when weak women go astray, Their stars are more in fault than they.”
For myself, I reject the doctrine altogether, and stand on my own responsibility.
However, these astrological reveries are pleasant things to lie by upon,
like the purchased intercession of “licensed” advocates with the higher powers;
to attribute the actions of life to the revolutions and movements “of stars in their
courses,” spares an immensity of trouble and anxiety, and to have one’s
position determined by the signs of the zodiac is a comfortable look out. Had my little
horoscope been cast at the moment of my birth it would have found its subject
“mantling into life” under the influence of the “Star of the West,”
that charming, sentimental Hesperus, who is described as leading on the “silent
hours,” which are not the worst in the twenty-four, and who seems to hang over the
Emerald Isle, with a brighter effulgence than elsewhere. In freeing myself from all
dependence on the planets, I take the opportunity to enter my protest against Dates. What has a woman to do with dates? Cold, false,
erroneous, chronological dates—new style, old style,—preces-
In the hour when I first drew breath, and felt life’s first
inaugural sensation—pain, the world took part in the hour and the day. It was the
festival of humanity, of peace and good will to man, of love and liberty and high
distinction to woman, of glory to the motherhood of nations—the accomplishment of the
first desire of her, who was created, not born; the desire “to
be as gods, knowing good from evil”—the head and front of human science. I was
born on Christmas Day; in that land where all holy days are
religiously celebrated, as testimonials to faith, and are excuses for festivity—in
“Ancient ould Dublin.”
Bells tolled, carols were intoned, the streets resounded with joyous
sounds, chimneys smoked, and friends were preparing to feast the fasters of the previous
week, in that most Catholic of countries. Holly and ivy draped every wall, and many happy
There was, however, on that joyous night, one round table distinguished
above most others, by the wit and humour of the convives. The master
of the feast was as fine a type of the Irish gentleman as Ireland ever sent forth. His name
was
The lady who had the best right to preside on the occasion of this most
Christian festival, as she was herself truly the sincerest of Christians and best of women,
had retired early in the evening to her chamber, on the plea of
“indisposition;” but still not deeming it indicative of any immediate
catastrophe. But before the great clock of St. Patrick had chimed out the second hour of
the new born anniversary, another birth had taken place, and was announced
The news was “a reason fair to fill their glass again,” the
father with difficulty dispersed the jolly crew by accepting
A faint and childish voice caught the ear of * It was Shelburne House, now an hotel.
and she sank on the steps of a splendid mansion in Stephen’s Green, brilliantly
lighted up and resounding with festive sounds.* He attempted to raise her, but she was
lifeless; she still grasped her little ballad in her hand. He called to an old watchman who
was
“An orphan who not long before, Had lost her parents, fond and tender, Dropped near a lord and lady’s door, Who had no child, and lived in splendour; She breathed a strain of genuine woe. Hoping to catch the ear of pity, She simply sung this simple ditty,— Oh, happy Christians, great and good, Afford a helpless infant food, For Christmas comes but once a year, And when it comes, it brings good cheer.”
The first effort of memory exhibited by the baby who was rocking in the cradle when it was recited, was called forth by being taught by rote the above stanzas—it was long before she got it by heart—but her “pity gave ere charity begun,” for she wept at the tale long before she understood its tragedy.
The O’Rourke’s noble feast shall ne’er be forgotBy those who were there, and those who were not.
“The fête that was to celebrate my
entrance into the Church of England, as “by law established,” and thus become
an “inheritor of the kingdom of Heaven,” was, according to the law and custom
of Ireland from the days of St. Patrick—a dinner. The “christening
dinner” admitted of no exclusion—the Catholic Bishop of Cashel (though at that
time the existence of a Catholic in Ireland was not admitted), might take his place beside
the Primate of all Ireland, “without let or molestation,” to use the words of
the Irish passports of that day.
I have the list before me of the choice guests who graced the table on that day, in whose favour penal laws were forgotten, and for that day at least all prejudices were relaxed.
At the head stands the name of
The
The
MidasPoor KeleanThe Golden Pippin
Count of
NarbonneCarmelite
The dear, kind
he was the early friend of
When I close the list with the names of
I knew them all in my early girlhood, and some of them long after my happy marriage;
him, in particular, whom
If the company was national, the dinner was quite as national as the
guests who partook of it; and a branch of shilealagh, from its own wood near Dublin,
Of course that “precious baby” was brought in; her health was drank with “three times three,” by the style and title of “Foghau Foh!” in less classic phrase—“wait awhile.”
My father sang first in Irish and then in English
I am sorry not to be able to tell all this as a “credible witness” of the scene narrated, for being but a month old I understood nothing about it; but I have so often heard of it from my father as I sat upon his knee, that my testimony, although but hearsay evidence, may be accredited.
Many years after this notable event, This must be
”
In the vicissitudes of Irish friendships he had not seen his godchild since the christening dinner, and had nearly fought a duel with her father in the meantime. Now holding her at arm’s length, but holding her fast, and throwing up his head and eyes, he burst forth in the following impromptu lines:—
“The muses once found me not very sober, But full of frolic at your merry christening, And now, this twenty-third day of October, As they foretold, to your sweet lays I’m listening. Tho’ when I’d vowed and promised for the best, The heathen huzzies turned it to a jest; At pomps and vanities, and wicked world, They sneered, and up their saucy noses curled; Renounce the devil, too, in your new name They substituted wit, and grace, and fame; And then around thy baby brow they bound A wreath of laurel, with some shamrock crowned. Poor me they plied with draughts of rosy wine, Foretelling I would one day have some strains divine From the young Christian of the festal hour— “Tis done! I bow to their prophetic power.*
* A fragment of this poem has appeared in the Life and Poems of Edward Lysaght,
Esq.
In the latter half of the last century, and on the evening of a
dreary winter’s day, a lumbering post-coach, the Irish vetturino
On the brow of the hill, the carriage drew up before a ponderous double
gate of an apparently old dismantled fabric, which flanked a court and lane to the right,
and presented in front a corps de logisOch you’re welcome, marram, to the
great music hall! and ten thousand welcomes and to the childre! I am
” With
much love and great impatience in his countenance, the “masther” attempted to
open the carriage-door with a vehemence that almost shook it from its propriety; the maids
and the children screamed, whilst Don’t be affeard,
” The next moment the lady and children were in the arms of the happy
husband and father, who, drawing the arm of the lady through his own, and taking the eldest
child by the hand, whilst the other was carried by the maid, proceeded through the
cavernous entrance before them, into a vast space, with an atmosphere of dust and smoke,
whilst every species of noise and clatter and sounds uncouth, the fall of hammers, the
grinding of saws and the screwing of wheels; “the crash of matter and the fall of
worlds,
” reverberate on every side. The party having crossed a long plank
that Cead
mille Falthae
“This will be the green-room,
” said the gentleman,
“there is no such green-room in either of the Royal theatres; and in this
room, my dear
” The lady smiled for the first
time, and the little girl, who was in the habit of asking about everything, said,
“MessiahPapa, was
” but received no
answer, the gentleman going on to do the honours of the green-room.
“
” said her
mother peevishly, “don’t talk,
” This was the first sentence that had escaped the lady’s lips
since her entrance into her cheerless future domicile. That’s the ‘Death
Chamber,’ Marram! where the flure gave way while
”
The lady shuddered, but the gentleman led on through a gloomy court-yard, touched off by a rising moon, which exhibited the ruder aspect of the place, and from whence they ascended a very wide but not steep flight of stairs, which evidently meant to represent steps cut out of a rock, whilst branches of trees, gushing waters, and pendant stalactites glittering with frost hung on every side.
“Thim is a part of the old Ridottos,
”—at that
moment an enormous cat sprang across, and and that is
one of the wild cats the place is full of, with stings in their tails! Aye,
”
“Get on before us,
” said the gentleman, angrily.
The stairs gradually narrowed till they terminated in a narrow gallery which led through clusters of rocks, by way of entrance into a large square space, apparently surrounded by beautiful pastoral scenery, and lighted by a real moon, which shone in from the skylights of the painted ceiling.
“And now, marram,
” said ye’re welcome to the Dargle, for it’s the
Dargle ye see all about you, and
” but the rest of his words “the gods dispersed in
empty air,
” for the attention of the poor wearied and frightened guests was
called to an object in the centre of the room, less picturesque, but infinitely more
interesting at that moment—a table, plenteously and luxuriously covered, a lofty
branch of lights in the centre which might have figured at the royal banquet of and there’s of it before the fire that ’ll
warm all your hearts.
”
From the garrulity of
“You may go, now,
The table was immediately surrounded by the parents and the children,
whilst “below the salt,” i. e., at a little table in the
corner, the maids did ample justice to the feast before them.
de
service
Within an hour the whole party, except the gentleman, had retired to rest. The maids occupied a “shake down,” the lady and the little girls adjourned to an apartment called by courtesy a bedroom, but which had served the purpose of a hermit’s cave at the last ridotto. It had been made comfortable for present use.
The maids, however, did not fare so well, for the life was
frightened out of her by
”
These wild, incredible, and apparently fabulous scenes require an explanation, but they are indelibly photographed on a memory from which few things that ever impressed the imagination have been effaced.
Note.—
The opening of this theatre was the continuation of a history of many comic and tragic events, from its foundation as a chantry to the church of the Holy Trinity, to this last and most indiscreet undertaking to transform it to a theatre.
The opening of the theatre was, moreover, an event of considerable
importance to
The first performance was to be altogether national, that is, Irish, and
very Irish it was. The play chosen was The CarmeliteThe Brave IrishmanThe Poor Soldieren rapport
”
This, by way of parenthesis,—to proceed with our “opening day,” or rather night:
My father wrote and spoke the prologue in his own character of an “Irish Volunteer.”
The audience was as national as the performance; and the pit was filled
with red coats of the corps to which my father belonged; and the boxes exhibited a show of
beauty and fashion, such as Ireland above all other countries could produce. What added to
the éclat
The National Theatre flourished. Everybody took boxes, but few paid for
them. Orders were given in profusion, when, lo! in the midst of the apparent success of
this rival to the great Royalties, Government granted an exclusive patent for the
performance of the legitimate drama to—
The cousinhood of Ireland extends itself beyond the Green Island to
remote lands, and if the
there were others of the “thirteen tribes of Galway,” who sought a more
tranquil and certain mode of existence, through the commercial genius which had probably
lain hid amid the domestic warfares of Ireland, but which was now coming forth in various
parts of the continent, wherever the vine flourished. Among the respectable and respected
commercial houses in France, the
My cadeauxsac d’ouvrage
My father proposed himself as “commercial correspondent” of their house. He told them his story in his own pleasant yet pathetic way; and proved his fitness to become a Dublin wine-merchant, by his intimacy with all the great wine drinkers of the day, gentle and simple! He referred them to his connections in Connaught.
The
Grand changements des décorations in the Music
The pretty theatre and its adjoining rooms were leased out for public meetings. The family dwelling-house was enlarged by the addition of other apartments, and made comfortable. Before the ensuing winter my mother, whose confusion had been worse confounded by all the chances and changes her fortunes had undergone, was settled with her little family in Dublin, with her pretty retreat at Drumcondra in reserve, and whilst my father’s life was “double, double, toil and trouble,” she passed the quiet tenor of her days in avocations suited to her domestic habits.
Her greatest anxiety was for the education of her little girls, and her
next for the salvation of mankind through the influence of the
My father now always spent his Sundays at home with us, and as
much of his other days as his commercial, convivial, and dramatic avocations would allow.
My mother seldom went to church, but my father, from the time we could toddle, took us to church himself, where our endurance of hanging legs and cold feet was recompensed by the divine music for which the two cathedrals were and are still celebrated.
He shared all my mother’s anxiety about the education of his two little girls, which was, however, only fitfully carried on.
My mother had in her mind the recollection of a model child who had
lived fifty years before, a traditional piece of Shropshire perfection. She was the
daughter of the good
My sister
This was the invariable form of inscription over the doors of old Irish coiffeurs.
I could go through the whole process of hair dressing (which was then a most arduous one), from the first papillotes to the last puff of the powder machine.
I became a chimney-sweep from my observation of a den of little imps who inhabited a cellar on the opposite side of the way.
A propos
It happened one day the chimney of our schoolroom took fire. Every one
screamed, but no one offered a remedy. I had seen a fire in our own chimney put out by the
cleverness of my little neighbours the sweeps. I flew across and called on them to follow
me. I found them assembled at their dinner, sitting on a bag of soot. They seized their
scrapes and brushes and all followed me to the rescue. The burning soot was soon dragged
down; fumes, and flames, and soot, and smut filled the atmosphere of
The little boys had probably saved lives and property, but the schoolmistress angrily asked “who had sent them?” They pointed to me and said:
“Little Miss, there.”
“Then let little Miss pay you!” said she, and seizing me by the shoulder, she hurled me down the door-steps, saying:
“Go home, you mischievous monkey!”
The injustice of this to myself, and the black band I commanded, but above all the epithet, for a monkey has been ever my favourite aversion!
I ran up the court to our house, crying bitterly, and followed by my clients.
My father and mother, who were standing at the window, saw us pass, and rushed to the door, as did, of course, the servants.
I was scarcely to be recognised, and when appealed la parole
“Well, plaise your honour,
”
My father endeavoured to command his gravity, though my mother could not command her anger, and he said:
“Well,
”
I could only sob out:
“Papa, you have
” two and eightpence of
mine, give it to them all.
My father took out an English half-crown, and said:
“There, gentlemen, is sixpence a-piece for you.
”
The little sweeps then threw up their caps, with the “cry”
of the street (which had its “aboo” as well as the
Long life to yer honour—success—all happiness and nothing but
pure love!
” and this sooty troupe galloped away, while I was handed over to
ramoneur to an Irish chimney in my own house.
Though my mother could never teach me to read, she taught me hymns and
poetry by rote, which incited me to write rhymes on my own account. I had many favourites
among cats, dogs and birds, my mother’s reprobation and the servants’ nuisance;
but I turned them all to account and wove them into stories, to which I tried to give as
much personal interest as old
The head favourite of my menagerie was a magnificent and very
intelligent cat, “
held them in the greatest reverence mingled with superstitious awe.
Do you know
”
After this, there was nothing left for the disconcerted narrator but to walk away. One of
his stories was—that the monastic cats had stings in their
tails, which after their death were preserved by the monks for purposes of flagellation, or
by the nuns—
I made her up a nice little cell, under the beaufet, as side-boards
were then called in Ireland—a sort of alcove cut out of the wall of our parlour where
the best glass and the family “bit of plate”—a silver tankard—with
the crest of the
accouchement
It was a good and pious custom of my mother’s to hear us our
prayers every night; when What do you mean by that, you stupid child?
”
“May I not say, ‘Bless
”
“Certainly
” said my
mother emphatically. not,
“Why, mamma?
”
“Because
”
“
” Why is not
“Why? because
”
“Am I a Christian, mamma, or an animal?
”
“I will not answer any more foolish questions tonight.
”
So we were sent off in disgrace, but not before I had given
The result of this was that I tried my hand at a poem.
The jingle of rhyme was familiar to my ear through my mother’s
constant recitation of verses, from the sublime I lisped in
numbers”
though the numbers never came. Here is my first attempt:
“My dear pussy cat, Were I a mouse or rat, Sure I never would run off from you, You’re so funny and gay, With your tail when you play, And no song is so sweet as your “mew;” But pray keep in your press, And don’t make a mess, When you share with your kittens our posset; For mamma can’t abide you, And I cannot hide you, Except you keep close in your closet!
I tagged these doggrels together while lying awake half the night, and
as soon as I could get a hearing in the morning I recited them to the kitchen, and no
elocution ever pronounced in that kitchen (although it was dedicated to
My father took me to Moira House; made me recite my poem, to which he
had taught me to add appropriate emphasis and action, to which my own tendency to grimace
added considerable comicality. The
All this time the education of the children, a favourite theme
of discussion and disputation, proceeded in a desultory manner.
The moment nature broke out into anywhat noticeable act, discipline was brought in, and a master was found for the time being, which always proved to be a very short time indeed.
Once, accompanying my father and mother in a very
My father and mother were astounded, and a future
My mother was delighted that my first attempt should have been a
sacerdotal one, and immediately on our return to town a drawing-master was sought for,
My cherub was really wonderful; my mother said it was miraculous; and so
it would have been if I had had any hand in it; but to tell the truth, it owed all its
merit to the genius of my master. One day that the black chalk was committed to my
unpractised hand, on my mother’s sudden entrance, my cherub’s head ran the risk
of being converted into a negro’s. There, Miss, take out the
effect of the jaw with this piece of bread.
”
Caligraphy and mathematics succeeded to the finer “art.”
One morning when we were at breakfast with my father and
mother—that is, my sister and myself—at our own little table, with bread and
milk, the servant announced a visitor by the style and title of “
“Stay a moment, James,
” said my father to my
affrighted mother, qui dans ce mot là reconnaissait notre
sangMy dear
”
At this moment
He looked extremely frightened. My good-natured father rose to meet him with:
“
”
“Thank your honour for axing.
”
“Will you take a cup of tea before we drop into
” said my father. shanahos?
“Thanks be to your honour, the thimble full, if ye
plaze.
”
take the gentleman this cup of tea.
”
Replacing the cup and saucer on the table, I took out my silver thimble out of the tidy little “housewife” that hung to my side; I filled it with tea and presented it to the pedlar.
My mother tried to look angry and my father too.
“She is a silly child,
” said he, “but she
means no harm.
”
“Oh, God bless her,
”
My father at once proposed us as his pupils in the noble art, in which at present I certainly do not excel.
Paper was got—lines were ruled, and
“Now, Miss, broad strokes down—hair strokes
up.
”
I not only copied these strokes but I copied his most ridiculous mouth, which he opened and shut to correspond with the ups and downs of his pen.
My little sister tittered, my father and mother, though angry, could
not suppress their smiles; the sus-
“Och, then, Miss is too cliver for me
entirely.
” “Well, then,
” said my father, “to
ease your burden, we will for the present take your Connemara stockings, and
bye-and-bye your instructions.
”
My mother now hastened to make a bargain. My father at once purchased a
pound’s worth of the “Connemara’s,” and Marquise de Chatêlet
Who was my father? to whom in these few pages I have dedicated
so much recollection.
My father was a Celtic Irishman, my mother was a Saxon; and “I had
the good fortune,” as to come over to Ireland to he borned.
”
My father was—an actor! But he shall tell his own tale; or, rather, I will try to relate it as I heard it from his lips many a time and oft, sometimes spoken, sometimes sung.
My father devoted as much of his time to domestic enjoyment as his
profession and public life would admit of. In the course of my early and after years, it
was a source of infinite delight to me, to hear him narrate in broken episodes, traits and
incidents of his own story and of the times in which he lived, mingled with relations of
habits, customs and manners still existing in Ireland down to the close of the last
century. They were so impressive in their character and musical in their narration, that
they seized on my imagi-The Wild Irish
Girl
“ St. Patrick was a gentleman and come of decent people.”. Met. Hist. of St. Patrick
“We were kin to the Braghlaglans, Callagans, Connors and Brides alsoe.”— Irish Song.
At the beginning of the last century many of the manners and customs and
national habits of Ireland in the middle ages still existed. The rustic amusements of the
gentry as well as of the peasantry, were of a character that enlisted some of the most
violent passions of Irish temperament; a dance begun in utmost jollity on the sod, often ended by laying one of the performers under it; and a duel was not rare that arose from some mere awkwardness in the
canonical performance of the rite of hands across and back again in a country dance. The
hurling matches in the provinces were the Olympic games of ould Ireland; the athletæ
of Connaught would challenge the rival hurlers of Munster. County against county, but more
frequently Bally against Bally came forth in As You Like It
Early in the last century, a celebrated hurling match took place in Connaught, sustained by the gentry, farmers and squirearchy of the neighbouring counties of Sligo and Rosscommon. All the chief gentry of the neighbourhood were present, the flower of Irish youth of both sexes. It was the custom to award to the victor of the field a ribbon to wear at his breast, or some other simple mark of distinction, presented by the Queen of Beauty of the day.
On this occasion, the Queen of Beauty was Anglice
The fair Queen of Beauty who then graced Longford House was smitten with
the grace and bravery of the young victor in the hurling match; she probably intimated, or
at least allowed him to discover, that he had
The young man was not “afraid to take his fortune up.” The
result was, that shortly after the hurling match, there was what the people of the country
called an “abduction,” and the Crofton family a “mésalliance
The young bride, with great good sense, entirely accepted her new position, and made the best of it.
She was an extremely clever woman, who discharged her duties in all
respects as a farmer’s wife, and obtained in the condition of life to which she had
descended, the respect and influence she was calculated to have won in her own sphere. But
the marriage was none the less indiscreet, neither was it a happy one, for she had not, like
Her husband seems to have been a jolly, racketting Irish boy; he was
frequently absent on all manner of rustic frolics, hurling matches, fairs and other
occa-
She was a woman of genius, a poetess and musician; she cultivated her
natural gifts, and found in art a resource against unavailing regret for the position in
life which she had left, and it was her best preservative against disgust at her present
surroundings. She was appreciated by her Irish neighbours, who love music and song; they
gave her the sobriquet of Clasagh na Valla
He resembled his father in stature and personal beauty, and he had the
artistic and poetical instincts of his mother; he had also a magnificent musical voice of
extraordinary compass. His mother devoted herself to giving him the best education in her
power; in this she had the good-natured assistance of the parish priest, who was an
ex-member of the Jesuits’ College of Liege, and occasionally, the Protestant
incumbent of the parish gave his aid. The young pupil of this combined instruction showed
his gratitude by impartially intoning Low Mass in the early Sabbath morning with
About that time a great sensation was caused in the neighbourhood by
the arrival of a stranger bearing the name of Blake, who proceeded to take possession of
the castle of the
A Protestant himself, he, nevertheless, visited impartially both the
Protestant and Catholic places of worship in the parish. One Sunday, when he attended High
Mass, he was struck with the beauty of a young fresh voice which rose distinctly above all
others. He * The
He soon made himself acquainted with the name, quality, and residence of the owners of the two voices, and the next day paid a visit in form to the persons who had so charmed and surprised him.
The manners and style of
A Catholic, protégé. He promised that he should
receive such an education as would fit him for any liberal profession, and for the position
of a gentleman in society.
The parents consented.
protégé a submissive dependent, an
accomplished companion and an efficient future secretary, likely to be useful to him in the
management of his estate, from being versed in Irish affairs from early habits and
associations; above all, he would make a maestro de
capello
Young
After a few months he set out to go to London, where he had a house in
Russell Street. He stopped a few days en route in Dublin. Amongst
other reasons, he wished to furbish up and render presentable the young wild Irishman he
was about to introduce to his London acquaintance and friends. The Connaught suit of
genuine ratteen was exchanged for the fashionable costume of the day; his luxuriant black
locks—shaggy and picturesque—were transformed into the coiffure poudré and ailes de pigeon which had
succeeded the wigs of the preceding half-century. Thus dressed and disguised, he
accompanied
This was the first theatre he had entered—the first dramatic
performance he had ever witnessed—he was not ignorant of Clasagh na Valla
In a few days from this memorable night, protégé arrived in
London, at the comfortable mansion of the former in Great Russell Street. He lost not a
moment in seeking to render those abilities available, for which he had chosen his young
charge on so short an experience. Artaxerxesfalsetto, then introduced from the Italian
school. Arne had at that time completely merged his reputation as a teacher in his higher
qualification of a maestro; and his grand opera of Artaxerxesprotégé as his pupil, but strongly recommended him to protégé into the evening classes,
twice a week, of this singularly gifted blind instructor. The mornings of young
The rest of the young man’s time was devoted to the domestic régime of his protector; a good arithmetician, as most Irish
lads are, he audited the Irish accounts, which were forwarded by
She Stoops to
Conquerhabitué of the
green-room of both the Royal theatres, he occasionally and unnecessarily took his young
countryman to those foyers of art and
beauty which proved perilous to men of greater discretion than either of the two Irishmen.
But danger awaited the younger man in a smaller and more intimate circle. Among the eminent
artists of the day, who occasionally presented themselves in the highest classes of
primo violoncello of the Italian opera, and mother of the greatest
English vocalist of after times, prima donna of His
Majesty’s Theatre, and was, or had been, the prima donna
assoluta over the heart of the famous Artaxerxeslettre decachetmal de pays
During the absence of con amore, applauded and encored. Among the audience,
however, was one neither expected nor desired; it was major domo, who could give no account of the young viceroy who
had been left over him, except that he had dressed and gone to Vauxhall.
Young abridgment of
all that is pleasant in man,
” which he presented in person. The interview
took place at débutant in that important part, a débutant who was a mere stripling, speaking with an Irish brogue, was
declared to be one of the greatest insults ever offered to the town. The Irish The Beggar’s Opera
was nevertheless not proof against the fascinations of the handsome Irishman. Nothing,
however, came of it at that time, and the flame thus kindled might and probably would have
died out, but that the sudden
Married, and twice a father of short-lived children, he was
called upon for prudent consideration by the necessities of his position and the prudential
suggestions of his wife.
She hated the stage although she loved the actor. Notwithstanding
Sacred music was just then the rage throughout England, especially in
London, which had only a few years before slowly awakened to the merits of
There were few cathedrals to which my father was not summoned when oratorios were celebrated. Sacred music was not then celebrated only in cathedrals, but in theatres, concert halls, and music rooms.
The pupil of ’tis my vocation, Hal!
”
After a few years residence in England, an accident occurred which restored him for ever to the profession he liked and the country he loved.
Through the medium of his theatrical friends he had access to the
green-rooms of all the metropolitan theatres, and he did not let his privilege lie idle,
though he found there the charms which
Ireland had for the last half-century lent to the English drama, not only her best writers, but her best actors, and occasionally borrowed them back for her own theatres.
The patentee of the Theatre Royal, Crow Street,
”* like a gentleman.
répertoire; DuennaSchool for Scandal
* One evening, at the
Of all this transaction my poor dear mother knew nothing till the
articles were signed and sealed; but with a promise that she should return to England the
moment she found Ireland unpleasant, my father found the means to reconcile her to his own
views. Ah! l’éloquence du mari!
On her arrival in Ireland, my mother did her best to make her penal
settlement supportable. My father took a pretty villa for her at Drumcondra, a lovely
village, well known to the
My mother brought over with her an old Welsh servant maid; like
herself, a disciple of
She wrote to an English friend, the wife of a Wesleyan minister, who had opened “a little concern of his own,” at Portarlington, the asylum of Protestant refugees from France, to procure for her a maid to be about her own person, a pretorian guard in that land of idolatry.
My mother’s friend sent her, in reply to her appeal, one of the
children’s maids from the great Huguenot school in Ireland, the well known Molle atque
facitum
This passed into a sobriquet which degenerated into
“Atkinson
As they had neither revealed nor concealed the circumstance, my mother dropped into their indifference, and accepted their good works without reference to their false faith.
In Celtic nations, clanship supersedes all
other affections. Friendship sits lightly, and love more lightly, for both are generally
the result of impulse; in Irish, “to fancy” means to love:
Are you not on good terms
with the
” “I have no
” I pleaded ignorance, and he then entered on a long detail
of grievances, public and private, of which the reason to be, at all events. You, of course, know the way they
have treated us.But when,
” said I, “did
all this happen—lately?
” “Well, not very long ago, in the
last years of the reign of
” After dinner, I am sure
” I said, “rather.
” “What did he accuse us
of?
” “Oh of robbing him, in the reign of
” “Well,
” said he,
“and if we did, were we not robbed ourselves by the Cromwellians? I forget all
about it, but I know there was an old grudge; and it is very odd, that though I forgive
him he cannot forgive me?
” Among the true Irish the language of praise and
invective passed all bounds, and formed the lead-
After a friendship and intimacy of some years, my father and
My father erected his flag before that time-honoured monument of past pleasures, the old Music Hall of Fish Shamble Street.
He flew to
Here he hoped to realise the dream of his life, the restoration of the
drama to its pristine importance and intent, in moral and social influence, as
“To hold as ’twere the mirror up to nature;
to shew virtue her own feature; scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the
time his form and pressure.
”
At a moment when Irish nationality was rising above the level of unavailing complaint; when Irishmen hawked their grievances as beggars hawk their sores; when the glorious body of Irish volunteers became the Prætorian bands of the land, not to impose, but to break her chains; my father snatched the epithet, and gave his theatre the name of “National.” He was backed by some of the best men of the time; patriots, in the best sense of the word; and he set about his theatrical reformation with all the zeal and all the indiscretion of a true Irishman.
His family then consisted of his wife and two little girls, five years*
My poor distracted mother gladly took refuge in her pretty country house at Drumcondra, leaving my father, “like Nature in her great works—alone.”
She took the opportunity also of visiting her Wesleyan friend at
Portarlington, in the hope of prevailing on * The reader must exercise his own discretion as to
dates.—Ed. bêtes
noires
Our maid
Familiar as the related to the family.
Dropping the “O” or the “Mac,” which signified the chieftain of the
sect,
On the passing of the Emancipation Bill, several Catholic gentlemen who
had dropped the suspicious cognomen, resumed it, without fear of being suspected to have
any intention to resume the estates or principalities along with them. A Catholic friend of
ours, dining with us one day, was addressed as usual, and asked to take fish; he moodily
replied: “I’ll trouble you for the
” vowel bit, if you
please!
If there is any merit in my delineation of O’Donnel
The pride they take in their own country, even in * See letter in the appendix from
My PrincessThis is a noble palace,
” he answered
with a look full of reproach and contempt, “Well, then, I wondher to hear your
ladyship say that—you that has been at the Castle of Dublin.
”
My Mother! there is something infinitely dear and tender in that
name, and though all mothers may not be equally dear and tender, still it is the declared
intention of Nature that they should be so.
I gratefully acknowledge the memory of my
A degree of common sense tempered down in me that exuberance of imagination which was the bane of my father’s prosperity.
My mother came from her native land, an enemy of all slovenliness in habits, conduct, or mind.
She was disgusted with the dirty Dublin houses of that day, though in ostentatious finery they far surpassed anything she had ever seen in the old picturesque houses of Shrewsbury, with their black and white facades, and their pent-house roofs.
The society tried her as much as the houses; she was overwhelmed,
offended and distressed at the style of conversation which then prevailed in company; the
broad allusions to subjects which are now not mentionable to ears polite, but which were
common enough in the days of the double ententedelicate dilemma.
Neither Catholic priest nor Protestant parson was spared; indeed, both parties bore the brunt of such jokes with an unblushing laugh, for the jokes usually alluded to their supposed success in gallantry,—an imputation which no Irishman of any profession can ever heartily resent.
The tendency to wit, or to its substitute—fun, had been a fashion
in Ireland from the time of
were sometimes desecrated by repartees which would not have been permitted in the
ruelle
She had received as much education as women of her class ever received
in England—and no more. She had no accomplishments, no artistic tendencies, but she
was a good English scholar, and was thoroughly well acquainted with the popular English
literature of her time. She was familiar with the works of Spectator
I can even now quote largely, and do so, no doubt, to the occasional
ennui of my modern friends; but it is entirely owing to her
instructions.
As a child I used to sing—
thumping on the table the accompaniment with a burlesque energy, imitating as well as
I could the sounds of
was a very favourite song of her’s and mine.
Also one beginning—
This song my sister and myself used to drawl out with the solemnity of
a requiem; my mother always substituting “
She also taught us to chaunt that noble Psalm—
Much of my mother’s life was of necessity passed in seclusion, for she avoided all society except that of a very few ultimate friends; nevertheless, she had one great resource, in which she found both edification and amusement.
The habits of Irish cousinhood came forth very strongly under the
influence of my father’s supposed prosperity. Poor kinsmen from Connaught were
numerous, and my father had not the heart to shut his door against them, nor my mother
either. Sometimes they came to ask for a “shake down” at our house for a
“few days,” (the days were seldom less than weeks), whilst they were in search
“of a place under Government,” through the influence of some
under-secretary’s under-secretary at the Castle. They used to spend their days in
pacing the “half acre,”* watching like detectives the exits and the entrances
of their ideal patrons; but they always came home to Fish Shamble Street mare hungry than
they went out. I will call over the roll of our visitors during the * The Upper Castle yard, the residence of the
officials. tester you put me off? and I come from Stoney
Batter with ye! and that is worth the bould thirteen any day in the year! And you a parson,
reverend sir!”
“I’ll give you no more,
” said the
“Reverend Sir,” while we paused, with our hands behind our backs and our eyes
raised to “the Parson.”
“I’ll give you no more,
” said his Reverence.
“Then I’ll have ye before the Court of
Conscience,
” was the reply, when his Reverence accidentally crushing the bag
under his arm, a sound was emitted from a pair of bagpipes. Fearing the pipes were injured,
he drew them from the bag and played a few notes of “
“Will ye give us a little more sir, of that, if you
please?
”
His Reverence complied; the children danced; the noddy man fell in, the servants rushed out, and began to dance too.
When the music stopped, the ecstatic charioteer held out the tester and
said, “Here, plaize yer riverence, take it! By the piper that played before
”
The music which had so charmed the noddy man, attracted several
passers-by from the streets. My mother threw up the window to see what was the matter; she
dispersed the mob by calling out in a distressed tone, “Oh,
”
On entering, he presented my mother with an Oliver Cromwell Bible,
which he told her “was worth all the books in St. Patrick’s
Library;
” shewing her, to prove its value, that the title-page of King James had
been torn out in proof of the Low Churchism of its original proprietor.
My mother accepted the gift (or bribe) with reverential gratitude, and
“I suppose, ma’am, you know that
” Midas
My mother inquired whether he had lost his late curacy, which had, with some difficulty, been obtained for him?
“Indeed, then,
”
The story was scarcely told, when my father returned home.
To locataire
“He is a poor Catholic clergyman,
” said, in a
whisper, a little gargotierI think a Jesuit; he lodges in our four-pair
of stairs, but master says he will give him notice to quit before long. I think he is
starving, but he never buys nothing from us.
”
He returned her an elegant note of thanks, with his name and address,
and begged permission to call on her some evening when alone. She deemed him too
unfortunate to be refused, and
To complete the group,
These “synods,” which were held two or three times a week,
interested her much; points of faith
There was one, however, who seemed to derive a very particular
amusement from these assemblies—it was my little self! My
sister was duly sent to bed; but there was no getting rid of me. Not that I understood a
sentence that was pronounced, but I was greatly interested in the expressions of triumph
and defeat on the faces of each party. I saw everything from a pictorial point of view, as
most children do; but the impressions that were made by these scenes, became, in after
life, suggestive of inquiry and reflection. The group thus assembled in my mother’s
sober parlour, comprised within itself the disunion of religious creeds which still engages
the minds of the religious world in Great Britain.
The violence of Protestant-Calvinism against the Irish Catholics,
These dissensions left a long train of religious disputation behind them, and my mother found her account in discussions which had become to her as her daily bread.
My mother was a little
My father took no notice at the time, but when he was gone he said to
my mother, with an emphatic phrase now proscribed, and which
“Jenny, my dear, I’ll be —— if that canting
cousin of yours ever puts his feet under my mahogany again!
”
And he never did.
For the rest of the connexion—the Spanish friar resolved himself back into the mystery whence he had come, and was never visible, at least in that form, again.
The
But the dispersion of these quarrelsome saints was followed by the advent of some lay visitors of a very different description.
Two of my father’s old London friends, joint lessees of
Covent-Garden, arrived in Dublin through the ac-prima donna of a semi-Italian Opera
in Dublin, where she lisped her Italian airs in broken English, which had a peculiar charm
for the capricious amateurs of the day. Her part of Lionel and ClarissaSon-in-Law
piano-forte, an instrument which had only recently, in Dublin,
succeeded to harpsichords and spinnets.
Musical rehearsals in the morning or the evening, or whenever they
could be performed, and a regular rehearsal every Sunday evening, led to the foundation of
the Philharmonic Society in Dublin. By an odd coincidence, another lessee of Covent Garden,
fanatico per la
musicaGiros
A foreign valet in showy livery, bearing a magnificent violin case, in
crimson and gold, which he deposited in the middle of the room, was followed by the
entrance of the great professor, who stepped in on tip-toe, dressed in a brown silk camlet
coat lined with scarlet silk, illustrated with brilliant buttons, and a powdered and
perfumed toupée, so elevated as to divide his little person
almost in two. His nether dress was fastened at the knees with diamond buttons, and the
atmosphere of the room was filled with perfume from his person. He kissed my father on
either cheek, and my mother’s hand with such fervour, that she was left in doubt
whether the gallantry were profane or indecent.
With the tact of a man of the world, he opened his violin case and
presented my mother with a tour de gorgemaestri continued the favoured guests of
my father, to the infinite disgust of my mother, who, knowing no foreign language, and
hearing no other spoken at her table, took an earlier flight than usual to her house at
Drumcondra.
Upon the occasion of these musical meetings, my sister and I usually
crept in and hid under a table, in ecstasy at all we heard.
“If,” said he, “I were to cultivate their talent
for music, it might induce them some day to go on the stage, and I would prefer to buy
them a sieve of black cockles from Ring’s End,* to cry about the streets of
Dublin, to seeing them the first
” This sentence I understood later—and respected. prima donnas in
Europe.
On looking back to this period, it seems to me, that our female visitors were few.
I only remember one theatrical family who belonged to our circle, that
of
Another of our lady visitors is at least memorable * As famous for its cockles as Malahide for its oysters.
She delighted to talk of the The Vicar of
Wakefield
Amongst other incidents which I recollect, was the mysterious visit of a lady, who was one day jolted up our court in a sedan-chair with close-drawn curtains; she was received by my father alone, for my mother withdrew and locked herself up in her bedroom until she went away.
This lady was no other than the celebrated
my father’s early steps, which he could never afterwards retrace.
A curious incident happened in connexion with Beggars’ Opera travestie
Curran’s lines “
1. “The wreath of love and friendship twine, And deck it round with flowerets gay; Touch the lip with rosy wine, ’Tis Eliza’s natal day!2 Time restrains his ruthless hand, And learns one fav’rite form to spare; Light o’er her tread by his command The hours, nor print one footstep there. 3. In amorous sport the purple Spring Salutes her lips in roses drest; And Winter laughs, and loves to fling A flake of snow upon her breast. 4. So may thy days in happiest pace, Divine Eliza , glide along;Unclouded as thy angel face, And sweet as thy celestial song.”
Among the fragments of Irish learning and Irish poetry, left
floating upon Time, from the days of a.d. 1088, there still remained, at the beginning of
this century, a solitary fragment called the Poor Scholar. Some
hapless and desolate boy inspired by Nature and taught by a hedge-schoolmaster, who
exchanged his Greek and Latin, as well as a touch at the annals of the “Four Maisthers” for a consideration of a few sods of turf, eggs, or
a “sudan rhuevia
sacra
They reached the great western suburb of the metropolis—Thomas Street, of St. Thomas, his court—tune immemorial the rendezvous of rebellion, both in ancient and modern time, and one of the gates of the city.
Here his good-natured protector dropped him, and he proceeded—
amidst the din and crowd, until attracted by the appearance of some books exposed on a
cobbler’s stall, which arrested his attention. The cobbler, with his eye fixed upon
him, asked him what he wanted. The boy replied, “You have got an edition there, of
”
This observation induced the cobbler to ask him
Here he worked for some months in various capacities; but chiefly as
librarian. This stall was frequented by a certain
It happened, that the chief scene-painter of the Theatre Royal,
frequented the library of the learned Doctor, and the Poor Scholar, ill fed and overworked,
ragged and wretched, offered himself to the artist on any terms he might be pleased to give
him. Here his condition was not much improved. He was constantly employed in the painting
room, but the gaiety and bustle of theatrical life bewitched him. If he boiled size and
washed brushes all day, he heard
It happened one evening, after dinner, when my father and mother, with
my sister and myself sitting on a little stool at their respective feet, my mother telling
My mother looked rather scared. “
“By-the-bye,
” and he gave
her some rapid details which touched her feelings.
My mother was at once prepared to receive a guest so adapted to all
her sympathies and tastes, and when
A subscription was raised of some amount to support him in college and
to lighten the burthen which my father had taken on himself. The Reverend
à
commandment
It appeared, too, that he was there happiest; and though his occasional absences in the evening, among his fine friends, was very distasteful to the sobriety of my mother’s habits and views for him, yet she was pleased by the distinction conferred on him, and she found in his society and literary conversation a resource against the tedium of those solitary evenings to which my father’s absence devoted her.
He was the best of playfellows, and he was delighted with our early tendency to humour; he sometimes rolled with laughter on the floor at our drolleries.
He was passionately fond of music, and frequently made us sing beside him whilst he composed in the old spacious attic, which still bore the name of “the grove in the Music Hall.”
He was a greater favourite with the servants than dependents usually are, and, perhaps, the two years so passed in “books, and work, and healthful play,” were the happiest of his whole life, as certainly they were the most faultless.
He was just on the point of being entered on the College books when
circumstances occurred which deprived him of the personal protection of his truest friend.
They took great exception to
Unluckily, amongst these papers was an epigram of much greater importance, and quite as bitter as those against his stiff-necked hosts.
très belle et tant soit peu
coquetteélite of the
fashionable world at her house in Bagot Street. Among her guests she frequently numbered
the young
He sometimes wrote to my mother, but his letters, though full of affection and gratitude, were also full of complaint and discontent.
My mother’s unexpected death, perhaps, bereft him of his best friend,—certainly of his wisest counsellor.
My mother’s death was the first touch of mortality that
came home to my apprehension. It was my first affliction, as far as childhood can be
afflicted, for coarser passions, rage, envy, jealousy may shake the nerves of expanding
sensibility long before the deepest of all passions whilst it lasts sinks into sorrow or
fades into regret, proportionate to the energy of its anguish.
It happened that early in spring my
Early in June, the recurrence of the popular Irish festival called the “Riding of the Fringes,” took place at the neighbouring village of Glas Nevin.
My father was in town on professional business, and the servants,
taking advantage of the relâche
“Are you there, dear
” she asked faintly.
“Yes, dear mamma, and taking care of you.
”
“Kneel down,
” said she, “and give me your
hand”
—her’s was cold and clammy. “Don’t be
afraid,
” she said, “you will soon be without your poor
mother.
”
I burst into tears and sobbed bitterly.
After a pause my mother said:
“I leave you a blessing,—may you have as affectionate a
child as you have been to me—you must replace me to your father, and take care of
your dear sister.
”
I sobbed out:
“Oh, yes, mamma—oh, yes.
”
“And should your father give you another mamma,—as is
most probable—you will be a good child to her, by duty and obedience.
”
I sobbed out:
“No, no, mamma; indeed I won’t!
”
She drew me to her, kissed my cheek, and said:
“Go, now, and receive your papa, and send
”
But, alas! there was no
I was distracted, but I did all that circumstances suggested to me. I flew down to the road where some paviours were at work. I besought them to go and look for the servants.
They instantly complied, threw away their implements, and with looks full of sympathy, set off; but at that moment the servants and my father entered the house almost together.
His rage at their conduct was soon quenched in grief, as he hung over my mother and raised her in his arms. Two physicians were sent for to town; a messenger was also despatched for the rector of Drumcondra, but he was from home; and before any assistance, spiritual or physical, could arrive, my mother had breathed her last.
My father, unconscious of the event at the moment, was walking in
restless agony up and down the drawing-room, with a child in either hand. The poor paviours
were fixed in attention at the open windows. My father’s lamentations were loud and
even poetical, and in the Irish style of declamatory grief. The doctors
arrived,—feathers were burned and musk scattered about the bedroom; the atmosphere
was that of death, but we knew it not till
Early the next morning, my sister and myself were sent to the house of
a kind neighbour, who had offered to take charge of us till the funeral was over. She
I was arrested twice on the point of making my escape; but at last I found the means after we had been there nearly a week. I got up one morning very early. I had discovered a hole cut in the coach-house door, which gave upon the road from Richmond to Drumcondra, to let the dog in and out; I availed myself of the discovery, squeezed myself through it, and never rested running till I found myself at the garden gate of our house at Drumcondra.
The road was strewed with hay and straw; and there were marks of
carriages. The doors were all open,—the funeral had not long passed through—I
entered the house. I looked into the parlour, the remains of the funeral breakfast was
there. I went into the kitchen, but there was no one. I ran up the short stairs to my
mother’s bedroom, the door was open, and the smell of the musk seemed an atmosphere
of death. Across the threshold old
I entered the drawing-room and there found my
He, however, chided me for coming.
“But papa,
” I said, “I promised dear mamma
that I would take care of you, and I must.
”
A tingle at the bell at the gate called me down to attend to it, for there was no one else in the house.
A pale face was pressed against the bars at the gate: it was
“Is it true,
” said he, “that I have lost
my best friend?
”
I said, “Yes, and I too,
”
I took his arm, and we walked in together.
He flung himself at my father’s feet, round whom he threw his arms, and from that moment, or at least for that moment, all was forgiven and forgotten.
Incidents in our little family were hurried on by circumstances
of domestic importance.
My father let off part of the unlucky Music Hall, and the whole of our much-loved house at Drumcondra.
My sister and myself, by his goodness, forethought, and self-privation, were placed, in accordance with what had been my mother’s earnest desire, at the best school in Ireland. I may add in the whole United Kingdom.
Portarlington had become a little foreign university, founded by some of the learned refugees who had been victims of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
The Bonnivaux established an academy for youths and boys, and along
with Calvinistic doctrines introduced a spirit of military discipline in their classes,
which made it resemble the Ecole Polytechnique of modern times, more than the Sorbonne or
Port Royal. At this school, many of the young Irish nobility received the rudiments of an
education that was sometimes finished in the field with singular éclat
At the period we entered her school,
The castle, which at that time was still in good condition, had been
the residence of
This our first step forwards in life, which broke all former
associations, and separated us from the companions and habits of our secluded and singular
social existence, was an epoch of great emotion and of new impressions. When my father led
us into the reception room at Clontarf House, holding one of us in either hand, in deep
mourning, with tearful eyes and sad looks, followed by
She withdrew our hands from my father’s and said,
“Come, I must take you to two little girls who have not long since arrived,
whilst papa gets his lunch.
”
My father wept and could not speak.
* These interesting little girls were the daughters of the
illustrious
bon-bons; she said the young ladies who
were now out walking, would soon be back and cheer us up. She then went away. The two
little girls looked at us sulkily and shyly; the eldest haughtily.
We said nothing because we had nothing to say.
The eldest, at length, broke silence with the simple question,
“What is your name?
”
I answered, “
”
“My name,
” continued my interrogator, “is
”
The question puzzled me, and I did not reply. On her reiteration of
the inquiry, I replied, “My papa is free of the six and ten per cents.
”
The answer stunned her, for she understood it no more than I did myself, but probably thought it an order of unknown magnificence. We remained silent, after this, for some time, and then, having nothing else to do, began to cry! The entrance of a crowd of young ladies, active and noisy from their sea-shore rambles, by their numbers and mirth distracted our grief; there could not have been less than thirty or forty.
Meantime,
It was a holiday, for it was the 14th of July—the commemoration
of the Battle of the Boyne. The ballad of this battle I had learned, for it was the
This little talent, thus early put in practice, ensured * I preserve a few lines of this once-popular ballad, one of the
many composed for the same occasion:— It is to be observed, that
Come and sit by me;
” but nothing could
soothe our regret for the less orderly home we had left.
The solemn prayers read in French by femme de
chambreSilence, Mesdemoiselles!
” by which we were
expected to go to sleep by commandment, for after that not a whisper was allowed, broke our
hearts, and we wept ourselves to sleep.
style and title of “ “Sire, you are the Madame your Irish subjects have lost the battle,
” replied, first who come to
tell us!”
Awakened, even by my light footstep, he started up with a look of terror, sprang into a little boat which was undulating up and down in the water, seized an oar, and was out of sight in an instant among the winding of the sheds.
The next day the Hue and Cry announced the
escape of the celebrated highwayman,
He was captured a few days afterwards.
On our return from bathing, prayers were read; then the English lessons of the day, grammar and geography, were got through before breakfast, with clear heads and empty stomachs!
Breakfast was then served—bread and milk—after which the
whole flock were turned into the gardens and shrubberies belonging to the house for
recreation and exercise. A simple toilette followed, and before twelve o’clock the
pupils had taken their places for the
The diet, though plain, was wholesome and good, and particular care
was taken to teach us l’etiquette de la
table
After dinner, we were let loose upon the sea-shore or the shrubberies, under the surveillance of governesses, or we were allowed to walk in the grounds of Clontarf Castle, whose owner’s beautiful little daughters were among our fellow pupils.
Our tea, or milk supper, for we had our choice, followed at seven, after which we prepared our lessons for the following morning. At nine o’clock, prayers, and to bed.
A life more healthful or more fully occupied, could not well be
imagined for female youth between twelve and fifteen—the latest age at which
Among the pupils were many girls of rank and some of distinguished
talent; one, I well remember, was Miss Marly, the niece of Retaliation
Among the governesses, one also left her impression on my memory. She
was an old maid; a sister of the then celebrated History of EnglandVicar of Wakefield
So much for our governesses, and lessons, and the programme of our life, varied by our “balls” once a month—to which, however, no one was asked but ourselves—when we put on our best dresses and went through all the formalities of a regular “drum.”
It may here be observed, that the dispersion of the French Huguenots
who, for reasons very assignable, settled in great numbers in Ireland, was one of the
greatest boons conferred by the misgovernment of other countries on our own. Eminent
preachers, eminent lawyers, and clever statesmen, whose names, not unknown to the
literature and science of France, occupied high places in their professions in Dublin; of
these I may mention, as personal acquaintances, the
It may be, that this draining of the life blood of all that was best
and worthiest of France (for men must have stamina of character who suffer for their
convictions of truth) left the moral calibre of the men brought to the surface in the first
French Revolution, so much below the grave religious character of the men of our own
Revolution. The execution of
The pure air, well-regulated habits, and frugal but wholesome diet, must have had a beneficial influence, in after life, on the mental and physical constitution of those who were subject to it, and which no home education could have given.
My father’s visits were as frequent as the circumstances of his
life would allow, and though all the masters were very expensive, he subjected himself to
personal privations, that we might have the advantage of the tuition of the first masters
of the day. I remember once, our music mistress, ArtaxerxesI should not be driven
to the subterfuge of wearing a great coat this hot weather to conceal the poverty of my
dress beneath,—if it were not that I wish to give you the advantage of such
instruction as you are now neglecting.
” This went home; and
Children are affected by what they read according to their temperament and physiological tendencies, to which that vain-glorious faculty called Reason must submit.
The mischievous girl who had been found like the rude boy in The Universal Spelling-Book
sine dieà vos classes
mesdemoisellesvoulant savoir le pourquoi de
tout
This, my first attempt at a bit of authorship at school, was followed
by others of a more local and personal tendency. I imitated RetaliationclientèleMy dear Father and Mother—In
compliance with your commands I sit down to fulfil your request!
”
The third year of our residence at Clontarf House was in progress, and among the best things we had acquired there, was a respect for punctuality and the fear of doing wrong, the disgrace of which was substituted for punishment. There is a sort of public opinion established in schools which domestic education can never give,—and a public spirit which domestic circumstances rarely call out.
I had now entered my teens, and my father was in anxious doubt what to
do with two motherless girls Sacré Cœur
She was not easily pleased—neither was my father; but at last
she placed us in the fashionable “finishing school,” as it was then called, of
We at once perceived that there was not the selectness in the school that there had been in the one we had left. The French was school French, and the English by no means classical.
The pupils were the daughters of wealthy mediocri-There goes
”
We were, indeed, very dear to him, for our toilette was proportionably
expensive as our school; and the beauty of my sister contributed not a little to this
audible admiration, and I had a certain little jaunty air of my own, peculiarly Irish,
which my old acquaintance,
“And dear Lady Morgan , see, see when she comes,With her pulses all beating for freedom like drums, So Irish; so modish, so mixtish, so wild;So committing herself as she talks—like a child, So trim, yet so easy—polite, yet high-hearted, That Truth and she, try all she can, won’t be parted; She’ll put on your fashions, your latest new air, And then talk so frankly, she’ll make you all stare.”
Whether this is a portrait or a caricature I am not the one to decide; but there is a national idiosyncracy about it which I cannot deny—and which perhaps places it between both.
My father took us occasionally to the theatre, where we saw for the
first and last time Marriage of FigaroYour good fortune is, after all, the
result of your good conduct as well as of your great talents.
”
“Oh, that is all very well, my dear
” she said, “but observe, I
am just making my exit in time, as the dangerous age of indiscretion is
approaching!
”
My father said, he thought she was then forty.
Notwithstanding my father’s denunciation against music as part
of our education, we had the distinction of becoming the pupils of
Towards the close of our first year at
His own residence there, and the circumstances connected with it, had considerable influence on the after life of my sister and myself.
It may be recollected, that it was stipulated in my father’s
agreement with
A lawsuit ensued, which my father lost. The noble dramatis personæ of the Music Hall were anxious to make him what reparation
they could, and
He seemed to conceive a personal partiality for my
Names to the list came in fast, but subscriptions so slowly, that
This beautiful little theatre rose with a rapidity like magic, for the
workmen were paid high wages, and were paid punctually. It was mortgaged for five hundred
pounds, before it was finished, to a * Apropos of “fashionable attorneys,” the late
well-known “ “ Every body in Ireland was then ashamed of following any
profession that could not come under the category of “liberal.” We happened to have a very equivocal-looking house next door,
when we lived in Kildare Street, and a neighbour of suspicious appearance having
come into it, After some hesitation, he answered, “Well, banalités of
royalty, said, Of course,
” Well, almost, my Lord—that is, my estates are in
Kerry; but I employ my leisure hours, when in town, with the profession of an
attorney.
”
Performers of the first class were brought down, at large salaries,
from Dublin and London, and in the summer which folowed the laying of the foundation, the
beautiful Kilkenny Theatre (afterwards to be so celebrated for its private theatricals) was
opened with great éclat, and filled nightly to overflowing,
with a fashionable crowd from the town and neighbouring seats.
It was at this point that my father brought us down for our six
weeks’ holiday. We were lodged in a delightful old house, the residence of a
delightful old lady, who remembered the Great
Our old lady was the grandmother to a charming family; her only
daughter had married a gentilhomme de la chambre
Traveller
is beautiful enough as a sentiment, but perilous as a practice. Change of scene,
circumstances and society, is the true “royal road to education,” and cuts
short the tiresome stages of school discipline. Every step forwards from the dear early
home of our childhood, was a page in the history of our mental development.
Kilkenny itself, with its historical Castle, where Parliaments had been held and sieges resisted, was still in the highest state of preservation. The picturesque ruins of its innumerable abbeys, each with its legends and traditions, especially that of the Black Abbey—the after scene of many interesting events in modern poetics, was the first.
But above all was the picture-gallery of the Castle of Kilkenny, where
I first became acquainted with that master mode of expressing the human form divine in all
its phases! This was my first contact with high art, and awakened a passion for its noble
powers which in after life broke forth in my Life of Salvator Rosa
I had lent to me the Lives of the
Great Painters of the 16th and 17th CenturyDiary
The sons and daughters of the House of Mémoires de
Grammont
The occasional presence of some of the officers of the Irish Brigade,
the descendants of the
Many years afterwards, I was indebted to them for furnishing forth the
story and character of my novel of O’Donnel
Of their names I still remember the Florence
MacarthyThe
O’Brians and O’FlahertiesO’Donnel
An old diocesan library was placed at my disposal, and I took the opportunity of fluttering over a quantity of genuine old Irish books; which study engendered a taste for Irish antiquity, which never afterwards slumbered, and which circumstances in after life greatly favoured.
My father’s paternal vanity had induced him to print and edit a
little volume of my verses, which he called Poems by a Young Lady between the Age of Twelve and
Fourteen
My head, however, was teeming with thick coming fancies, and when I
have been complimented on the works I have written, I might answer with Ah, if you had
only seen those I have not written!
” Amongst others, I began a tale called
the Recruit
Never were three months more occupied or more enjoyed; but the “coming event” of school cast its shadow before us, and our departure was hastened by a calamity of which we were kept in ignorance until ignorance was no longer possible.
The season of the Kilkenny theatricals came to a close, and my father
carried us back to Dublin, where our maid,
Although we were not aware of facts, which, perhaps, we should not have understood, yet we were much grieved with the appearance of embarrassment, melancholy, preoccupation; visits from strange men, and the total change in my poor father’s habits and manners. His sudden departure for the south of Ireland, and his promise either to come back soon or to send for us, pacified us for the moment, though we were far from happy at being left by ourselves.
We knew but very few persons, and those chiefly the families of our school-fellows who resided near us, and those of our excellent preceptors.
The facts, as they afterwards came to my knowledge, were
these:—A statute of bankruptcy was in process against my father. Our cousins, those
sage, grave men
An accident, in the interim, put me in possession of circumstances which my feelings rather than my intelligence enabled me to understand.
Opening, one day, one of my father’s old theatrical books, the
Memoirs of Mossop
“
”
&c.
This enlightened me as to the meaning of bankruptcy, and also
accounted for the fact that
Under these circumstances, my character seems to have developed itself rapidly, for adversity is a great teacher.
My father’s last words before his departure, were, that we
should write to him daily, a command I took on myself to obey with great alacrity, trusting
to chance for franks. I was already passionately fond of writing
about any thing to any one.
“What can we argue—but from what we know?”— . Pope
Some copies of old (or rather young) letters were preserved by
our poor old servant
“Letters from
”
You see how soon I begin to fulfil your commands, for you
are not many hours gone. But you bid me not let a day pass before I began a
journal and telling you all that happens to your two poor loving little * The year is probably 1796.—Ed. See what God has sent to comfort ye!
” and it was indeed
remarkable that at that very moment the heavy clouds that rested over the dome
of the round church just opposite, broke away, and, in a burst of sunshine,
down came flying a beautiful gold-coloured bird, very much resembling that
beautiful picture in the picture-gallery in Kilkenny Castle which we so lately
saw. Well, Sir, it came fluttering down to the very sill of the window,
had painted yellow!
neat as hands and
pins could make us,
” she said, and we went to church; but just as
we were stepping out of the hall door, who should come plump against us but
If you will allow me the honour, I will come in and escort you at
four o’clock.
” “No, sir,
” said
Molly, who hates him, and who said he only wanted to come in and have a romp
with there is no need, as your
grandmamma lives only next door;
” and so we went to church and
You forget, sir, that you are now a member of the most learned
university in the world, and no longer a scrubby school-boy.
”
Well, the cloth was scarcely removed and grace said by
Come, girls, let us have a stroll in the College
Park whilst granny takes her nap.
” Oh, if you could only see
granny’s face. “No, sir,
” said she, “the
girls, as you are pleased to call the young ladies your cousins, shall not
go and stroll with you among a pack of young collegians and audacious
nursery-maids. Now that you are a member of the most learned university in
the world, you might stay quiet at home on the Lord’s day, and read a
sermon for your young friends, or at least recommend them some good book to
read ‘whilst granny takes her nap.’
” All this time
digest till I
return.” The next moment he was flying by the window and kissing hands,
and so granny and the old black cat purring together, fell fast asleep, and we
took up our books and seated ourselves in each of the parlour-windows. Now,
what do you think, papa, these books were? Olivia’s was Sheridan’s DictionaryEssay on the Human
UnderstandingI think it
was the smell of mignonette, for I can remember when I first smelled
it, and the pleasure it gave me, and above all, your singing “Why, you little
fool, you won’t understand a word of it.
” But I convinced
him to the contrary at tea, to granny’s amazement, who said,
“You might have found a better book to put into her hands on the
Sabbath day.
”
Now, dear Sir, good night; After being up at six o’clock, one may, I suppose, go to
bed before midnight.
” I forgot to tell you that good
Tom Dermody?
since you threw him
off,
” those were his words; “you his best and only true
friend,
” and he had never heard or seen anything of us since he
went to school, until he saw a little
Well, dear papa,
You know how ill Dr. and AnthologiaAnthologia
The next day his sergeant came to him and said
Well, papa, never was anything so altered! He is a very
handsome young man, and has lost all his shyness. He said he had been looking
us out every where, ever since he arrived, and had been at the Theatre Royal
for you, but could get no information. Seeing a little
The next morning I received a note by the penny post,
with a poem which I should be ashamed to show you, dear papa, it is so very
flattering, if it were not to prove that he has lost nothing of his art of
poetry.
* This is the † Cad or Cadenus, was a name frequently given
to children in Ireland, in memory of Dean Swift, and after “his
The Blue
StockingCadenus and Vanessa
* Memoirs of LavoisierRichesses
Territorielles de France
” She screamed out, “Lord Jasus, preserve
us!
” and we laughed so that I let fall the phosphorus, which burned
through the table, and even the floor, and my left hand too, which brought up
You see I have let two days pass since I wrote last; but
I will not go to any school—where they can teach
me nothing I did not know before! I was at the head of my classes at Now, dear papa, I have two novels nearly
finished! The first, is WerterThe Memoirs of
the Duc de SullyCamillaEvelinaHer education is
certainly not finished, and she has none of my pursuits; droll, and witty, and
musical as she is. Now, so much of the family
disposed of—now for me. I, yesterday morning, opened my heart to Dr. and
grand tour, with a
rich young All my corporal faculties are bound up to the
purpose.
” I will not say more, dear papa, at present; but I hope to
have everything settled by the end of next week, when we must give up these
expensive apartments, happen what may.
PS.
It breaks my heart to annoy you; but what can I do
without your advice? I wrote to odious These two little girls are not
school pupils, for I don’t give lessons in schools, but as the
friends and playfellows of my little
” Now, as
to a guinea a month to darling old mâitre
de ballet
” and up comes chasser à la
ronde
” and only think,
there we were; the next moment we were all of
us—pour
comblepour M. Fontaine et ses
amisrobe de chambreI ever saw, and quite elegant. At a little distance was
such a charming little rondelette lady, tuning a harp, but exclaiming,
addressing a little espiègleposé
protégées, and élèves, and they were all so delighted to see
dear old robes de chambrebattemens
Nun. I suppose you never saw a live nun before?
Me. Oh, yes, ma’am, often; but never one so
charming.
Nun. Ah! you have rubbed your tongue against the
blarney stone! You see I know something of Ireland.
Me. Are you Irish, ma’am?
Nun. Yes, and from Cork, too; where I am going to
resume my convent life.
Me. I beg pardon, ma’am; but may I ask you why
you left France?
Nun. Because I should have been killed had I
remained there. Our convent was destroyed, and only for my cousins, the dear
Me. But who was the
Nun. That is the
Me. Oh, I know, I have read her Veillées du
Chateau
Nun. That tall gentleman is the Count, and those two
young persons who were putting up the candles are the Vicomte and Vicomtesse,
all great personages Garde de CorpsAide toi et Dieu t’aidera
In spite of myself the tears would come into my eyes,
and I shall never forget that maxim, “Aide toi
et Dieu t’aidera
She asked me if I were a Catholic, and many other
questions, and seemed quite to take an engouement
From the time the beau monde came
in, all was buzz, and entre nousIrish harp is a very poor concern compared to the
French; at the same time, the working of the pedals was very disagreeable,
making a noise like a kitchen-jack. Then Les Précieuses RidiculesI thought; but what do you think, dear papa,
arpèggio on the harp. We were encored and applauded
till we were almost ready to cry, and made to sing an English song, which we
did, “Artaxerxesbeaux, one of whom leaned over her chair
the whole of the night like a vignette in one of frank-day: but, to use I rose from visions of the night”
quite another
creature. Great thoughts have come into my mind, which I will tell you in my
next; but the sentiment uppermost is, “
” So God bless
you, dearest papa, I am going to try to sleep. Aide
toi et Dieu t’aidera
Your letter and the enclosure were most welcome and most
gratefully received. To show you how much I am up to business, I accompanied
We will trouble you for a receipt to
” that,
if you please!
Beggars’
OperaPadlock
Well, sir, on arriving home what should I find but a note
from dame de compagnieLockeThat man
is a regular pickpocket, for I have given a crown and I did not mean to
give half.
” Well, he took my hand, and we sat down. He looked
very earnestly, and said:
“Are you the young lady of whom
”
I said, “Yes, sir, I believe so.
”
“Are you
”
I was ready to burst into tears, and could only answer,
“Yes, sir.
”
“But you are very young, my dear; I should say
you were fitter to go to school than to commence instructress.
”
“Perhaps so, sir; but great misfortunes have come upon poor papa unexpectedly, and ——“
Here I was obliged to cover my face with my
handkerchief. I suppose to give me time to recover, he gently drew
“Upon my word,
” said he, laughing,
“this is a very grave study for so young a lady. Now,
”
said he, “let me hear
” your definition of an
‘innate idea.’
He looked so comical that I could not help laughing, too.
“Oh, my dear, don’t hurry yourself, it is
a question might puzzle a conjuror.
”
“Well, sir,
” said I, “I had
no idea of you until I saw and heard you preach your beautiful sermon for
the poor women of the Lying-in Hospital; but having seen and heard you, I
have an
” idea of you which can never be
removed.
He actually threw himself back in his chair, and took my hand, and, would you believe it, papa, kissed it. He is of French descent, you know.
“Well,
” said he, “you are
the most flattering little logician I ever coped with.
” He then
took a serious tone, and said, “My dear little girl, I respect your
intentions; and from what
(I suppose I looked
so)—“it is one will mend but too soon. The Misses
”
He now rose, and as he deposited Locke
“Pardi!
” said he, in some surprise,
“You are a poetess, too, are you?
”
And then he read aloud, and most beautifully, my little
stanzas to you on receiving your picture, and then rolling up the book put it
into his pocket without ceremony; and, with a cordial shake of the hand and a
“
” disappeared—and so ended this awful
visit, which, though it left me agitated, left me delighted with what I had
done, and so will you be some day, dear papa. je me
sauve
I am so tired I can write no more to-day; but we are
Dear Papa—The
This morning, at nine o’clock,
“My dear
And so, sir,
Nothing could be more cordial and kind than the Bishop.
He slightly alluded to the original objection of youth, and said he could not
give any positive answer till he had seen
“These are very pretty stanzas,
” said
he, “as to
”
After a little more conversation, the beau chaplain drew
in his head from the window, and said, “My lord, the Stay here, my dear, the Bishop will send back his
carriage for you in five minutes, the streets are so crowded;
”
and then he sprang into the Bishop’s coach and was out of sight in a
minute. I was waiting in the parlour for the carriage to return when it rolled
up. I ran out to get in—the steps were let down slap dash—the
footmen standing on either side, when to my surprise
Just as I was sealing up this to send for my Castle
frank, a note from
I write to tell you what has offered for our darling
You know, with all partiality, that she needs a good deal of finishing, though she has left me far behind in music and drawing.
She supposed she was to be
thrown over, and
” &c., &c.
I have some good news which I shall reserve for another
letter, as I want to save the post; but I just ask you if you ever heard of an
old lady of the name of
God bless you, dear papa, you shall hear again soon, don’t be uneasy if not for a few days.
[The family of Featherstone, or Featherstonehaugh, became of great
importance to
The reason I have not written to you for some days is
that I have so much to say, and so much that I was afraid of saying, that I
thought it better to say nothing at all; which “all,” I think, will
surprise you—and for myself je n’en
reviens pas!
Well, last Thursday,
You know what a fine street Dominic Street is, and so
close to my old school. Well, a handsome mansion, two servants at the door, my
name taken, and I was ushered at once into a large and rather gloomy parlour,
in the centre of which two ladies were sitting at a table. The one at the head
of the table, a most remarkable figure both in person and costume, but who bore
her ninety years with considerable confidence in her own dignity. She sat with
her head thrown back, her little sharp eyes twinkling at me as I entered, and
her mouth pursed up to the dimensions of a parish poor-box. She wore a fly-cap
(of which I have taken the pattern), on her silver but frizzled hair,—her
very fair face was drawn into small wrinkles, as though engraved with a needle
over her delicate features, and when I tell you what I have since heard, that
she was the rival and friend of the beautiful
* The occasion was this:—At the court of
Seated near her at the same table, and writing, was a sweet, charming, good-humoured-looking lady, who got up to receive me in the most cordial manner, whilst two nice girls, the eldest already apparently in her teens, struggled to get me a chair, and then stationed themselves one each behind their mamma and grandmamma.
“That is nothing to the purpose!
” said
the old lady sharply, “Come to the point with this young person, as
you know you have no time to lose;
” and turning to me, she said,
“You are very young to offer yourself for so important a
situation.
”
The two girls looked at me as much as to say,
“Don’t mind grandmamma,” and
“ with an orange lily in her
bosom. Dear mamma, now, you must leave
” and then she
said to me, “I assure you, my dear, I am much prepossessed in your
favour by all that our good
”
“But to begin,
” interposed What will this
young person expect? she cannot offer herself as a regular governess, she
is so very young.
”
The girls winked at me and grimaced again.
“She shall first offer herself as my visitor at
Bracklin Castle for the Christmas holidays,
” said and then
we shall see how we get on and suit each other, which I am sure we shall
very well.
”
The old lady said, knocking her hand on the table,
“I never heard such nonsense in all my life!
”
At this moment the footman came in to announce that the
carriage was at the door, followed by a handsome jolly-looking woman, the
lady’s maid, with
Come,
my dear, and I will set you down, and we will have a little talk by the
way, for I have an appointment which hurries me away at present.
”
The two girls ran after us and said, “Do come to us, we shall be so happy
at Bracklin, and never mind grandmamma,—nobody does,” and with this
dutiful observation they shook hands cordially with me, and I drove off with my
bran new friend. What was amusing in all this was—that I never opened my
lips till I got into the carriage, when I thanked
As we went along I settled a few points relative to my
journey to Bracklin; but I was dying to ask her if this Spectator
At last I did, and she said, “Oh, yes, my father,
the late your
“Well, it was finally arranged, I was to start for Bracklin on the following Monday (this was Friday) by the mail, which would take me as far as Kinigad, where the Featherstone carriage, horses and servants would meet me; but as the mail reached Kinigad at an awkward hour, I was not to leave that place till daylight. In short, I never met any one so kind as this dear lady.
The next morning I took my darling
full of the hope of meeting next spring.
petit bal d’adieuthe mail goes from the head of this
street; it will blow its horn when it is ready for you, and we will all
conduct you to your carriage.
”
Well, papa, this was all very nice, for I wanted to be
cheered, so I dressed myself in my school dancing dress, a muslin frock and
pink silk stockings and shoes.
Well, dear papa, we did not exactly mind our time, and
the fatal result was—that I was dancing down “Money in both
Pockets” with a very nice young man,
One of the young gentlemen snatched up my portmanteau, and so we all flew along the flags, which were frosted over, and got to the mail just as the guard lost patience and was mounting, so I was poked in and the door banged-to, and “my carriage” drove off like lightning down College Green, along the Quays, and then into some gloomy street I did not remember.
As for me, I was so addled, I did not know where I was. At last we drew up before some ponderous gates and a high wall.
A sentinel was pacing up and down with a lantern
flashing on his arms, which reminded me of the castle of Otranto. The guard
blew his horn, and the next minute I heard an awful shout and uproar, and
singing and laughing, and the gates opened and there appeared a crowd of
officers and gentlemen, who were shaking hands with one person, with
“Good-bye, old boy, and let us hear from you soon,
” and
other phrases.
The coach door was opened, and the gentleman asked the
guard, “Is there any one inside?
”
And the guard answered, “Only an old lady, sir,
as far as Kinigad!
”
“Oh, by Jove!
” said the gentleman,
retreating. “I say, coachy, I’ll take a seat by you.
”
So the door slapped-to, up he mounted, and the horn blew, and we were off in a
minute.
Oh-h, sir, it takes away my breath only to think of it now!
Well, we were soon out of Dublin; the moon rising over the beautiful Phœnix Park, the trees of which were hanging with frost and icicles; the Liffey glittering to the left, and lights glittering in the Viceregal Lodge as we passed it on the right.
If my heart had not been so heavy, this would have been
a scene I should have delighted in. And so we galloped on, changing horses only
once, when I was much struck with the interior of the stable, which was
Our next stage was Kinigad; but it was a very long one, and we did not arrive till three in the morning.
Such a picture as the inn was! The ostler, half-dressed, coming with the horses, and roaring for a waiter, or Caty, the chambermaid, to come down; and then the officer sprang down from the coach-box and came to rummage in the coach for his hat just as I was stepping out, assisted by the dirty ostler. I suppose the officer was struck with my pink silk shoe, for he laid hold of my foot, and pushing back the ostler, he said,
“What! let such a foot as that sink in the
snow—never!
” and he actually carried me in his arms into
the kitchen, and placed me in an old arm chair before a roaring turf fire! and
then, ordering the chambermaid and to get up and get tea, and everything for the
young lady,
” to which everybody answered,
“Yes, Major; to be sure, sir; everything your
honour orders. Your gig, has been here, sir, this hour.
”
In short, he seemed the commandant of the place.
He then came up to me and said,
“I had not the least idea who was in the
carriage. The guard said it was an
” old lady; in
short, you must let me make amends by offering my services in this wretched
place. I hope you will command them now. I am quartered here, and know its
few resources. You are not going further to-night, I suppose?
I was dreadfully frightened and confused, but I answered,
He took off his hat, made me a low bow, but seemed stunned with the information. He again called the landlady and said,
“I would prescribe some white wine negus, for
you are chilled.
”
The waiter now appeared, and said, that
So I went to my smoky room; but on inquiring for my bundle and portmanteau, I found they had gone on in the Kinigad mail!
Fancy, dear papa, my dreadful situation! My whole stock
in trade consisted of a white muslin frock, pink silk stockings, and pink silk
shoes, with
Well, sir, you know I had nothing for it, so I took my
glass of hot white wine negus, threw myself on the bed, and was warmly covered
up by the fat chambermaid, who had neither shoes nor stockings on, and I fell
fast asleep; “but in that sleep what dreams!
”
The dreary Irish road from Kinigad to the pretty village
of Castledown Delvin—an appendage to the domain of the when the leaves were on the
trees!
”
The approach to the domain was announced by a
civilized-looking lodge; large, beautiful iron gates, opened by a fairy child,
and all that lay within was cultivated and promising, leading to a large,
handsome mansion of white stone—two carriages were rolling before the
door, at which stood two footmen, who at once ushered me into a handsome
drawing-room, to a party of ladies, muffled in carriage dresses, who stood in a
circle round the fire. Pinched, cold, confused, and miserable, as you may
suppose, dear papa, I must have been—in my pink silk shoes and
stockings—I perceived that my appearance excited a general titter; but
dear
bal d’adieuDear little thing—poor little
thing!
” The two girls carried me off from them all, to my own rooms,
the prettiest suite you ever saw—a study, a bedroom, and a
bathroom—a roaring turf fire in the rooms, and an open piano and lots of
books scattered about!
much good may it do ye, miss;
” and didn’t I tip
her a word of Irish which delighted her. Pen, ink, and paper were brought me,
and I was left to myself to rest and write to dear
The girls brought me, I believe, half their
mamma’s and all their own wardrobe, to dress me out; and as they are all
little, it answered very well. Well, sir, when I went down, the carriages and
party had drawn off to spend two days at
Our dinner party were mamma and the two young ladies,
two itinerant preceptors—
Now I must just give you a picture of the room. A
beautiful dining-room—spacious and lofty; a grand beaufet and sideboard;
before it stood
The dinner, perfectly delicious!
Well, I was in great spirits; and you know if there is anything I am strong on it is Irish
song—thanks to you—especially “This is a hearty welcome to ye, to Westmeath,
” which made them all laugh till they were
ready to fall under the table.
Well, after dinner I sang them “
After tea,
I, of course, danced with the “Professor,”
and
Public for public! It may be worth while here to contrast my last jig
in public with this my first out of the schoolroom. During the vice-royalty of the
I soon fell into my new position, not only
with ease, but avidity, for I found that “’twas my vocation, Hal!” It was
so new to teach and not to be taught—to assume authority and not to submit to
it—to snatch some hours from congenial duties for voluntary pursuits as pleasant as
they were habitual—to be petted like a child and to govern like a mistress. Fine air,
great exercise, spacious rooms, and abundant and wholesome living produced an immediate
effect on my spirits and my health. As my conscious independence influenced my mind, which
was now breaking forth at various points, I seized with avidity the reasonable observations
of raisoneur
The order and propriety which marked the economy of the house, the regular and easy hours gave me impressions of domestic discipline which are not yet effaced from my life and practice.
It was just the epoch when “the tide in the affairs of
man”
had taken that turn which introduced a high domestic civilization into
the houses of mere country gentlemen unknown to the Irish nobility of other times.*
And so in health and spirits, labour and amusement, flowed on sunny
days and seasons, which dear
whatever the collés montés
My intimacy with my young friends prolonged the epoch of my own
adolescence, and as a few hours sleep * Speaking of this one day to the late A few years back, during my residence at Kissingen, the
Domestic civilization in Austria, and what it was in Ireland a
century ago, seem much on a par, en revanchele superflu mais non
pas l’essentiel
Here is one as an illustration:
Looking from “my bower window,” one fine morning, I saw the “water-cask boy” on his way with the cart to a pure spring, a mile off, which supplied us with water; for Bracklin owed its name to its “Brack Lynn,” or the muddy stream: that was all the water then on the grounds.
It struck me that it would be charming to have “a drive”
before the duties of the day began, and that I could think of my novel as I went along. I
was then in the midst of
So I perched myself on the hogshead behind “
I yielded, and so did little
We both alike outstaid our time, and when I was reseated on my cask
and little
and those gates were opened by
“
” and so certainly there
had.
He said no more, but stalked before me into the house.
The girls were ready to die with laughing when I appeared, but
The most striking events in the first year of my residence with the
A frequent occasional residence in Dublin was the result of our getting the fine, old-fashioned furnished house in Dominic Street, which preserved in the costume of the eighteenth century a study for me of infinite delight.
The “best drawing-room” had not been entered for some years, and on opening the doors there was a rent in the tapestry of cobwebs, which was quite suffocating.
The curtains lined, and wadded and “finished” at the bottom with leaden weights to regulate their drawing up, were of rich crimson satin damask, and the fact that a crimson silk stocking filled with money fell down from the cornice on the first attempt to move them, was not the least interesting incident connected with them. The careful old lady had various such hiding places for her money.
The beautiful marble chimney-piece, finely sculptured, reached half
way to the ceiling, and was surmounted with a range of Etruscan vases. The ponderous chairs
and settees, as the sofas were called, were regimented against the wall, and intermingled
with cabinets inscrutable from their dust. A large table in the centre of the room was
covered with folio books, and here I must record the delight with which I first opened a
volume of
and the “taste” was—lemon-coloured calico hangings, highly glazed
with dark chintz borders; the Etruscan vases were replaced by ornaments of Derbyshire spar,
and pier tables painted and gilded; under the mirrors were tables covered with filligree
ornaments painted by me, which passed for works of art!
Such was the result of the frippery influence of Carlton House on the taste of the day.
Taste is truth, the truth of Nature in art. All transition states are the doubts between habit and experiment, impeding present progress even whilst they recognise past mistakes. The regency of England was in its season perilous as that of France. Both of them were under the guidance of men well gifted, but profoundly corrupted by the selfishness induced by their position, and the vulgar illiteracy of their bringing up.
During the interregnum between the removal of the sumptuous old furniture and the advent of the lemon-coloured calico, this precious old room was entirely consigned to my care and occupation, and there I pursued my own studies among the old folio books on the table.
I had never read
I think it was about this time that a demand being made by the butler
for paper to put round his candles, which femme de ménage
I gladly undertook the fouilleWell, my dear, you are heartily
welcome to them.
”
My first impulse was to enclose Pope’s letter to
My father’s Irish pride still rose in revolt against my position
in
I have just received
My eyes remain still so weak that I have with some trouble written these almost illegible lines.
Having read this epistle from
A thousand thanks for sending me
The idea of my being dame de
compagnietoo presumptuous, and a “humble companion” I will not be to any one. I could never walk out with
little dogs or “run little messages” to the housekeeper’s
room, as poor she was obliged to do at
What objections can you have to my occupying a position
as teacher to the young? It is a calling which enrols the names of Travels through France, Italy and
Germany
Sir John StephensonArtaxerxesThomas
Moore
One day he happened to play a piece of music, just then come out, which
he had brought for his pupils. I was charmed. He then said, “Oh, you shall hear it
with
” and he then
sang,
“Friend of my soul this goblet sip, ’Twill chase away thy tear; ’Tis not so sweet as woman’s lip, But oh, ’tis more sincere!”
I was enchanted; a new musical sensation seemed to be developed in me.
Oh, what would you think of
it, then, if you heard the author sing it!
”
I had not then even heard of
Would you like to hear him sing? He is too great a man to be brought here,
for never was a man so run after in my days.
”
He then proposed to bring me an invitation from
It was among the delights of my residence in Dominic street, that I was
within half an hour’s drive of the village of Richmond, where my beloved sister still
resided with
From royal palaces and noble mansions, he had returned to his family
seat—a grocer’s shop at the corner of Little Longford Street, Augier Street.
The Palace Borghese, at Rome, was called the “Cymballo,” from its resemblance
to a harpsichord in shape, and, certainly, the tiny apartment over the shop where
dodu mother—who looked like Irish Melodies
The women present were few, but all pretty; and the men eminent for
their musical talent. I remember them all; Doctors Beggars’
Opera
My sister’s tears dropped like dew—
artiste of the Dublin
orchestra,
My sister rose to draw Novice of St. Dominic
I had already completed my first novel, St. Clair
The
I had observed that the Dominic Street cook, a relic of the
I wandered down into Britain Street, past the noble bureau
d’esprit
As I ascended the steps, a dirty-faced boy was sweeping the shop, and, either purposely or accidentally, swept all the dust into my face; he then flung down the brush, and springing over the counter, leaned his elbows on the counter and his chubby face on his hands, and said:
“What do you plaize to want, Miss?
”
I was stunned, but after a moment’s hesitation, I replied:
“The gentleman of the house.
”
“Which of them, young or ould?
”
Before I could make my selection, a glass door at the back of the shop
opened, and a flashy young yeoman, in full uniform, his musket on his shoulder, and
The impudent boy, winking his eye, said:
“Here’s a young Miss wants to see yez, Master
”
and filled me from the crown to the toe, top full of direst
cruelty.
” I could have murdered them both.
All that was dignified in girlhood and authorship beat at my heart, when a voice from the parlour, behind the shop, came to my rescue by exclaiming:
“What are ye doing there,
”
The next moment a good-humoured looking middle aged man, but in a great passion, with his face half-shaved, and a razor and shaving-cloth in his hand, came forth, and said:
“Off wid ye now, sir, like a sky-rocket.
”
The old gentleman gave me a good-humoured glance, and saying:
“Sit down, honey, and I will be with you in a
jiffey,
” returned in a few minutes with the other half of his face shaved, and
wiping his hands with a towel, took his place behind the counter, saying: “Now,
honey, what can I do for you?
” This was altogether
I hesitated, and at last said:
“I want to sell a book, please.
”
“To sell a book, dear? An ould one? for I sell new ones
myself. And what is the name of it—and what is it about?
”
I was now occupied in taking off the rose-coloured ribbon with which I had tied up my MS.
“What,
” he said, “it is a manuscript, is
it?
”
“The name, sir,
” I said, “‘
”
“Well, now, my dear, I have nothing to do with church books,
neither sermons nor tracts, do you see. I take it for granted it is a Papist book, by
the title.
”
“No, sir, it is one of sentiment, after the manner of
‘
”
He passed his hand over his face, which left the humorous smile on his face unconcealed.
“Well, my dear, I never heard of ‘
”
At this announcement—hot, hungry, flurried, and mortified, I
began to tie up my MS. In spite of myself, the tears came into my eyes, and poor,
good-natured
“Don’t cry, dear,—don’t cry; there’s
money bid for you yet! But you’re very young to turn author, and what’s yer
name, dear?
”
“
” I said.
“
”
“Yes, sir, I am his daughter.
”
“His daughter? You amaze me!
” and, running round
the counter with the greatest alacrity, he said, “Come into the parlour and have
some breakfast, and we will talk it over. Why your father is the greatest friend I have
in the world.
”
“Oh, no, sir, impossible; I am expected to breakfast where I
live—I must return.
”
“Well, then, what
” can I do for you?
Will I recommend you to a publisher?
“Oh, sir, if you would be so good!
”
“To be sure I would?
” He then took a sheet of
paper, wrote a few lines, rapidly tossed a wafer about in his mouth for some minutes,
sealed his letter, and directed it to Now, here, my dear;
” And so with curtseys and blushes, and wiping away my tears, I started
off for the other side of the water, and ran rather than walked, to Mr. Brown’s of
Grafton Street.
A neat and rather elegant shop, and a door with a bell in it, admitted
me to the sanctorum of
“I am Mr. Brown.
”
I presented him the letter, and while he read it I cast my eye into
the interior of the shop-parlour, where sat an elderly lady making breakfast, and a
gentleman reading beside her. My patron impatienter
“
” She looked at me earnestly, and then drawing
What is it?
”
“A young lady who wants me to publish her novel, which I
can’t do—my hands are full.
”
I put my handkerchief to my eyes, and the old lady said, in a compassionate voice:
“Wait a little, perhaps
” (that was the gentleman in the back parlour). Turning to me, she said,
“This gentleman, who is our reader, will give us his opinion of your book, my
dear, and if you will call here in a few days, I am sure
”
I could just answer, “Thank you, madam,
” and
depositing my MS. on the counter, I went out of the shop, getting back to Dominic Street in
time to hang up the bonnet and cloak in the cook’s hall undetected, and to wash my
hands and face and make my appearance at the breakfast-table, my absence being only noticed
by
“You have been taking your early walk,
”
The next day we departed for Bracklin, and I abjured, as I then thought, for ever, authorship, its anxieties and disappointments. I heard nothing of my book:—one reason, perhaps, was, that I had left no address, though I did not think of it then.
This was the last portion of her autobiography which
Among the papers which refer to the period covered generally by
the foregoing autobiography, is a packet of letters tied together, and endorsed in
This packet contains the records of many incidents which illustrate at once her history, her character, and the manners of the time when they were written. Some of the letters are interesting for their own sake, all of them are endowed with that questionable interest which attaches to the unadorned records of those “very privatest of men’s affairs,” about which every one likes to hear, but about which scarcely any person ever tells the truth.
The packet has two lines by way of epigraph:—
Under date of 1823, there is a memorandum:—“This whole
farrago I lay at the feet of my dear husband, with whom love began (true love,
” par parenthèse
All who knew
The letters written to her father during her stay at Bracklin, give no
indications of correspondence with any one else; but the following letters found in the
above-mentioned packet, are addressed to
The activity of her mind, her passion for self-improvement and self
cultivation; her ambition to help her father in his embarrassments, an ambition that came
before the desire of personal distinction had made itself felt, were so many guardian
spirits which took her thoughts out of the enervating and dangerous course of day dreams of
love, marriage and eternal felicity. In writing her novels, she found a channel for her
imagination, which turned to profit a warmth of sentiment which would otherwise have gone
into love affairs, and have brought neither comfort nor credit to
”
an unformed lump of a girl,
”
whose greatest delight was to go rambling about the fields “armed with a big
stick, and followed by a dog,
” once returned from her rambles covered with
mud, and her frock torn from scrambling over hedges and ditches; her hair all blown over
her face (she had the loveliest long golden hair that ever was seen) and found her sister
Come, be off with yez—an the masther will be coming in to his
dinner, and what will he say to find you here fandangoing with
”
These letters require no explanation.
To address you perhaps from the most selfish of all
motives, as I once resigned the correspondence you honoured me with from one of
all motives the least so, I begin enigmatically; but I shall unravel as I go
on, and if you then doubt me I shall at least have the consolation of your
pity. You will at least give me
To say that I have been unhappy since these afflicting
tidings were conveyed to me, would be to say nothing. I have incessantly
mourned a loss no circumstance can efface, no time repair, and the only act of
alleviation I can now have recourse to I have thought of often, and at the
distance we now are it is, perhaps, no longer liable to the objection that once
influenced me—at least, should it again become
dangerous to my peace of mind,—it is impossible I should feel an added
weight of sorrow to that I have so long endured. Yes, my dear those sentiments
were not mine, it became me to declare what they were, or to be silent for
ever. I will not now suppose what might have been the effect of such a
decla-
What absence and the distance we are now at may have done
I will not describe to you; I will not be guilty of a falsehood in saying I
have either forgotten you or that I remember nothing of the sensations I have
felt for you; on this subject, indeed, I dare yourself, for will
you not at least afford your poor friend—I cannot yet say brother—consolation? [here much of the letter is
effaced.] Selfish as the idea is, we still love to have sharers in our
affliction, and I feel that if you mingle your tears with mine on this sad
occasion, that my heart will be lightened by your sympathy. Farewell, my dear
de rigueur in monumental tablets.
A second time I address you—in what manner I ought
to do it I know not. I have offended you, I
I wrote to you,
I offended you, perhaps, in daring to transgress the
sacred rule of friendship you only authorised me to preserve. If so, let me
perhaps be more daring in saying, I ought to be forgiven. I have prescribed to
myself limits of affection over whose boundaries it were wrong to pass. You
conceive, perhaps, it is imprudent in you to continue a correspondence with a
man who has said that he once loved you. Be it so, I
pledge to you my word of honour to mention the subject no more; I pledge you my
promise never to violate that friendship I have so repeatedly professed for
you, and to remember only the sister of my heart. If,
from any circumstance whatever that has occurred since I first knew you, of
whatever nature it may be, you are convinced it will not be the least
gratifying to you to hold any communication with a man you certainly once
honoured with some degree of regard, at least say so, leave me not in cruel
ignorance whether
These two letters are much worn and torn, as though from frequent
reading and handling; very different to the condition of the other letters in this packet.
On the back of the above letter is written, “This elegant-minded and highly-gifted
young man drowned himself near York, a few months after I received this
letter!
”
The unfortunate young man seems to have served for the model of St. Clair
One advantage that artists possess over the rest of the world is, that although they suffer keenly, they have the faculty of turning their emotions into knowledge, and of finding consolation in the very act of using this knowledge as material for their art.
In spite of her natural heterodoxy, Poems of a young Lady
I received your kind letter, and it gave me very sincere
satisfaction to find that you were blessed with a child whose talents and good
disposition were likely to prove so great a comfort to you. I need not tell you
how necessary it is, at the same time that you foster her genius, not to feed
her vanity, which is so apt to keep pace with reputation. Neither need I tell
you that vanity is one of the most dangerous passions in the female breast. I
have been in Dublin these six weeks, under the hands of the surgeons, confined
to a sick room, and therefore little qualified to forward your wishes
respecting her publication. I hope that I shall not always be a prisoner; but
the first effects of my liberty will be to return to the country, where alone I
can hope to perfect my recovery. When I return to town, both
The next letter in the packet is from
I received your very affectionate letter with the
sincerest transport, and take the earliest opportunity of answering it. Though
of late not unused to general adulation, when I pictured that angelic semblance
I had once seen, writing my encomium, the flattery, I confess, was of the most
pleasing kind. Did I not know your taste and accomplishments, indeed, in my
opinion unrivalled, the pleasure would be less. Why not mention my dear
Battle of the BardsMore
Wonders
Your epistle is much more poetical than some modern compositions in rhyme. Direct to me,
“No. 28, Stratton Ground,
From the same clever but foolish young poet, there is a letter to Miss Owenson’s father.
I received your letter this moment, and waive all other
business to accelerate the answer. I shall not take up your time with
professions of gratitude, which you know I owe you ever, and will therefore
excuse. I have been very fortunate since I had the pleasure of the finest in this age, in which are the venerable names
of
I have not yet seen her London ReviewMonthly ReviewMonthly
MagazineMonthly Mirror
I had like to have forgot your remembering me to my
dear
The autobiography, it will be remembered, closes abruptly with
St. Clair
The publisher excused himself for not having communicated with her, by reminding her that she had left him no address. He presented her with four copies, which, for that time, was all the remuneration she received. Afterwards she re-wrote the work, and it was published, improved and enlarged, in England.
Her father, at this period, 1801, was for some time stationary at
Coleraine, and he wished to have both his daughters with him—he had been a long time
separated from
In the latter end of April or the beginning of May, 1801,
The following letter, addressed to
Here I am, dearest Madam, safely and happily arrived on
the shores of the vast Atlantic, after a journey, tedious indeed, but amusing
from its novelty, and comparatively delightful from the unexpected circumstance
which attended it, namely, my father and extraordinary
duenna that ever waited to give a young lady convoy. I found these dear beings perfectly well, never looking
better, and my father at least ten years younger than when I parted with him.
After a survey of the beauties and natural and artificial of Ardmagh
(where we met) we proceeded to Coleraine. After a journey through a country in
some respects the wildest and most savage, nothing can appear more delightful
than the situation of this town, which is in the highest degree picturesque and
romantic I cannot say much for the town, less for the town’s people. They
are almost all traders; rich and industrious, honest and methodical; these are
not the result of my own experience or observation, but are taken from the
experience and observation of others. The military and their families form the
only society worth cultivating, and even for these there is not much to be
said. But you know that is a subject on which I am not easily pleased. Now for
matters more substantial: meat and bread are at Dublin prices; fish of the
finest and choicest kind almost for nothing; poultry very,
very cheap; and vegetables scarce altogether; notwithstanding being
reduced to one course, I contrive to live, and still
bear such visible testimonies of your good table as will
enable me to keep up a good appearance for a month at
least. And now, my dearest madam, having so long pestered you with myself, let
me speak a little of my kind friends in Dominic Street. Neither my restoration
to my family, my present happiness, nor the distance which divides us can
soften the regret I felt at parting from your good family, nor obliterate the
remembrance of the many happy hours I spent in it, or the kindness and
affection which I experienced from every member of it. Though my many
negligences and those faults inseparable from human na-would express—and this interest
promises to exist when probably she who cherishes it will no longer live in
your remembrance. The benefits I derived from my residence with you were many,
but they never exceeded the gratitude they inspired, nor the sincere attachment
with which I remain,
PS.—I must say a word to you, my dear little
girls, though but to tell you I dream of you every night; that I long to
hear from you, that I request you will coax mamma to
write to me, and remember me most affectionately to the boys.
Although
There never was the most passing thought of allowing either of his
daughters to go upon the stage. So far as
St. ClairSt. ClairThe Sorrows of Werter
It is easy to laugh at all this; but it were devoutly to be wished that the young authors of the present day would read a little before they begin to write so much.
A home picture when she returned for a short time to her father and sister after leaving Bracklin, may be extracted from a scrap-book in which she made her multifarious extracts from the works she read, wrote out the rough draughts of poems, and entered (very sparingly) her own thoughts and impressions:—
“
” September 12th.—Indisposition confines
The following commentary on that universal text—Love—is curious as coming from a girl. It comes from the same scrap-book, and bears her initials after it:—
“
“I do not agree with
The indomitable energy and indefatigable industry which characterized
her both as
In spite of her romantic love for her father, and her sincere attachment to her sister, the beautiful illusion of living a domestic life with them soon wore off.
Accustomed as she had so long been to the plentiful comfort and
regularity of the could not endure dulness or discomfort.
In the course of a very few months after her return
——“After all, I can meet with nothing to
recompense me for the loss of your’s and papa’s society, nor would I
hesitate a moment to return to you were I to consult happiness only. You do me great
injustice in supposing I was not happy when last with you. It is true, my spirits sank
beneath the least appearance of discord, and I have hitherto glided on through life so
much at peace with all the world, that it would give me pain to excite ill-temper or
ill-humour in the most indifferent person in existence; and though I was not so
fortunate as to please
every member of my own dear family, you
best know with what heartbreaking regret I left it.
“Here I am, almost an object of idolatry among the servants,
and am caressed by all ranks of people. You know one of my maxims is, never to let
anything in the world ruffle my temper, and by this means I continue to keep others in
good humour with me.
“Accept my compliments of congratulation on your cloak. I
have a correspondent in Dublin (
all the rage, as savage as possible—you
never saw such a curly-headed little rascal as I am. passe-partout
“I wish you would read history. My little folks are going on
charmingly; they are the dearest children in the world, and dote on me as I do on them.
They would amaze you at geography, and history, and music Write soon.
“We are expecting the handsome, fat
I have just come to town, and sent your father the answer
to his commands. Your letter was highly interesting, and your lines to the
Quaker, “Ah! why do I sigh?” extremely beautiful. You are, indeed,
my
“There lurks within thy lyre a dangerous spell, That lures my soul from Wisdom’s dauntless aim; Yet if I know thy generous bosom well, Thou would’st not dash me from the steeps of Fame. Trust me, thy melting, plaint, melodious flow, Could animate to love the icy grave; And yet, if thy pure feelings well I know, Thou would’st not sink me to an amorous slave! Graced with no vantage, nor of birth nor wealth, That to Ambition’s happier sons belong; E’en at the price of my sole treasure—health, I own that I would be renown’d for song! For this I wander from the world aside, Muttering wild descants to the boiling deep, ’Mid the lone forest’s leafy refuge hide, And slight the blessings of inactive sleep.”
Now, considering that this comes neither from a “very old” nor “very ugly fellow,” you might excuse some warmth of colouring. To use another quotation of my own—
“Why, though thy tender vow recal another. May not my rapt imagination rove, Beyond the solemn softness of a brother, And live upon thy radiant looks of love?”
In reply to your desire of knowing why I thought
Mooreintended you, I can only repeat that it was mere
supposition, founded on the idea that he could not be in your company without
poetic emotion. But on my soul, I think you are be-rhymed enough for one lady!
In the midst of his reckless life he retained for her sentiments of
respect and attachment; and he cherished the memory of
To
My chef-d’œuvretête-à-têteLivy
Conceive how I idolise your remembrance. Were you
Pray did you not mistake my meaning in some passage where you say I seem to boast of an affected libertinism? certainly, my fair monitress, you did.
I have been a libertine but never a hypocrite, for which
reason my failings have been more noted than my few deserts. I detest and
despise the false taste and false wit of modern infidelity. I have written
When the publication of this volume is complete, I am
determined to have one month’s happiness in Ireland; but it must be when
you are at home. What a meeting it will be, if I do not deceive myself! Then I
may share (another quotation of mine from the epistle to you by name):—
How I long for you to read my next volume; you make so sweet a part of it yourself. It is my pride to be publicly allied to you in fame as I am privately in the fondest friendship. Adieu.
This roving, clever, inconsequential and rather silly young gentleman
died of consumption in July of the following year.
It must be borne in mind, that
The days of
The following letters to
It is well if even this original scribble will serve to call to the minds of my dear Bracklin friends, that little body who often thinks on them with many pleasant recollections.
On my return from Enniskillen I wrote you, my dear madam,
a long letter, with a full and true account of my northern expedition, and all the Dublin chit-chat
I could collect. This was two months back, and yet not a line from Westmeath. I
will, however, gladly compound for a little neglect and
unkindness, provided no domestic misfortune has
prevented me hearing from you. If unkind and ungrateful, but I know
the world too well not to be more hurt than surprised at
it. I believe I often told you it was what I expected, nor was I a false
prophetess. Let me hope, however, that your and stiff as ever. I met also the garret that you could bundle me into for a
night or two, I will invite myself to spend a couple of
days with
My novel is publishing this month back, in Dublin, and
will be out early next month. You will be surprised to hear the work I composed
at Bracklin I have given to oblivion, and that this one I wrote in the evenings
of last winter, though I went out a great deal. It is inscribed to St. Clair, or First
Lovefather very sensibly. We have got his picture (done a
few hours before his death). false. I am told his life and works are now
publishing in London, by subscription, in a very splendid style. Adieu, my dear
madam; pray let me hear from you soon, and give me a circumstantial account of
the little boys. Take the trouble of presenting my best
respects to the
Many happy Christmases and New Years to all the family of
Bracklin, and very many thanks to my dearest my man completely. This has produced an ode to a jig, which I will send, when I can get a frank,
to your papa; for I know it will please him. Well, the other night we were at
an immense row at Athens of Ireland,
music and literature carry everything before them; and
Nothing can be pleasanter than our life at present;
to-morrow we are to have Latteville. My little girls are
the best and most attentive creatures in the world, and if mamma and papa do
not flatter, are making a wonderful progress; but you shall see them in spring,
for we all go for two or three months to Dublin, from that to Ballyspellin Spa,
and then make a tour to Killarney, and so back home; such is the plan laid down
for the present; but give me Fort William, and I am content. Why do you force
me to tell you my pupil’s names, or why cannot I answer you by writing
The two letters which follow would appear to have been written
by
“
” says L’union de
l’esprit et du corps est en effet si forte qu’on a de
la peine a concevoir que l’on puisse agir sans que
l’autre se ressente plus aux mains de son
actiondare be sick? Had I your mind
and imagination I should set the whole College of Physicians at defiance. And,
as it is, though gifted with a very small portion of the vivida vis anima!citadel the
heart,” and command its pulsations,
fibres, nerves, &c., with the unlimited power of a field-marshal. Thus,
having subjugated my constitutional forces, I play them
off as I please. When my pulse grows languid, and the heaviness of approaching
sickness seizes on me, I immediately set fancy to work, seize the pen, and mock
the spirit of poetry; then the eye rolls, the pulses throb, the blood
circulates freely in every vein—my poem is finished—I am well. Or
should a fever seize my absorbing spirits—memory and hope thrill every
nerve—call up the forms of joys elapsed, or paint the welcome semblance
of joys anticipated; then the heart beats cheerily, and recruits every artery
with new tides of health. Well! Vive le
galimatias!jubilate as a
requiem. Seriously though. Do you know I never was seriously ill. But the day I dined with you I was
struggling hard with a cold—an influenza—and you might have
perceived a fever burning in my cheek, that seized me beyond the power of fancy to dispel it on my return home. I must have
appeared, therefore, to you very different from the thing I
am,—“sober, demure, and steadfast.
” I suppose I
looked the personification of jeune savantelettre de cachetadmire virtue of whatever
species or description, for I have been so long attempting to make the
“worse appear the better reason,
” and pleading so
strenuously for the errors of superior talent, that I began to fear you put me
down as the decided apologist of the vices of genius;
but I know, had I taken up the right side of the question, there would have
been an end of the argument, and I should have lost some of the most delightful
passages in your delightful letters. However, the best reason I know of the great soul being more liable to err than the little one,
is that given by We may generally discover,
” says he, “a pretty
nice proportion between the strength, and reason, and passion in the
greatest geniuses, they having the strongest affections; as on the other
hand, the weaker understandings have the weaker passions.
” So
poor genius mounted on his high-mettled racer, with no
more power to check his pranks and curvettings, than is given to the
leaden-headed dulness to guide his sorry jade (who sets
off at a tangent), suffers thrice the concussion, if the zigzag caprices of his
courser do not even force him to lose his equilibrium.
I entirely agree with you that some
women, in attaining that intellectual acquisition which excite ad-heart,
the dearest, proudest immunity nature has endowed her
daughter with—the precious immunity which gives them empire over empire, and renders them sovereigns over the
world’s lords. I must tell you, my dear madam, I
am ambitious, far, far beyond the line of laudable emulations, perhaps beyond the power of being happy. Yet
the strongest point of my ambition is to be every inch a
woman. Delighted with the pages of La Voisinewoman. Seduced by taste, and a thousand arguments,
to Greek and Latin, I resisted, lest I should not be a very
woman. And I have studied music rather as a sentiment than a science,
and drawing as an amusement rather than an art, lest I
should have become a musical pedant or a masculine artist. And let me assure you, that if I
admire you for any one thing more than another, it is that, with all your
talent and information you are “a woman still.” I have said thus
much to convince you that I agree, perfectly agree with
you, in all you have said on the subject, and that when le cosur aimantCastle HydeNed of the
HillsCastle HydeSt.
ClairI am strongly tempted to enclose it you. L’amour propre aime les portraitsto her against whom it was meditated, and
I sent the profile to a poor partial friend who will think more of it than the
original itself deserves; but friendship can be un
peu aveuglelove.
My sister begs leave to return her acknowledgements for
your polite inquiries, and the sympathy you expressed as to the nature of her
disorder. She is now perfectly recovered, and very busy tuning the pianoforte by my side.
My father is so proud of the recollections you sometimes
honour him with in your letters, that though they were not made, I should
invent them for the sake of affording him ideal satisfaction. If I had given
him leave, he would himself have assured you of his gratitude.
I took the liberty of tormenting you with a long and
nonsensical letter some time back, which I was in hopes would have procured me
the favour of an answer; for it is so long since I had the pleasure of hearing
from you, that I began to fear I had either unconsciously forfeited your
friendship, or that you found me a troublesome correspondent. I hope that has
not been the cause of your silence, for I really know not whether I should feel
most at losing your friendship, or your losing your health—a most
unpleasant alternative. But one line from you will be sufficient to obviate my
suspicions, or subdue my fears. As I found that these good folks were
determined on going for life to Castle-tumble-Down, and as I never had a very strong propensity for
the society of crows, who have established a very
flourishing colony in the battlements and woods in Court Jordan, I gave in my
resignation last week. But, seriously, I do not think I ever was more agitated
in my life. They made me every offer it was possible could tempt me to remain
with them, even till November, when in the wall? If
not, or at any rate, will you have the goodness to let me know, by return,
whether it will be perfectly convenient to you to accede to my request, that I
may make some other provision. I shall stay but a day or two in town, as I am
extremely anxious to get home; my father has taken a nice little place about
two miles from the town of Strabane, and delightfully situated.
Adieu, dear madam; assure Mr. F—— of my best wishes and respects, and all the dear young folk of my affection, and believe me
Illness has prevented my answering your letter; an
epidemic cold attended with fever has borne very hard upon my family. My eldest
son has been very near death, and I have been myself confined to my bed, and am
still obliged to keep the house, with the usual consolatory reflections that I
am no worse off than other people, &c., &c. If the miseries of others
were to render us satisfied with our own lot, no one would have a right to
complain. You remember La
” In real illness and sorrow one has
often occasion to think of that.
I shall be very glad to see you when you are in Dublin.
Two gentlemen of my acquaintance have added to my wish to know you, and yet
they certainly saw you in society unsuited to you, and which I am sure chance
alone could have thrown you into. My daughter has been taught music and still
continues to learn, but has not, I think, any decided taste or talent for
it—both my sons have; the
Allow me to say I do not conceive your extreme modesty;
why should you not have supposed your charming little work worth dedicating to
any one. I think it would be a high compliment to
the taste of whoever could understand and appreciate it. Adieu, dear madam, I
am sick and sad, but hope to be neither by the time I have the pleasure of
seeing you.
I was on the point of sitting down to write to you, my
dear little friend, when I received your welcome letter. The cause of my
silence was this: anxious to discharge as much of my debt of obligation as was
dischargeable, I waited for a Dr.
——’sgig, and mean next week to go and
visit the city of county Londonderry, so fa-foreigners or Irish people, and
have not many ideas beyond their wheels and looms. A market day presents a curious scene. The young
women are all dressed in white, with their hair fastened up fancifully enough
and seldom covered. At the entrance of the town they bathe their feet and put
on shoes and stockings which are constantly taken off when they are leaving it.
I have frequently seen them with flowers and feathers in their heads and their
stockings tied up in a handkerchief. In a social sense they are most
unpleasant, and, upon the whole, they are the last people in the world that an
educated person would wish to spend their life with. We have been pretty
fortunate; the rector’s family of Raphoe (a little village near us) have
paid us every friendly attention, and we are St.
ClairNinaThe MinstrelSt
Clair’sfallow in the A, B, C,
D-way for some time. I am glad to hear that all your friends are well; pray
present my respectful compliments at Grange and Riverdale. Poor
French, I will write
constantly in French to her (provided she will answer me in the same language)
it will help her more than she can imagine. I shall be delighted to have it in
my power to be in any means instrumental to her improvement. Say everything
that is kind for me to papa and mamma; assure the dear boys that I participate
in their regret in our not meeting. Adieu, my dearest little friend, continue
to write to me, and believe that I am among the warmest of your well-wishers
and sincere friends,
attorney prey on her damask cheek, adding paleness to what was
already pale.
I read your little secret memoir with much the same
species of emotion as
You allude to the “imprudence of the light
which leads astray, is the light from
Heaven?
” the
primary matter of which woman is constituted is more flexible, irritable
and elastic than that of man;
” added to this, their delicacy, the
ardour of their subtilized feelings, the warmth, the animated tenderness of
their affections; then, for a moment, conceive the influence of genius and
talent over this dangerous organization; conceive a flowing but dejected heart,
refined but desponding mind, escaping from the solitary state of isolation its
own superiority has plunged it in,—deceived by a gleam of sympathy, and
led “by passion’s meteor beam,
” beyond the barrier
virtue has erected and which prudence never transgresses. Then, though we
lament, while we condemn, we almost cease to wonder. I had yesterday a letter
(four pages long) from St.
Clair’sbuzz and murmur of
those unfinished things one knows not what to call,
” (who come in
droves to us every day) still sounding in my ears and dissipating every
propensity to common rationality; and sometimes by the side of an invalid
sister, who is paying the tribute of a rheumatic complaint for having too
closely adhered to the fashionable costume of the day; added to this, I began
my epistle in full dress, going to a party, that I continued it in deshabilléen bonnet de nuitnuances de stylede faire mes amitiés
The commissions I troubled you with—were to
inquire at St. Clair
* An old Irish melody, the words by
When Novice of St.
Dominicin those days one volume or six volumes was alike to me.
”
Whilst engaged on this novel she paid a visit to a neighbouring family
named pattes
de mouche
The letters of
His letters are thus endorsed in her own hand:
“
” Novice of St.
Dominic
“that in person so
am I.
“August, 1824.—Received this day
a letter from à mourir de rire
“
” August, 26.—triste looking couple. My
poor Francis silent and sad!
We may now go back to the beginning of this little romance.
I am just sat down to tell you that I have been thinking
of you this hour past, according to my promise. Can you say you have fulfilled
yours as well? But why say this hour? There is not one in the day that is not
full of your idea, and devoted almost entirely to the recollection of the happy
hours I have spent in your society, and which are now fled, perhaps, for ever,
as you are no longer here who made Lisburn at all tolerable. We no longer hear
your voice, “pleasant as the gale of spring that sighs on the
hunter’s ear,
” in our little circle, which was so often
delighted and enlightened by your bewitching prattle; and I now, for the first
time since my return from Belfast, begin to feel Lisburn insupportable. I
almost regret having ever known or formed a friendship for you; but I lie; it
is impossible any one could ever wish he had not known you, whom you honoured
with your esteem. What have you to answer for to me? By over-refining my taste
you have made the girls of this town insupportable: after having been blessed
with your society it is impossible to be ever on friendly terms with them; and
I am convinced I can never experience so sincere a friendship for one of my own
sex. I don’t know the reason, perhaps you can tell me; but I think those
subsisting in general between men are fickle and
I believe I promised to tell you how we spent the day, on
the morning of which you left us, and you shall have it as well as I recollect.
You left us a little before eight o’clock; we followed your carriage out
of town and watched it till the last winding of the road concealed it from our
view; we then returned across the fields with no very enviable sensations, and
climbed every ditch we met with to endeavour to catch another glimpse of
you—we got just one, as you passed a grove on your left, nearly a mile
from town, and then lost you in the distance. I am almost ashamed to tell you I
could hardly suppress a tear at thinking it might probably be the last time I
should ever see those with whom I had passed away so many pleasant hours: but
to quit such nonsense and finish my journal:—man. We were talking of you all day, and cursing the chaise-boy for
coming home so soon. Did you ever hear of such a set of selfish rascals? In the
Did you think your friends would have disgraced your remembrance so much as to tell a devil of a lie the very day you left them?
You told me you did not think Certainly, Miss
Owenson
I was employed most of Friday in putting a little cabinet
in order, and have it now filled with your wee notes and other dear little
remembrances of you. I keep nothing else in it but OssianWerter
I have been reading Werter
And yet I know not whether I should thank you for so
particular a mark as you have left on this page; it seems to imply something I am not over-pleased at your thinking, if
you can think so. You have marked this sentence
strongly, “And yet if I was now to go, if I was to quit this circle,
would they feel, how long would they feel that void in their life which the
loss of me would leave? How long—yes. Such is the frailty of man that
then where he most feels his own existence, where his presence makes a real
and strong impression—even in the memory of those who are dear to
him—there also he must perish and vanish away, and that so
quickly.
” Ah, don’t think it will be so with us; you do
not, you cannot think so. The loss of you has left
on us “a real and strong impression” indeed; but if you will think
you will be forgot by us, you may at least allow that you will first drink of the waters of Lethe.
I have began, and read the first book of Charles the Fifth
A very little of
The following letter will explain itself:
Your charming letter, of no date, found me last Saturday
very much indisposed with a severe headache, attended with feverishness, to
which I am subject. My head is something better, but I am not well in other
respects, and in the midst of hurry and preparation for town, where we go the
day after to-morrow, to remain for the winter. I leave this quiet spot, liberty
and fresh air with regret. In town I am plagued with the bustle of the city
without being able to join in its amusements. The theatre I have long ceased to
attend: when there is any performance worth seeing I dare not encounter the
crowd, and what is mis-named private society, is become almost as formidable on
a similar account; and my own immediate little circle that I used to draw about
me, time and the chances in life have committed such depredations upon, that,
like I sit alone in my
halls.
” Exclusive, I should say, of my own family, whose society
becomes every day more pleasing to me, as “knowledge to their eyes her
ample page rich with the spoils of time”
gradually unrolls, I
shall be happy to see you in town, and wish my house admitted of offering you
an apartment in it; but we are already crowded like bees in a hive and
inconvenienced for want of room, in a way that would try the patience of a
female
I make no doubt that your work will succeed: going
yourself to London is certainly the best security for justice being done you.
The
Above twenty years absence from London (to which place I
was never permitted to return), has broken or relaxed every tie I had there. To
some my place has been supplied, others have pretended to suppose themselves
neglected by me, to excuse their own neglect of me. And there are a few who,
with more apparent reason, have thought themselves forgotten by me because I
was not at liberty to explain why I did not pay them all
the attention I wished.
When we meet we will converse fully on the subject of
your book, in the meantime rest assured that all I can do I will, for I have a
real wish to serve you;
“Without one friend to recommend, when I
wished to publish The
Novice
I have read with peculiar pleasure your ingenious and ingenuous letter. It exactly portrays the ardour of mind and the frankness which always accompany true genius.
It concerns me that I am forced to
reduce to pounds, shillings, and pence, every proposition like yours—that
all the speculations of genius, when they lie in my counting house, become the
subject of arithmetical calculation—that if, when tried by this
unaccommodating standard, they do not promise to yield a certain rate per cent,
profit, I am led to treat them with cold-useless or visionary!
And still I am often (undeservedly) complimented as the most liberal of my trade! as the
most enterprizing of all the midwives of the muses!
I am ashamed to say, that the cold-hearted calculations which constantly absorb all my faculties in my own interested concerns, have prevented me from seeing or reading the little work of yours, of whose merit I entertain no doubt, since it is demonstrated arithmetically by the number that has been sold.
I am, therefore, unable to write with precision, being in
the practice, in all these matters, of judging for
myself; and although I repeat that I have been charmed with the
ingenuousness of your letter, yet my prudence gets the better of my politeness,
and commands me to see and read before I engage for your new work, unless I had
previously been concerned in the sale of the old one, and was well acquainted
with its merit and character.
The Reviews I never read, nor would any person, were they
acquainted with the corrupt views with which almost every one of them is
conducted. If your work has received their praise
without its being paid for, your merit must be great indeed, and I shall have
reason to be proud of this intercourse.
You can send the MS. through any friendly medium,
addressed to me, to the care of
I assure you I am not used to write such long letters, but this has been extorted from me by the respect with which I feel myself your obliged,
When the Novice
In those days the journey was long, and somewhat hazardous for a young girl. There was the sea voyage, and the long coach journey afterwards, from Holyhead to London. She had to travel alone, and she had very little money to help her on her way.
She used to say to her nieces, in after life, that they—carefully-nurtured girls as they were—little knew the struggles and difficulties she had to encounter in her early days.
Her first journey to London was in curious contrast to the brilliant visits she subsequently made. When the coach drove into the yard of the “Swan with Two Necks,” in Lad Lane, she had not a notion where to go or what to do next, and sat down upon her small trunk in the yard to wait until the bustle of arrival should have a little subsided. Overcome with fatigue and anxiety, she fell fast asleep. For some time no one remarked her—at last, a gentleman who had been her fellow-passenger in the coach, saw her sitting there, and he had the humanity to commend her himself to the care of the heads of the establishment, begging that they would take care of her, and see that she was properly attended to.
The friend who thus unexpectedly interposed on her behalf, was the
late
After a night’s rest,
He insisted on having the Novice
He was extremely kind to her whilst she remained in
town—introduced her to his wife, and placed her in respectable lodgings. He paid her
at once for her book; as soon as she received the money, she was anxious to take it herself
to her father; but
This first fruits of her success could do but little towards rescuing
The first purchase she made for herself out of her literary earnings
were an Irish harp, from
The following letter, from Mrs. Inchbald, addressed to Miss Owenson, at 30, Upper Eaton Street Pimlico, is the only record of any incident during this first visit to London:—
The young lady to whom she alludes, was a
Your letter interested me as usual. I thank you for the regard which it expresses for my interests, and for the compliments (most unmerited) which it pays me. I hope to maintain your good opinion, and that we shall be as much in love with each other twenty years hence as we are now.
You are right in your conception relative to the work of
light to shine! I am
sorry you have assumed the novel form. A series of letters, addressed to a
friend in London, taking for your model the Turkish letters of Paul and
Virginiacommand attention.
I assure you that you have a power of writing, a fancy,
an imagination, and a degree of enthusiasm which will enable you to produce an
immortal work,
I earnestly exhort you to subject yourself to this drudgery. It may be painful to endure for a few weeks, but you will reap a harvest, for years, of renown and fortune.
Every one speaks highly of the Novice of St. Dominic
PS. A series of letters on the state of Ireland, the
manners and characters of its inhabitants, &c., &c., would be well
read in the Monthly
Magazine
Such as it was, the Novice of St. DominicNovice of St. Dominic
Sydney Owenson
The following letter, although it has neither date nor address, was
written to Wild Irish GirlHistory of Irish MusicWild Irish Girl
I believe the surest mode of reviving your friendship for
an object that, God knows, has very unconsciously forfeited it, is to tell you
that you can be of some service to her. The foregoing page will tell you how I
am at present employed, having engaged with * The Wild Irish
GirlMr. Walker
Have you seen my Novice of St. DominicSt. ClairThe Morality of English
Novels
amende
Whilst engaged in writing the Wild Irish GirlLay of the Irish
Harp
I am just honoured with your obliging favour of 30th ultimo. It would make me truly happy to promote in any way your elegant undertakings. Any assistance I can afford you may freely command.
With
The compass of the Irish harp is certainly confined. It is a very imperfect instrument. The Welsh have improved considerably upon it. Their instrument is much superior to our’s. Our harp, however, answered perhaps sufficiently the purpose for which I believe it was usually employed—I mean as an accompaniment to the voice. On many occasions, I presume, the bard did little more than sweep his hand over the strings of his harp while he recited the “Tale of other Times.”
I am rejoiced to find that
You are now in a part of the island where many of the
Finian tales are familiarly known. You will, of course, collect some of them,
and, perhaps, interweave them with the work on which you are at present
employed. If you could obtain faithful descriptions of some of the scenes of
those tales, you would heighten the interest of your romance by occasionally
introducing them. On the summit of Slieve Guillen, lies the scene of The ChaseReliques
With the plan of your work I am unacquainted. Perhaps you
have taken for a model, the prose romance of the Irish, which was, I believe,
generally interspersed with poetical pieces, like the Spanish romance (see
ReliquesHistory of the Civil Wars
of GranadaThe Mysteries of
Udolpho
If I might presume to offer any advice in regard to style, I would beg leave to recommend the familiar in the narrative parts. In the impassioned parts, it might rise sometimes to the lofty. In real life, the language of the passions is various and always appropriate. This, the writer of fictitious history should always keep in mind. The language of simple narration, where the passions are unconcerned, should be easy, elegant, and familiar. Such, I am sure, madam, is the language you will employ. And I am equally certain, that in the impassioned parts of your work, you will employ the words that burn, or melt, as the occasion may require. But I am, I fear, taking an unwarrantable liberty with you. My motive must be my apology.
I am happy to find that you still enjoy the protection of
your
If
I hope you will be able to draw from the
The next letter, written by
Your letter is precisely ten minutes in my possession,
and while dear he plays and sings
them in the true attic style of Conomarra, and I really
believe is more à portéOne touch of her finger would do your heart
good;
” one of the same character “con
amorenative wood-notes wild”
of the natural and unscientific
musician. But in these wretched ariettes there is only a
monotonous recitative strain without melody, and
incapable of being harmonized before the modern scale of music was given to
Europe by the monk Iliaddisin-volturamost
musical,
” I am not “most melancholy,
” and
that, in short, I am restored to my usual bizarre random
tone of mind. Oh, but Gressetbonne boucheMerchantLe cri d’un peuple heureux est la
seule eloquence qui sache parler aux Rois.
”
As I have not unpacked my books nor music, nor shall do
so whilst here, I have been thrown upon the rational
resources of painting watch papers, and rifling
the riches of a circulating library. There is a fine romance by a fine scholar
of Cambridge, where an Italian lady, in a glowing Italian summer evening, who
(after a day’s travel in Italian scenery) goes into novel requires a considerable portion of general
information, knowledge, and intelligence, besides talent—not that any of
these requisites were necessary to show my poor author that a bower,
al frescopounded cow in
the 13th century, and in Florence. Pray ask your learned Domine, pounded
cows in those days in Italy, or whether it was not introduced in a
later age by some tyrant English farmer. The name of this intemperate work is
Isabel
” Now tell me, in your next, you are well,
and then I promise you you shall have no more voluminous farragoes of this
kind, for you may perceive I am acting up to Mrs. Holman
Wild Irish
Girl
a gude conceit o’ hersel,
” and
it stood her in good stead all her life.
I did not suppose that a mother would deprive a father of his child!
She must not, however, be tolerated in an act of extortion, presuming on his affection!
He will do all that can be demanded of parental
affection, and he conceives he has already deported
himself with a liberality dictated by his feelings for both mother and child.
But if she will be headstrong, &c., &c., &c., she must even take her course!
If I had not seen specimens of your powers, an answer to your letter would have been very easy; as it is, I hesitate. You have been offered a very liberal sum; not much more—say a hundred pounds per volume is the most, as far as my knowledge extends—that has been given to the most popular writers, after their characters were established, for works of this nature and size. Admitting this to be your price, the volumes should be large, as they cannot be sold under five shillings, at the least, unbound,—not less than three hundred very honest pages. At my time of life, when, instead of advancing I ought perhaps to withdraw, I may be acting imprudently; but I cannot turn a deaf ear to your superior merit.
In depicting the miseries of the poor, your object, I trust, is not to inflame them, but to excite the attention of the rich to their relief. To whomsoever you send your MS. I recommend your keeping a copy, which should be transcribed page for page, not only to guard against loss, but for the sake of sending remarks should any offer.
I write because the season, the London season, is now at its height, and this is the moment for a work like yours to appear.
The Novice
On sending off the MS. you may draw on me for fifty pounds.
I assure you that I am exceedingly well pleased with the
Novice
I am favoured with your letter of the 8th, and as you
wish for a more explicit declaration of terms, I hereby agree to give you three
hundred pounds, British, for the copyright of your work, entitled the Wild Irish
Girl
A dozen copies will be at your service.
I write (in the greatest haste) to say, that agreeably to
your proposal of my meeting the overture of a lady—a young and beautiful
lady, one with whom I have been long enraptured—I will give two hundred
pounds for the Wild Irish Girl
The two hundred pounds to be drawn for in three notes, of fifty pounds each, at two, four, and six months, from the 1st of May, and the other fifty pounds at nine months from the day of publication.
The fifty pounds from the new editions to be drawn at six months each.
When I wrote my first of the two letters I thought we had
sold but six hundred and fifty copies of the Novice
I gave you leave, therefore, to draw for the premium on the second edition, and also for fifty pounds on account of my own child, which you have hitherto so cruelly detained, but which I was confident you could not persist in witholding from his fond parent!
My terms were those which a calculation indicated as just and liberal, and you know I told you at
the outset that I was nothing better than a calculator!
You will, however, I fear, make something more of me!
I have now advanced fifty steps instead of one, which is
more than you desired; you are, therefore, mine, all mine, even by agreement,
leaving the will out of the question!
God bless you, and believe me always devotedly,
It provokes me that a foolish spirit of revenge and
retaliation in Northern Summer
I am content, however, because such a spirit cannot but meet with its own punishment, and because, though unlawfully obtained, you are to benefit by it!
Still I am persuaded that my honest (legitimate) two hundred, and fifty pounds per edition, would have produced as much to you, and you would have no qualms of conscience, arising from your having robbed a parent of his own child.
In the first emotions, after receiving your letters,
I am sorry you had not faith in me, and that you have been misled and dazzled so as not to feel your true interest. I am ever disposed to give to authors three-fourths of the product of their labours—and I could not live with less than the other fourth.
A little calculation (my favourite
theme) may satisfy you that I made you a fair offer; and
The letter of nothing. I shall be glad to receive the re-Novice of
St. Dominicmy little Irish Girl
I am convinced you will ultimately find that you have been foolish and maliciously advised about the disposal of your new work.
You ought to have done justice to your own feelings and not have been induced to act against your conscience as you have done.
You know well what is due to me in this affair; but you are not to be blamed—you have been led astray by a go-between, whose conduct at my house ought to have excited your lasting contempt.
The history of all literature will do honour to my offers, and I am resolved to stand or fall by the liberality of my conduct towards you. My offer of two hundred pounds and fifty pounds for future editions, is all that reason could expect. In asking three hundred pounds, you were advised to be very unreasonable.
I say this in perfect good humour, being stimulated to
write by something which has passed to-day from a
Not able to part from you, I have promised your noble
and magnanimous friend, Wild Irish Girl
You were too rapid about the NoviceNovice
Write soon, and endeavour to make it up with me. It will be long before I shall forgive you! at least not till I have got back the three hundred pounds and another three hundred with it.
If you know any poor bard—a real one, no
pretender—I will give him a guinea a page for his rhymes in the Monthly
Magazine
Industry was Novice
The Wild
Irish GirlPrincess of Innismore
A young man,
The history of this curious friendship is detailed in the story of the
Wild Irish
Girl
The character of the
The great secret of the success of the Wild Irish Girl
I have read a letter from
my money, he has been
obliged to enter into a special pleader’s office
(for which I was forced to pay one hundred guineas as his admission fee), in
order to become what is called a black-letter
man—a mechanical lawyer. This is no great proof of
abilities!
I must very shortly leave this for
Dublin, perhaps for England, if my health permits. I would like to see you
before I went. I would gladly spend an hour with you some morning, if I could
do it without annoying your family; but, doubtful of my reception, I am
somewhat afraid of adventuring. Tell me, if I can go, will I see you without inconvenience? Tell me more, in confidence. Can I be anything to you? for my hand, my
heart, and my purse are freely at your com-minister to your convenience.
With cordiality and truth,
I beg to know where your decline of
life will be rescued from that miserable state! How, or where is your
Do you spend the winter at Longford? When do you go to Dublin? I am anxious to see you, and loiter away a little time with you; but, alas! neither you nor I can afford to be idlers, at least indulgence is not for me; but I am trifling, adieu,
PS. Would to God you would write less indistinctly, I
am only eternally guessing at your meaning. Perhaps, like the oracles of
old, you wish your characters may have double
meanings.
In July, 1806,
How delightful it is, my dearest darling pet, to address
you once more at home, and to know you are comforting my darling
Every indulgence, every tenderness, even respect that is possible for a human being to receive, is paid to me here. I am carried about as a show, worshipped as a little idol, and my poor aunt says she cannot help crying for joy, when she thinks she has such a niece! Although we have some most respectable folks frequently with us, the chair on her right hand is always kept for me, no matter whether her visitors are married or not.
Whatever I happen to say I like is prepared for
breakfast, dinner or supper; and all her fear is that I
Last night I had a famous logical and literary combat
with a young pedantic Cantab, just fresh from Cambridge, in which I was
victorious, and the poor old gentleman was so pleased that he sat up till one o’clock, though he usually retires at ten. But
kind and good as my uncle and aunt are, they are nothing to my dear little
affectionate cousins; the two boys are charming fellows, spirited, clever and
polite. them up or my
charming little Irish cousin—I have made my election.”
have got something knowing in
that way!
Yesterday we all went to Condover, one of the finest
seats in England. The paintings, statuary, study, &c., passed all
conception. The Welsh misses walked, and me! Do
you know I have had a most extraordinary packet from six pages!
mostly about pocket
money! You know my spirit—the order I returned—and gave
him a true and circumstantial account of my acquaintance with his son from
beginning to end; assuring him that the expected arrival of his son hurried my
departure from London; as my obligations to the
father precluded every idea of continuing any intercourse with the son,
unsanctioned by his approbation. I wrote very proudly and very much to the
purpose. He told me you looked well and hand-
Endowed with faculties for social success—she sang well and
played well, both on the piano and the harp—she danced like a fairy (an Irish fairy
be it understood), she was very graceful, and if the testimony of the many men who fell in
love with her may be believed, she was beautiful. She could tell stories, especially Irish
stories, with a spirit and drollery that was irresistible; her gift of narrative was very
great; she possessed that rare quality in a woman—humour—and she was as witty
as though l’esprit de tous les Mortemart
For this she worked hard. These ideas shaped the purpose of her life, and were to her like a talisman, which she held fast, and they carried her, almost unconsciously to herself, through the changes and difficulties which thickly beset her path.
She was possessed of genius, and there was an indestructible fibre of
honesty and reality in her nature
In the course of 1806, Wild Irish
GirlWild Irish Girl
In the autumn of 1806, she made a journey into the West of Ireland,
and there gathered the impressions, scenes, and incidents which she worked up into two
volumes entitled, Patriotic
Sketches
Patriotic
Sketches
This national sympathy and political sagacity gave to her national
novels a weight and interest, at the period they were written, far beyond what they would
have obtained as mere works of fiction and amusement; they were read, especially in
England, by those who would have shunned graver works,
She was not a blind, unreasoning partizan. She saw
The topics she discussed in these early works, have long been set at
rest. Ireland has had her full meed of justice, and she has now, for a long time, enjoyed
both a fair field and plenty of favour. The Ireland of
It was during this Autumn journey of 1806, that as a poor
relation, in consideration of the credit she had become to the family!
” She
remained many months with them, and she always spoke of the kindness they showed her.
It must have been with a curious mixture of pride and amusement that
she found herself amid the “old grandeurs” from which
“A rose called by any other name would smell as
sweet.” So, in short ImogenGlorvinaWild Irish Girlslave; but I replied I was your slave and blackamoor, and all this in the presence of Mrs.
A——, and
I send you a note from Cooper WalkerMooreJeffreyamende
honorable
Now, as to your
I tell you again, it is better to endeavour at a
representation on the London stage, both for gain and profit, than here; lose
no time, therefore, in adding to it by your fancy and invention. Take care of
the rest for your interest. At any rate, in its present incomplete and
ill-written state, and without a title, it is not fit to be laid before any
manager. You must, therefore, after you have made your alterations, in any way
you
I don’t know what name you should give your offspring. Tell me of some, and I’ll give you my opinion.
I have at last got your collection of
Had not Z. X. been put to the verses enclosed I should have sworn them to be yours. Pray keep them safe for me, I beseech you, for I consider them excellent, and breathe your patriotic tuneful spirit.
With best regards, you’ll believe me, my dear
PS. Did I send you my verses written at Donnington in
1802, at
The following offer from
When you compare me to a Jesuit and a Jew, you must be acting under the conviction of the slavery in which I am held by your fascinations! I would resent such treatment if experience in such matters had not taught me that in struggling against female caprice and despotism, the invariable effect is to draw one’s chains the tighter and to make them still more galling and potent.
If I buy the poetry without seeing it, it is obvious that
affection gets the better of prudence, and that you and
not the poems, are the chief object of my purchase. On
such an occasion, I can only lament that my means are not equal to my
inclination. Without meaning to play the Jesuit, I declare that you should draw
on me for a thousand pounds, if my other engagements and the profits of my
business enabled me to honour such a draft. My personal regard would assign no
bounds, if I were not restrained by “Jewish” calculations and
“Jesuitical” doubts!
In one word, then, I will give one hundred pounds for the
poems, to be drawn for at six and eight months, from the 25th of October; and I
will give other twenty-
The Wild Irish Girl
The beauties of her younger sisters have brought the
Novice
But really you are too sanguine, even more so than I am; I, who half ruin myself by the warmth with which I espouse the interests of those with whom I am connected. You are in the high road to fame and reputation if you will not run out of the course.
God speed and mend you, and, believe me, always
A letter from the father of
I have just read your Wild Irish Girl
As a sincere and warm friend to Ireland, I return you my thanks for the just character which you have given to the lower Irish, and for the sound and judicious observations which you have attributed to the priest. The notices of Irish history are ingeniously introduced, and are related in such a manner as to induce belief amongst infidels.
It is with much self-complacency that I recollect our meeting, and my having in a few minutes’ conversation at a literary dinner in London, discovered that I was talking to a young lady of uncommon genius and talents.
I believe that some of the harpers you mention were at
the Harpers’ Prize Ball at Granard, near this place, in 1782 or 1783. One
female harper, of the name of
I think it is a duty, and I am sure it is a pleasure, to contribute as far as it is in my power, to the fame of a writer who has done so much, and so well, for her country.
Wild Irish
Girl
During her stay at Longford House, a real old Irish
country-house, O’Briens and
O’Flaherties
With views as narrow as their sphere of action, and with a sharpness of
temperament, concentrated in their own little interests, their eternal expression of their
petty grievances and fancied injuries, was humorously contrasted with the remote obscurity
of their lives and position. Impressed with the highest sense of their own consequence,
full of contempt for all that was not of their own caste, class and sphere, they were yet
jealous of the fancied neglect, even of those on whom they looked down, and perpetually at
variance with each other. Such as they were, the Ban Tiernas, or
fair chieftains of Bog Moy, were strong, but not rare illustrations, of the fallacy of
those theories which give to the world every vice, and to solitude every virtue. The distance of their
residences was considerable, the ways impassable; nothing, therefore, less than some great
family festival, like the “Jug day” sufficed to draw together the
representatives of the ancient chiefs of Connemara and Tar Connaught, from their nooks in
the mountains, or the courts and castles “on the other side of Galway town.”
By the great Protestant authorities, the Hawkses and the Proudfoots
(and their dependents), these ladies were looked upon like other very old Protestant
families, as half Papists and whole Jacobites (a race
The last of the old pack of cards had now been sent out by “Paddy
the Post,” and distributed through the country. No vague apprehension of who would or
would not accept the invitations, disturbed the habitual stateliness of the
Tributary poultry and tributary fish came teeming in from tenants on
sea and land, in kreels and Irishes, with guiggard trout from Lough Corrib, butchers’
meat from St. Grellan, and whiskey from every still in the barony. Linen was drawn forth
from chests and coffers, which for colour and antiquity resembled the “Singe du
Sorbonne;” and mould candles were prepared by the indefatigable
Cadgers came crowding to the back way, and beggars to the bawn. Pipers
and harpers assembled from all parts; and the pipe of claret (in honour
of which the feast was given) and which occupied the withdrawing-room, that had
long served the purposes of a cellar, was crowned with branches, and raised on a lofty bier
within view of the guests. As the “Jug day” intimated an invitation of
twenty-four hours at
The gradual “coming in” of the
“mere Irish” as they descended from brake or hill,
on saddle or pillion, or on low-backed cars, which upon such occasions as the present had a
feather-bed and counterpane spread over it, for the double purpose of state and ease, such
a vehicle has often transported as much beauty and even diamonds to the seat of rural festivity, as might grace the dinners
of the British metropolis.
The women on horseback were nearly all clothed in the same costume, enormous full-plaited cloth shirts, capotes and calashes.
As the fallen roof of “th’ ould withdrawing-room” had
not been restored, and the floor of the new one (now the cellar) had never been laid
down,—as the dining-room was strictly appropriated on the “Jug day” to
its purpose,—the best bed-room, which opened into the dining-room, was constituted
into a salon de réceptionbons
motspetites-maîtressesweavers rhyme to savours, meat to fate, and mean
to gain, (as James Kellymaître d’hotelLade out
”
This exordium being pronounced and followed by a general applause, the
lady, the venerable subject of many of pasentréesentremetsdormant of a creel of potatoes and a bowl of fresh butter, left no wish for more
brilliant or less substantial fare, while a vacant place was left for the soup, which was
always served last. Jorums of punch were stationed round the capacious hearth, port and
sherry were ranged along the tables, and the door opening into the withdrawing room,
disclosed to view the cask of claret. The idol to which such sacrifices were to be made, on
altars so well attended and so devoutly served—and before the palate was blunted by
the coarser contact of port or sherry, the new tap was tasted, and it required no skill in
augury to divine that the claret would be out before the company.
“
Before the cloth was removed, one of the party was asked by
The “Meejor,” with looks of conscious merit and
anticipated success, cleared his voice, and took another glass of claret, pulled up his
stock, and fluttered out his hair, and running through a few modulations at last began,
Applause, loud and long, followed this beautiful air, which, being sung with true Irish pathos and the finest possible voice, produced an enthusiastic effect upon organs the best adapted to respond to such an influence.
“
“With the greatest of pleasures, madam.”
The cloth being removed,
tiring each other down.” A supper, plenteous as the dinner,
was served up as the morning sun shone upon the unwearied votaries of pleasure celebrating
the last rites of the “Jug Day” over a “raking pot of tay,” which
assembled as many of the party who had not found it absolutely necessary to avail
themselves of
“Here in cool grot and mossy cell We rural fauns and fairies dwell.”
It is really supremely ridiculous to think by what shabby
circumstances and paltry concerns the best feasting but mortification that has blown me up.” Thus impelled by my morale and physique (though you
paid the forfeit of a tenpenny bit), I must write to you
and prate of your whereabouts.
Well, and how are you, and where are you, belle et bonne mamanCabinet des Féesnightcap of authorship, or the bas bleuspare
diet—in a word, notwithstanding the fatal effects to be expected
from the villanies of last winter, “all my original brightness” is
not lost, and my “glory, though half obscured,” still sends forth
some transient scintillations. I write, and read, and think, seven miles a day,
and have only to lament that pis-allerdelighting me. What a pity we are never
destined mutually to delight each other at the same moment, and that we are
still fated to play the respectable parts of two buckets in a well! By-the-bye,
a little work of mine will shortly make its appearance Wild Irish GirlVive la Philosophie
I wish Mr. and
It is pleasant to find her keeping up her correspondence with her old
pupils at Bracklin Castle; for some cause or other, her connection with the family of her
second set of pupils at Fort William, had not ripened into a permanent friendship. The
I was so surprised, and, indeed, mortified by your
silence, that at a hazard I wrote to South Hill. I had, however, some
presentiment that poor, dear mamma’s health was far from being what her
friends could have wished. The account you gave me of her danger shocked me
very much, for I believe there are not many after her own immediate family that
feel a deeper interest in her; indeed, it would be extraordinary and ungrateful
were it otherwise, for our know-
Here I am writing and reading every day until I am black
in the face; and eating, and drinking, and sleeping till I resemble nothing on
earth but a full-blown peony. I have, not ten minutes back, broken down poor
dry clothes; and while
After an age of solitude, during which period a new face
would have been a matter of astonishment, we have our house at present pretty
full; we have, among others, Mrs. and second-hand business, a Birmingham gaiety, is woeful!
I am getting on famously with my new work; there is but
one defect in it, namely, I cannot read a line of what I have written,—I
wrote in such a furore of authorship! I am sure you will condole with me on the
probable loss of my MSS. and bills, for I never have heard a word about them since I saw you.
worth having, I know her character; she is esteemed a
woman of superior taste, and ’tis said, contrived to convince the
NapoleonMr.
Goode’sChristmas! And I am wholly dependent on her, as she
takes me herself to Holy-brook, 120 miles—Connaught miles. I find I shall not be in to Mullingar
till eight in the evening; now I greatly fear it will be inconvenient for papa
to send any kind of a vehicle for me; pray use no ceremony, I can easily get a
chaise there; at all events, I think I had better sleep that night at advise me. Well
now, bye, bye, dear little gentle fireside, and best compliments and wishes; as well as I
can judge, I shall kiss your fair hand about the middle of November, as I am
anxious to go to town before the 1st of December; till then and ever
The following letter marks the commencement of a friendship
which lasted unbroken and unclouded till death set the final seal upon its permanence.
that it is a singular felicity when an early friend continues a friend to one
life’s end.
The letter which will introduce this clever and charming woman to the
reader, is endorsed by
I return you a thousand thanks for the honour of your letter, and I can only say in reply to those too flattering illusions, which you teach me to believe at present exist in my favour, that, what though a very few hours intercourse must put them all to flight,—you shall not find me deficient in taste to acknowledge your merit, or zeal to prove it by every attention in my power.
I am, madam, with perfect esteem of your character and sincere admiration of your very elegant talents,
It is only by the incidental mention of them in letters that we can
gather any particulars of
You are perfectly right in enjoying the gay season of
life. When time advances, we must be content to look on the world through
“the loopholes of retirement,
” as
Poor
I am rejoiced to find that you have another work in
contemplation. From you more than common success will be expected. Your name
(to use, perhaps, a vulgarism), is up; and I have no doubt that your future
productions will raise it still higher. As you visited a part of the country
where society is, in some degree, in a primitive state, you will, of course, be
minute with regard to customs and manners. You should also give all the
traditions that prevail, particularly those relating to the heroes and heroines
of the metrical tales of the Irish, some of whom, it is said, may be traced to
oriental tales. It is not improbable but you may have heard stories similar to
some of those which you have read in the Arabian Nights Entertainmentsen ami
I shall embrace an early opportunity of sending you the
romances. In the meantime I would beg leave to recommend it to you. Borrow and
read Specimens of
Early English RomancesWild Irish Girl
I have not seen any of the criticisms on your publication
in the Freeman’s Journal
I think you should look over the antiquity papers on the Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy. Any of the members could get you access to the library, where you might pass two or three hours with pleasure and advantage.
It is not, I am sure, necessary to recommend it to you to avoid all political reflections in your tour.
collaborateurrefrain of a
Spanish girl’s song to her guitar:
One of the few letters existing from
I am afraid my dear Sydas if they were my last words to you, that the very
first time she finds the least thing disagreeable, that you take her away and
send her back to me. She is, I am afraid, in a poor state of health. I have
made her take four glasses of wine every day for ten days back, and it has done
her, I think, much good. Be kind to her, and keep her two or three days with
you before she goes. I got her three gowns, and some other clothes, as well as
I knew how. Be sure you meet her at the coach-office on Tuesday evening, and
have a coach ready. Bring some male friend with you,
that she may not be imposed upon. She will leave me in very,
very low spirits; and God only knows what I hourly feel for her, and
what I am still to feel when she leaves me. She goes in the same coach you did.
I think the terms you mention for your
Paying the full expenses, which I hear will be a hundred pounds, is out of all reason. I would stipulate for sixty pounds, or guineas, at most.
Bargain I shall go up to play for you, and which I think
he will not refuse, and it would be a great deal in your way.
The foregoing letter refers to the separation between
Miss Owenson
She was now very much the fashion; all that was best and pleasantest in
Dublin society was at her disposal; she went everywhere, and knew everybody best worth
knowing. But what was far more valuable than social success, was the increased number of
those who became her true and sterling friends. In addition to Wild Irish Girl
In the midst of the first flush of celebrity, flattery, the homage of
society, and the pleasant things of all kinds that at this period came to her, with the
consciousness that she owed everything to herself, and had earned her own position, she
never relaxed her labour, but held fast to industry as her sheet anchor; she took all the
rest at its true value—a tide that might ebb, and not a stream that would flow for
ever. She had an intuitive sagacity to discern between what was really valuable, and what
possessed mere glitter; but she was none the less delighted at having effected her entrance
into high society; it marked the measure of the distance she had placed between Psyche
I have very often thought of you, and the pleasure you
kindly promised me since I had last the pleasure of seeing you; but the weather
has been so unfavourable for walking, that I could hardly wish you to come so
far unless you dined in the neighbourhood, and could steal an hour for me, as
you did before; if it should happen that you could dine with us at five, on
Thursday, it would make us very happy; but I am so uncertain about
Book of the Boudoir
The object of her journey was to arrange with
On her way to London,
This letter shows the acquaintance of
I am still here, delighted with everything around
me—let me add (and not in the mere vanity of my heart) not undelighting.
All here is stamped with a character new and impressive to my fancy. The fine
old Welsh mansion, ponderous furniture, and, above all, the inhabitants! The
figure and person of et un peu
passéecomme il y en a peu
I have found a harp and piano here, and as for you I sing it—people of true taste have but
one opinion.
Adieu; write directly to London. I leave this tomorrow.
PS. I forgot to mention in my last, Parkhurst
A great number of letters from criblé de dettes
” It was not until after his death that she roués, agreeable persons,
and ugliest men of his day!
A visit to her relations at Shrewsbury came into this journey to England; but although they were the same, she was not, and she found the place much less enchanting than on her first visit, but she always continued on the most friendly terms with them.
The
It is so natural to anticipate the return of hours that
were dear to us, and take the enjoyment we can estimate by experience, that you
cannot be surprised; my dear madam, if the Wild Irish
Girl again seeks that welcome at Penrhôs which has been already
so kindly lavished upon her. In the midst of the inebriety of London
pleasures—of gay connexions and kind and flattering attentions equally
beyond the hopes or merits of their object; Penrhôs, its perfumes,
drawing-rooms, its gardens, the strawberry plants, and
above
I shall leave Salop on Wednesday next (2nd of August); I
shall stay Thursday at Llangollen, with the Capel-Cerni; and on Saturday evening I shall be at Holyhead. Such are
my arrangements, if I am not disappointed in a place in the Shrewsbury coach,
for I shall not go by mail.
If, therefore, dear madam, you do not repent your kind and flattering invitations, I shall be delighted to pass a day with you in going back to Ireland; but I hope your Ladyship will be entirely governed by your convenience, without taking my wishes or inclinations into the account.
I have brought with me a little plant from London as a
companion for the strawberry plant. I do not know that it is very rare; but it
is very curious and very sentimental; I like it
selfishly for its resemblance to her whom your kindness touched so deeply. It
is a little twining, clinging thing, that fastens gratefully on whatever is
held out to its support; it is humble and unattractive, but perennial! You
shall, if you please, call it the Wild Irish Girl, for I
really believe it has no name; and so observe, I imagine it forms a little
class by itself. Adieu, dear madam; I request my affectionate souvenir to
PS. premium for singing the Scotch songs is now before
me.
I send this by hand to Holyhead.
Since I left London (until within this week back) my life
has been so unvaried, so wholly devoted to the irksome labours of my trade, that I have not written to you, because I wished
to spare you the ennui of reading the effects of my stupidity, or being teased
with unavailing complaints at the distress of a life no longer in consonance
with my habits and my feelings; while that anxiety which never slumbers for you—dearest of dear friends—and all that
concerns you, depended upon Olivia for information, who always men-par rapportshould
want.
My affection for you is connected and associated with
some of the most interesting moments of my early life; it does and must
influence, in some degree, the present and future events of my
existence—your tender little councils, your affectionate solicitudes,
your smiling reproofs, your kind indulgences, dear friend, they are all present to me. You are sometimes neglected, and I am a
wretch; but never has my heart ceased to love or to remember you—and when
I hear you are not all your friends could wish you in health and spirits, my
tenderness to you increases with reprobation towards myself.
I suppose à
mourirmais il y a des graces dans ses
ridesnot be
long till I do. Till then and ever, best and dearest friend,
A thousand loves and kisses to Tom
The book goes on swimmingly.
A few days later she crossed the Irish Channel, when she was seized
upon by all the heroine seekers in the Irish metropolis. A series of visits to the
Am I never to hear from you, my dear madam? am I to admire and to love you, and to have received a thousand kindnesses from you, and is it all to end thus?
The day after my arrival, I wrote to you and sent you the
songs you flattered me by approving. I sent them by hand, under cover to
Since I have left you, I have been in one continued round
of dissipation. They have actually seized me and carried me off to this little
Versailles by force of arms. I have been on a visit to
I write with
A thousand loves to dear
I have this moment reached town (for I live at the Black
Rock), and am seated at dinner with
Why not come and live amongst us? We are full of heart—we have some talent, and we should idolize you.
I go off the 8th to the Do, do think of
it, it would be worth coming to a “creature who knows
how to love so well.”
I am just sending my maid over with this to
Ida of Athens
Your kind letter and highly estimated present reached me two days before I left town, and I thought the best way to express my gratitude for both, was to wait until I could address you from a scene of splendid gaiety, that might enhance the value of my otherwise valueless letter.
A sentiment of affection and friendship must have deeply penetrated a heart, which, when united to a young, a gay, and giddy spirit, turns from pleasure and amusement, and pauses in the midst of its little triumphs, to think of the friend that is far away, and almost to regret the solitude which that dear friend rendered so gracious to every better feeling.
This, dear madam, I assure you, is frequently my case,
and in the midst of ovations decreed me, I think of the sweet walks and quiet
crags of Penrhôs; I think of the mass of black rocks I have so often
scrambled over with petits or
rather grands soupers—and on the other nights
balls and concerts. All day we drive about the town and gossip, and in the
shops; and we are wearing ourselves to death that we may enjoy life. You would
tremble for Ida
This is my first appearance in this part of my native
country, and the attention I receive produces the desired effect; but the
little heart is still worthy of you, so don’t fear for me. Your gown is
quite beautiful, and has been a great ally, for never wardrobe was so called
on. Dressing three times a day, without interval or cessation, for dinner and
the theatre leaves one’s dress quite unfit for the ball afterwards. Now
do, dearest madam, if you will not come, write to me. Your kind and
affectionate letters, your friendship and esteem, are infinitely more necessary
to me than balls and concerts. I hourly feel the strong line of demarcation
that exists between pleasure and amusement, and that it is to the heart we must
all return. I am indignant against souvenir. She is a recluse, and might spare a
moment from lilies and roses to ask me how I do. I do not believe a word of the
baise-mains
A note from
Familiar Epistles to J. F.
JonesIntercepted Letter from ChinaThe State of Ireland
The bitter fruit of Ida
I received your letter at Shrewsbury, where I have staid
five weeks under the care of
I thank you very much for wishing for my return to
Ireland, inevitably postponed, now, until next summer; I hope in God to be then
able to reside where only I feel myself useful, and consequently happy. I am
delighted that your last effort promises a fair superiority over your former
productions. You should think so, that it may in fact attain it; nor am I slow
to believe that every work you shall write the next thirty years will still
deserve a higher degree of estimation. A person gifted as you are with fancy,
taste and feeling, requires only a correct attention to the language and the
ripening hand of time (to prune away juvenile exuberance and consolidate the
judgment, ) to write well. A woman’s writings, too, should preach to us! Therefore, my dear your power, who have all the talents to attract your reader, without,
thank Heaven! like
Now I do think, though you may smile at my notion, that
you had written with more simplicity and verve, and had less chance of your
talent being tainted and sullied, under the humble roof of éclat, and that is at
best idle, lively mediocrity!
What did poor Versailles ever do, you should in your
wrath compare it with Dublin? . . . . The ghosts of your
Versailles say or do, that shall tempt the heart of feeling to sympathy, or the
eye of genius to rest with complacency upon them? Nature seemed to have
intended
But, wherever you are, accept my best wishes, burn my nonsense, and only consider it as a proof of the pleasure I find in corresponding with you that I have written so long a letter. And that I am, dear madam,
I am on the road to Bath.
The year ended pleasantly with the marriage of
For the remaining years of his life,
Miss OwensonIda of Athensthat he had used her
barbarously.
” She possibly asked too much money for her work,—or
Yes, my dear vis-à-vis in some chimney
corner; that I should understand you well, I have no doubt, nor should I laugh,
or rally at your romance, as you call it; for I have not forgotten the
aspirations of a youthful heart, and I have some sense
of the fastidiousness of a refined spirit; and I do think, that somehow, I
might be able to insinuate some little drop of cordial towards the serenity of
your’s. May we some day meet and discourse in peace! but, alack! here am
I now in all the agitation of an impending journey, methinks, a sort of dreary
and perilous pilgrimage, and my thoughts are all distracted; I dispatch to you,
therefore, but these few hurried lines, just to say I love you well, and to bid
you cheer your spirit; believe me, its droop is but a passing cloud. Often
shall I think of you, and wish for you, when in that tumultuous yet vague city
of
I am tempted to send you a bit of black velvet for a warm winter garment; ’tis only English velvet, as you will see, but it looks nearly as well as the best by candlelight, and is much wore, and will, I think, be a convenient gown for many occasions, especially at this freezing season.
It has been said that there was perilous stuff in Ida
Letter to Ida
I am honoured by the attention with which you have
perused my work, and obliged for the hints you have suggested for its
improvement. I am at all times open to conviction, but particularly so, when I
observe great nicety of judgment united to great kind-true and lasting interest of the little work in question, I
shall gratefully submit, sir, to your criticisms and alterations. While I
regret that my approbation of your judgment in a general sense is not
accompanied by a perfect coincidence in our opinions in a partial one.
Your apprehension that some of my readers will suspect
the work of being tainted with the philosophy of the new school of French
moralists, and of promulgating Deistical principles, give me leave to say, I
think unfounded. I solemnly assure you I am wholly unacquainted with the works
of the persons alluded to (except a very partial perusal of
Whatever, therefore, are my errors, they are exclusively
my own; are, consequently, free from the criticisms of common-place imitation,
and in an age when human intellect has nearly readied its god of attainment,
the writer who has (in the least degree) the power to be original, inevitably possesses the spell to be attractive. Were I writing for certain sects,
or for a certain class in society only, some part of
your appre-feeling
what it believes to be the truth, has no hesitation to declare it; but, though
sir, your private opinions may harmonize with mine, you will observe that the
interest of the persons who publish the work is also to be considered, and in
this I perfectly agree with you; but it would argue great want of knowledge of
human nature in general, and of literary experience in particular, to suppose
that a work original in its sentiments, or remotely inimical to an established
system of opinion, will, by the boldness of such an effort, be injured in its
circulation. On the contrary, the fermentations in public opinion, which it
gives rise to, awakens a public interest, and rouses a species of fanaticism in
its readers (whether for or against the leading tenets of the work,) which
eventually promotes its sale and circulation, and, consequently, the interests
of its publisher. God forbid, however, that I should
attempt to procure emolument to them, or a transient fame for myself, by any
other means than by the honest exertion of my little talent, contributing its
mite to the well being and happiness of society; and so invariably true have I ever found myself to its moral and religious
interests, that though I knew it was almost impossible to limit the inference
of prejudice and bigotry, yet I did not suppose the utmost stretch of sectarian
zeal could have tortured out an unmoral or irreligious sentiment from anything
Diako and his pupils (which I submit to with the very greatest reluctance) I request it may be
with very great delicacy; as there is not a word in them which (in a moral
point of view) I should wish to erase even on my death bed, or which I think
would be received with the shadow of disapprobation by
an enlightened, a tolerant, or philanthropic reader.
If I have, in the hurry of composition, asserted that the
union of social and selfish love constitute the perfection of human Nature, I
have written nonsense, for the union might exist upon very unequal terms, and
the selfish preponderate very much over the social.
I meant to assert that the subjection of the selfish passions to the social or
general good of mankind constituted the perfection of human Virtue; but of human virtue, I do not believe that any peculiar mode of
faith is to be considered, as it must be admitted that a Brahmin or Mussulman,
a Catholic or Protestant, may all be perfectly virtuous men, though they differ
in points of faith, and that a man who promotes the happiness of his fellow
creature is a virtuous man, even though he is a Jew, which is but his
misfortune, and it might have been yours sir, or mine, had we been born of
parents of that persuasion; for, after all, we must confess, that our religion
is more frequently our inheritance than our conviction;
though it may be both—and certainly, when his faith can’t be wrong
whose life is in the
” he broached a
much more heretical tenet than I ever wrote, or, indeed, thought, either true
or justifiable. I believe, therefore, if you substitute virtue for nature, I believe you will find
the passage perfectly innocent. As to the allusion to
This letter to
I have not answered your letter immediately, dear lady,
first, because you advise me not to be in too great a hurry, and next, because
I did not find myself worthy to answer it; but, nevertheless, it has been a
precious letter to me, it is full of the heart that I love internal oppression which at intervals
preys on me so heavily; it is but too true, dearest friend, I feel that, young
as I am, I have lived long enough; my existence (made up of epochs) has given a
high and false tone to my feelings, which calls for that excitation no longer to be obtained. I live in a state of
torpor—nothing touches me—and I resemble some unfortunate animal
whom experimental philosophy has placed in an exhauster,
with this difference, that it is still susceptible of vital powers, but that I
am beyond the possibility of renovation. This will all seem romance to you, and
you will laugh; but were I sitting with you over the fire, I could make you
understand me, though I know it would not be easy to make you feel with me; you, who bear about you the animation of the greenest
youth! My general apathy enters into my feeling for Idaet voilà tout!atrabilaireles petites
soirées
Ida of Athens
This novel procured for her the thorny honour of a QuarterlyIdaQuarterlyIda
In the month of February, 1809, the incident of the condemned
felon occurred. The letters now to be published tell their own tale. It is difficult to
realise, in the present day, the disproportion betwixt crime and punishment which then
existed, and which, as a rule, neither shocked nor startled even humane and thinking
people. Among
“A person condemned to death, after sentence was passed, wrote to
me from his dungeon in the confidence that I could save him. I received his letter on the
Saturday—he was to be hanged the Tuesday following. I hurriedly addressed, by letter,
the Judge, the foreman of the jury, and the
An unfortunate man, who was yesterday found guilty before you for the embezzlement of a bank post-bill out of a letter, was induced to cherish a faint hope of salvation from your eloquent and humane charge to the jury. To this hope he still clings, not from the consciousness of an innocence he cannot plead, but from the belief that you, sir, who seemed to think one solitary instance of error in the life of a human being was scarcely sufficient in the eye of morality or of mercy to extinguish that life; and that as one whom a transient weakness seduced, or a temporary distress impelled—as a father and a husband, he might awaken your interest in his unhappy destiny, and by benevolently recommending him to the mercy of the Lord-Lieutenant, restore him to a life of future honesty and exertion—to a young and helpless family who depend solely upon his exertions for subsistence and support.
For myself, sir, I am at a loss almost to account, still more to excuse, the liberty I take in thus presuming to address you; but your character has been long known to me.
A circumstance of life and death
induces me to write to you. An unfortunate man—a husband and a
father—was found guilty, two days back, of embezzling a bank note out of
a letter. There were many extenuating circumstances in his favour; his judge
felt them, and recommended him to the mercy of the jury; but in vain. The
wretched man sent to me (why I know not) to request I would use my interest
with any time to-morrow
before two o’clock, to whom I ought to apply, or what can be
done? If
Pray forgive this liberty, this trouble; it is my
dernier ressort
I am just favoured with your letter of the 22nd. Your
benevolent interference on behalf of the coming from the judge, of this poor man to mercy,
might neither be considered as justifiable, nor produce the desired effect.
I agree entirely with you, madam, in thinking that the principles of moral justice would not be infringed by an occasional extension of mercy, under special circumstances, to the case of offences, which, like the present, are not of great enormity in the criminal scale. But taking into consideration the pernicious consequence, in the present state of society, of such transgressions, not only the Legislature has annexed to them the punishment of death, but Government, I am afraid, is accustomed upon these occasions, to act with a severity bordering upon rigour.
I, however, have to add, that any co-operation with your
compassionate wishes, compatible with a due re-
Applications to Government in his behalf might, perhaps, especially in the first instance, come from another quarter; at once more correctly and more efficaciously than from me. For the making of such applications I will give you a reasonable time; and, as I have already mentioned, shall be happy to receive from you the suggestion of any step which, consistently with my duties, I can take towards saving the life of this unhappy young man.
With many thanks for the obliging terms in which you have been pleased to express yourself with respect to me,
Miss Owenson wrote again, begging an interview with the judge. To this
letter
I am just favoured with your letter, and assure you that
the compassionate anxiety which you feel, and
I cannot see the slightest objection (quite the contrary) in point either of prudence or propriety to the step which you suggest. I will do everything in my power towards having the honour of paying you my respects between one and two o’clock to-morrow. I have the honour to be, my dear Madam,
The first consequence of this intercession was a respite of execution
for a month.
In order to afford time for any interference which may
take place on behalf of the
She also wrote an eloquent appeal to the Duchess of the
I enclose you the letter for her Grace. your titular saint as well as mine).
I should wish that if you did not dine at the Park
to-morrow, or the day after, you would enclose my letter directly to the
deceased feelings
in my favour. I depend on you for once—forget yourself and remember me.
I return you many thanks for your Athenian air, and the
bon voyage
I shall proceed upon my journey at an early hour
to-morrow. But the memorial can be sent after me; and if it form a bulky
packet,
With best wishes for the speedy and complete reestablishment of your father,
PS.—Since writing my acknowledgments of
I had at Lifford the honour of receiving your letter
relative to the case of
Upon a reference to me, by his Grace the
As I apprehend it to be usual, when Government calls for the opinion of a judge, to abide by his recommendation, perhaps some hopes may be founded on the usage in this respect. But whatever hopes you, madam, may indulge, I must strongly dissuade you from encouraging the unfortunate man in whose fate you take an interest, from entertaining any; both because the prerogative of mercy is not in my hands, and that from the Government (whose wisdom and clemency are to decide upon this case,) I have not been favoured with any communication of their intentions; and, consequently, am ignorant whether they mean to neglect or attend to my recommendation. I have further to apprize you, that the day after tomorrow is appointed for the execution.
I am this moment favoured with your very obliging letter
of the 5th; and have sincere pleasure in felicitating you on the success of
your interference on behalf of poor
To the clemency of Government, indeed, I feel that he is much indebted; and it must afford you great satisfaction to reflect—that your compassionate exertions have essentially contributed to procure for him the mercy which he has obtained.
With every respect for the humane feelings which led to those exertions,
I have the honour to be,
This girl’s letter from
With the greatest pleasure and ease have I executed your
little commission, and only hope it will meet with your approbation. I should
have been something happier had you given me a hint of about what breadth you
would have liked it, but what I have sent is between broad and narrow; and
should you like more of that kind, or any other, pray send me a line, and I can
procure it with the greatest ease. You particularly mentioned mitred lace, but I think the present fashion rather runs on the
scolloped edge.
I shall be very glad of a few lines from you, announcing
the arrival and your opinion of the lace, but let the money remain in your
possession till a better
Good bye, then, dear
I have just heard that the
Few letters are better worth reading than Ida
I hasten to do away any painful impression you could feel
at my silence. I never received any letter from you since I left Weymouth,
which I answered from Shrewsbury. Your politeness and kind inquiries for my
health, after my having the pleasure of being known to you in London, were
quite flattering, nor
I read Ida
I could have wished the situations had been less critical
in point of delicacy, as the English gentleman has incurred great blame from
all sides for having suffered her to escape; and the poor Turk too. The
politics of Athens are ingenious; but, alas! our poor
I have not read the Monthly Review
Now I hope I have fulfilled your notions of good-will by this essay on the fair Greek, and at all events effaced every idea you could have conjured up to scare away the recollections of politeness and sympathy for my sad state which you have often so prettily and kindly expressed.
This amusing letter of criticism and compliment, very Irish and jolly,
from
I hasten to acknowledge the receipt of your letter, not
because it is friendly, nor yet because it is flattering, but simply because it
was yours. Fate, alas! my grand climacteric is in view—my years are
beginning to outnumber my enjoyments, and abominable fifty tells
When your note arrived I was merged in politics—my circulation was moving historically slow—the head was in full operation—the heart a-slumbering—of course my state was drooping, and the theory of patriotism was sinking under the pressure of application. You changed the scene. Refreshing ideas crowded on my fancy, and gave birth to some of the best sentences I ever wrote in my life.
What an advantage you writers of fiction have. If
But come, I had better stop this sort of farago in
the idea expelled his reason, and he went stark mad.
Of all your characters I love NoviceGlorvinaIda
Upon reading over this letter it is easy to perceive my head is not perfectly settled. Have you any recipe to cure a wandering fancy? If you have, do let me have it, and you will, if possible, increase the esteem with which I am.
One of her friends at this time, whose notice she considered a
distinction, was flood.
The
Book of the Boudoir
History of
Fictitious Literature
As yet, one entire and perfect
chrysolite,
” in which nobody sees any flaw, and the same man when he was
alive—his views misunderstood, he himself painfully struggling against ignorance and
calumny, and his heart nearly broken by petty vexations and hindrances.
There is nothing enlivens a cottage fire-side, remote
from the capital, so much as a newspaper. The Pilot
The horrid fever ray eldest son has undergone, has left him quite a wreck; but I don’t despair of seeing him restored. I should be quite at ease on the subject, if a little cough did not still hang upon him, and too quick a pulse.
The Medical Observer!!!
I have not heard anything of the new Vaccine Institution
since my arrival here, except a word or two from
It affords me great pleasure to assure you that your
next edition. I think you may be more copious in
your extracts from some of those letters of which
With the best wishes of myself and family, believe me, dear Doctor,
I ought to make a thousand apologies to you for suffering
your last obliging letter to remain so long unanswered. Did my friends whom I
serve in this manner but know the worrying kind of life I lead, they would soon
seal my pardon. However, I feel myself now more at ease than for some time
past, having crept from under the thick, heavy Board, which so unexpectedly
fell upon me and crashed me so sorely. To speak more plainly, I have informed
the gentlemen in Leicester Square, that I cannot accept of the office to which
they nominated me. Should the business come before the public, as I suppose it
will. I am not afraid of an honourable acquittal. Never was yellow cover. Give it as much publicity as you please,
and remember, you are to draw on me for all costs. Does it go off, or sleep
with the pages of
I have not written to my friend
My boys are better. How is your little cherub?
You have some heavy accusations I know to bring against
me on the subject of my long silence. I have no other excuse to offer you than
that of pecuniary bankrupts, who have so many debts, that they discharge none.
However deficient I may have been in writing, I have not been so in thinking of
you and your kind attentions. If you have seen your neighbour
You supposed me at Cheltenham when you wrote last. Unfortunately, I have not yet been able to quit this place, and have been detained by a sad business, the still existing illness of my eldest son, the young man who was so ill when I was in town. His appearance for some time past, flattered me with a hope that he was convalescent, but to my great affliction he was seized on Saturday last with haemorrhage from the lungs, which returned yesterday and to-day exactly at the same hour, and almost at the same minute—seven in the morning. This is a melancholy prospect for me, and I scarcely know how to boar it. The decrees of Heaven, however harsh they may seem, must be correct, and the grand lesson we have to learn is humility.
I wrote two long argumentative letters to Medical
Observerwho
remained in the midst of the epidemic untouched. This trifling circumstance, these worthy gentlemen did not
think it worth their while to mention. Adieu, my dear Sir, I hope you are very
well and very happy.
You may easily guess what a state of mind I am in, by my
neglecting my friends. This I was not wont
If promised to do, then I should have been greatly obliged
to them. Why this was not done, I never could learn, but shall ever lament that
such valuable facts should lie mouldering on their shelves, as they must from
their weight have lain too heavy on Poor spice of your talents in lashing the anti-vaccinists, I
hope you don’t mean to lay down the rod. HarryAnnual Medical
Register
We must leave the two doctors to their controversies and
incriminations. The story of the introduction of vaccination into this country is one of
deep interest, and especially to female readers; but that story is not the property of
Miss Owenson’s
I am extremely sensible of the politeness of your inquiry
for my health, which remains nearly stationary,
I congratulate you very sincerely on your acquiring the
favour of he acknowledges the existence of those charming
talents, which certainly must be improved by the intercourse of highly educated
people; and once more I congratulate you on the enjoyment you must find in such
society.
I am glad you write for every reason of emolument and
amusement; and I do hope your next publication may have as beautiful fancies
interspersed, and give less room to the gentlemen to criticise
Englishmen’s sang-froid
I believe you will find
I am grieved to find
I hasten to acknowledge what I value—a note from
you. But why remind me of my advancing years by supposing me capable of forgetting a promise to jubilee,—because the freezing hand of Time has checked the rapid
course of my circulation, and seized in his cold grasp a heart whose ardour
would once have bid defiance to his icicles,—that, therefore, my memory
and truth must have taken flight with my passions and left your unfortunate
correspondent a mere caput
mortuumvanity has survived and could not be more highly gratified than by
your acceptance of my labours.
The inventive genius must be cultivated by
you—anything in the nature of invention would destroy my reputation. You
must invent incident, I need only tell it; you must combine events. My events
are already combined, and I have only to recite them. You must describe
passions which you never felt; I felt all the passion I have to describe. You
write to please; I write that alone you will find the less
difficulty.
However, my vanity is not like other people’s, for it is perfectly candid, and desires me to tell you that I think you will like the book—at least, I like it myself, and that is all that can be expected by any author.
The second part will rise from the dead, I trust, in
January next; and a most flattering letter received from the very
superior, to those you see, will honour the next number; but I do not
think anything can much exceed
You greatly mistake if you suppose the ravenous appetite you mention can be at all sated by my
morsel—it will only be a mere lunch; I hope, however, it may increase
your appetite, and give you relish for the second course which I am cooking for
your table.
I wish you a happy Christmas, as I entertain no doubt you
will have a merry one; and if the good wishes of
Vive Irlandois.
The following letter is from “a sound divine,” and a
dignitary of the Church, who was one of what her sister used to call
“
Enclosed is the elegant trifle* you were desirous to
obtain. I have lost no time in executing the little commission with which you
have honoured me. Oh that I were destined to contribute to your felicity in the
serious and important circumstance which was the subject of this
evening’s conversation!—to contribute to your felicity and to
complete my happiness. But the unfortunate Rector of Mourne Abbey cherishes the
hope, that if he cannot be blest with the hand, he will
be immortalized by the pen, of the elegant and
interesting
Mr. F—— is not permitted to give a copy
of the song; you must prevaricate, and pretend that you retained it in
memory after having heard it repeated.
The “white lies” recommended in this postscript are
surprising in a divine; possibly, * A copy of some song, by
The following letter refers to them; the date is omitted, as generally happens in her letters.
I have, at last, waded through your Oriental Library, and it is impossible you can ever feel the weight of the obligation I owe you, except you turn author, and some kind friend supplies you with rare books that give the sanction of authority to your own wild and improbable visions.
Your Indian histories place me upon the fairy ground you know I love to tread, “where nothing is but what is not,” and you have contributed so largely and so efficiently to my Indian venture, that you have a right to a share in the profits, and a claim to be considered a silent partner in the firm. I have to request you will send for your books, as I fear to trust them to a porter.
Lady CharlevilleWild Irish GirlThe Novice of St.
Dominic
The friends who had, for so many years taken an interest in her
welfare, joined in representing the great advantages of the position offered to her, and
induced her to consent to go to Baron’s Court for a time, without, however, binding
herself to remain there. It amounted to a complete banishment from
The
The groom of the chambers had orders to fumigate the rooms he occupied
after liveried servants had been in them; and the chambermaids were not allowed to touch
his bed except in white kid gloves. He himself always dressed en
grande tenue
He was extremely handsome; noble and courtly in his manner; witty,
sarcastic; a rouéblasé upon pleasure and prosperity,
yet capable of being amused by wit, and interested by a new voice and face. Altogether, he
was about as dangerous a man for a brilliant young woman to be brought near as could easily
be found.
The O’Donnelinconséquente
Her enthusiasm for
She used to say, in referring to her life at Baron’s Court and
Stanmore Priory, where there was a succession of visitors, how little toilette was required
in those days. Whilst at the
Well, I am everything that by this you have said. I am
“an idle, addle-pated, good-for-nothing thing,” who, at the end of
three months’ absence, begins to remember there is somebody whose demands
upon her grateful and affectionate recollection are undeniable; and who, in
fact, she never ceases to love and respect, though she does not regularly tell
her so by the week, “in a double letter from Northamptonshire;” and
now, I dare say, a very clever letter you will expect. Alas! madam, that which
in me “makes fat the ribs but bankrupts out the wits,” the morale, in its excellence, bears no proportion to the
physique, and I am, at this moment, the best lodged, best fed and dullest
author in his Majesty’s dominions. My memory comes surcharged with titles
and pedigrees, and my fancy laden with stars and garters,—my deep study
is pointed towards the red book, and my light reading to the French bill of
fare which lies under my cover at dinner; but you will say, “hang your
fancy, give me facts.” Hélas! ma bellequips and cranks and wreathed smiles,
” and “anon
stalks by in royal sadness,” the “exiled affichésnot deserving to reign and says tout bonnementhis
opinion.” This is fact, not fancy. The truth
is that the wonderful variety of distinguished and
extraordinary characters who come here, make it to me a most delicious
séjourthe first class; add to which, many of the wits,
authors, and existing ministers (poor dears!) The house is no house at all, for
it looks like a little town, which you will believe when I tell you that a
hundred and twenty people slept under the roof during the Christmas holidays
without including the under servants; and that de
plain-pieddied in consequence of the shock she received
from the novel of The Winter in
LondonThe Missionary
I was presented almost immediately on my arrival to the
Payne Knightat Athens. He is married to one of our
I swore like a trooper to would be back by the 1st of
January, but as that is past, I will be back before the 1st
of March, for these folk then move themselves for Ireland, and it will
be then time to move off myself; so I propose myself to take a family dinner
with you the 1st of March new
style. Poor inconsolable (poor man!!) (do you perceive
through all this a vein of
”) The majesty of the
people!! Oh, how nothing under nobility approaches we laugh at such nonsense! My dear
Mistress What-do-ye-call’em, can I do anything for you, or the good man,
your husband? command me. As to the worthy person, your son, I have nothing
interesting to communicate to him, but that we have had the Archbishops of York
and Canterbury, and they have exorcised the evil spirit out of me, so that I
shall go back to him a saint in grain. Have you seen
The
I cannot tell you, my sweet friend, how much pleasure
your letter has given me! not because you have been panegyrizing me to your
great friends,—nor because I have any, the most remote fancy, that those
panegyrics can ultimately produce benefits to your friend; but because the
unsought, disinterested, spontaneous testimonies of friendship, are with me
above all value! Even if they were not rare they would be precious,—but
when one who has seen as much of mankind as myself, and knows, au fondspecies better than he expected. I profess to you
to feel a sentiment of that kind from this last instance of your recollection
of me; for I am so far a misanthrope, that I should not have been much
surprised if a volatile little girl like yourself, fond
of the pleasure and of the admiration of society, should have forgotten such a
thing as myself, when immersed in the various enjoyments
of such a circle as you are now surrounded by; not that I doubted you had
friendship for me,—for of that I would have been present
pleasure might, for a time, have superseded memory, and postponed a recollection of distant friends and past scenes till a more
convenient season. I confess, however, my sweet friend, that I entertained some
fear that your zeal may have carried you a little too far in the conversation
you mention; for anything in the way of solicitation or
canvass would certainly, my dear consciousness that whatever I am, or
whatever little success I may have in life, it is the pure and unmixed result
of my own labours, uncherished and unpatronised. One
instance only occurred in the course of my life, in which any attempt was made
to promote my interests by the solicitation of friendship, and that became a
source of great vexation to me,—it was that esprit de corps, and make common cause. Speak of me, therefore, dear
as your friend as much
as you please, praise me in that character as far as you
can, and you confer an honour on me of which I shall ever be most proud; but
beware, my sweet girl, of patronage or solicitation.
Here has been twenty times too much of myself; but you have made the subject
valuable by the attention you have paid to it.
What is the meaning of your question, “What are you
to do with the rest of your life?” Can it be possible that a mind like
yours should prove itself so feeble, that the passing enjoyments of a few
months in “splendour and comfort” would disgust you with the
ordinary habits of the world? This would be neither reason, nor philosophy, nor
good taste; for good taste is good sense directed in a particular way; and good
sense has a very assimilating quality and always fits us
for “existing circumstances.” I do hope,
notwithstanding the horror with which you seem to look at your descent from the pedestal, that you will be capable of
enjoying the circumscribed, social, laughing, wise, foolish, playful little
suppers which Mrs. * * * has given us, and, I hope, will again. By the way,
when will you return? nor I. I cannot help recurring again to your question,
What will you do with the rest of life? I put the
interrogatory to myself when I read your
I write to you with reluctance, in which my heart has no
share; its natural impulses are always true to pity and affection; to solace
the afflicted is in me no virtue, it is at once my nature and my habit, and if
in prosperity and joy my feelings vary their direction galled you; but it has also taken from you a friend, a sincere, an affectionate and faithful friend;
for myself, young as I am, I have tried long enough to know and to feel the
inconsequence of life. To act right according to those
moral principles which nature has interwoven with our very constitution, and
from which all the moral institutions of man are derived, is, I most sincerely
and solemnly believe, the sole good, imperishable and lasting as long as we
shall ourselves last, whether here or hereafter; that all the rest is
subordinate and frail, I can assert upon my own experience. To-day, glancing my
eyes over the Novice
of St. Dominicdisappointed heart, my exhausted imagination, and I had the weakness to I
dried them soon, and I could not help thinking, that while the
pleasures of the senses and the fancy of youth and the world, left behind them
but idle and transient regrets, the consciousness of having always acted right alone remained to comfort and support, to
cheer and solace; it is a triumph purchased, indeed, by many temporary
sacrifices; and many an imperious wish, and many a fond desire is trampled on
to obtain it. This is a very triste style for me, you
will say, but it is my prevailing tone at this moment, and, indeed, in spite of
those states of vivacity to which I am subject, my susceptible spirits reflect
back the trouble of gay and brilliant objects. My natural character is that of
one who thinks deeply, and who naturally loves to repose in the tranquillity of
meditation, who “sets loose to life,
” and who is almost
wearied out by the harrassing vicissitudes which “flesh is heir
to.
” This you will not believe; for it is among the things I have
most to lament, that you have not had tact to come at
the real character of your friend, nor the confidence to believe her own
assertions on the subject; you would be surprised to see me here, stealing away
from the dazzling multitude, and passing whole days in my own room, reading
some grave philosophical work; thinking deeply—and
feeling acutely—going to the source of some
obscure subject—or giving myself up to tender and pensive memories, which
have for their object those that are most dear and most distant. Yet this I do constantly . . . and yet I
return to society—not its most undistinguished or least brilliant member.
If I could be of the least use to you, I should not
hesitate to fly to you in your afflictions; believe me, when I solemnly assert,
that nothing on this earth should prevent me,
neither the pleasures of the world or its opinions; but you are surrounded by friends, and I
think you have that confidence in my friendship, that you would call on me if
you wanted me. My return to Ireland is uncertain. I am pretty weary of the sameness of things here, where there is nothing in the
least to interest the heart,—they are all extremely anxious I should stay
till March, as they then mean to have private theatricals; but I would fly to
the end of the world from a species of amusement to me, of all others, the most
faded and egotistical; it is, therefore, most probable, I shall abide by my
original intention and leave this early in February.
I hear of nothing but politics, and the manner in which
things are considered, give me a most thorough contempt for the “rulers of the earth;” I am certain that the country, its welfare or prosperity, never, for a
moment, make a part in their speculation; it is all a little
miserable system of self-interests, paltry distinctions, of private
pique, and personal ambition. I sometimes with difficulty keep in my
indignation when I hear them talk of such a person and his eight men, and such an one and his five, and
so on, for there is not one of the noted demagogues you read of, who do not
carry with them a certain number of followers, who vote à tort et à traversrepresented—the order of the day is Premier, with the common consent of the
nation, (except the particular party going out) murmur
something of PlunketHollandPonsonbyall
sides; but the Paymaster to the Navy.
Such are the appointments the Prince has made out; but Lord Abercornhave disgusted me for ever with those falsely called the
great. King’s man, preserves an
armed neutrality, and though, according to my principles
and feelings, he is decidedly wrong, yet it is
impossible not to respect his independence. All wonder at
literally mad. Your future viceroy proposed, some time
ago, for my sweet new friend, whom I believe I have mentioned to
you—Lady
HamiltonPapa. She has become a great tie to me now,
and her obvious affection for me is my greatest pride. She is a most superior
and charming woman, though cold in her general manner and rigid in her
principles. She is, in her person, like Grattansenthusiast
in admiration of them, as they must
be of her. She says she envies that middle rank of life, and would
give up her own situation willingly for theirs.
Farewell; this is a dull epistle, but I am as little in
the mood to write gay letters as you are probably to read them. I hope
Old
Atkinsonknown its great extremes, and, let me add, they alone
can despise it.
Once more farewell.
PS. Let me entreat that you
will take particular care of my letters. Did you receive one from me dated
the 12th. I have written five letters to the
Nothing, perhaps, under your present feelings, would
so much distraitthink and feel with you, can know no solace. With the sympathy of intellect
and sensibility blended in one, but next to that, you will find most relief
from a particular style of reading which awakens,
without fatiguing, the mind. Let me, therefore, recommend to you a work in
which this moment I am deeply engaged, and which is beside me. It might be
called “called to the tribunal of human
reason. I mean Essai sur les mœurs et
l’esprit des nations et sur les principaux faits de
l’histoire depuis Charlemagne jusqu’à Louis
XIII
Ah! what a woman’s postscript!!!
Whilst at Baron’s Court, Missionary
When the book was completed, she purposed to go over to England to
arrange about the publication, and left Baron’s Court on her way east for that
purpose; but she delayed her journey, loitering in Dublin to see her friends. The
From their letters, by the way, a few amusing extracts may be culled.
The “glorvina,” about which her ladyship writes, was a golden bodkin for
fastening up the hair, after the pattern of an antique Irish ornament, and was called a
“glorvina,” in honour of the Wild Irish Girlle bien aimé
You know so well the way we contrive to find no time for
anything in this house, that I am sure you will not accuse me of ingratitude in
not having thanked you, either on Saturday or Sunday for two delightful letters
I have of yours, as well as for the songs and French letters, and the designs
for glorvinas, &c., &c.; but Saturday was so delightful, that I was out
from breakfast till dinner, and yesterday, I went to church (where,
par parenthèemon épouxclear letter; and after this exposé, you
will not be surprised that I have not sooner taken notice of what I neither
admire or like the less for not having said so.
I hope you yourself did not suffer from fatigue and anxiety, and that you are now in as perfect health, beauty, and spirits, as you ought to be.
Now for my glorvinas. Could you not enclose the one you
think “precisely what I should like” the
price three guineas, and I can order the others after I have seen it. I think I
should like to have the motto on Our hopes rest on thy dear
black head.
” Now do not laugh at my way of expressing what I wish
you to put in better language, and in Irish; but I think
we might unite notre espéranceblack head, which we fixed upon, for this
glorvina.
As to the Princess’s, I intend only a glorvina, and the motto you mention would be very pretty; but that must be very handsome, and as it will not take long to make, I conclude, it shall be the last.
I should like to see a small ten guinea Irish harp; but it would not be advisable to risk sending it by post.
Before this, you will have seen
Nothing new has occurred since you left us; you, and your
harp, we miss in every possible way. It was le
bien-aimé
Have you sent the Luxima
This is a most horrible griffonnage; but if I attempted to write it over again I should never send it, and I dare not even read it for fear I should think, for my own credit, it should be consigned to the flames.
The “
This, you know, is audience-day, dear
little Glo
So here I am, with my dinner in my throat, and my coffee
in my mouth (having left my arm chair and your “boudoir,” to
console each other in our absence), just to assure you what you know well
enough, that I have not yet forgotten you; and also what I have already assured
you through
I think, under the various circumstances of the case, I
have written as much now as I well can, or you will wish, so, till your next
letter and “
Need I say, that I am and ever shall be,
I received the Glorvina this morning, which I do not very
much admire, and as I do know you do not mind
My harp will be beautiful, and of course I chose Hawk
head, and should also like the threefold honours as ornaments; it is a pity we
cannot introduce the crest and the garter, that it might be perfect. I believe,
when the Garter was instituted, that the wives of the knights had a right to a
bracelet with the motto; if so, I do not know why I should not introduce it on
my harp, as it will, I hope, be a specimen of Irish ingenuity long after I am
in another and a better world, and may be the cause of considerable curiosity
(to some persons unacquainted with the history of the noble house of
groupe will not be
preserved so long, unless you write a novel in which you introduce the modern
Solyman and his sultanas, for I confess I should never lament that such a quiz
had lived a generation before. Seriously, it is quite a monster; I hope you did
not really see him as you drew him. pretty brother.
Why do you tell me of Alfieri
I do congratulate you upon the conquest you have made of
the find
you in her way, you will find her pleasant; but beware
of that.
You know I never felt much for any mortifications the
We have had
I have got two cantos of the Lady of the LakeI do, and put a
cover over them, as I lose half of your precious words by the way they are put
up.
I am very glad your friend all out of delicacy. When it is well disposed of,
let me know, as I shall feel very anxious.
As I cannot, in any other way, copy
Remember, I am only joking about the garter and crest.
The Missionary
I shall go to town in a few days, and I will call on
My harp, I have no doubt, will be perfect; alas! who is
to play it? for
You do not say to whom you have consigned my harp, nor do you mention having sent your picture, which I was to have if I liked it better than the one I now possess.
I have seen both
None of your friends forget you, I assure you;
violent an Irish girl as she ever was. Her brother
Pray who are your two new lovers?
I am not a little stupid at present, I can tell you. I
want the harmony of the Irish war harp to revive me. I have felt a little
le mal du pays
Your harp is arrived, and for the
honour of Ireland, I must tell you, it is very much admired and quite
beautiful. almost as
good fatigues of the journey; pray
tell poor
The Baron’s Court field flowers were very well
received; but as
I went to Missionary
I shall be very happy, I assure you, to see you when you
come to England, nor do I at present see any thing that would make it necessary
for me to say, “your hour is not come.” I know of nothing that
could, except what I trust in God will not occur—the illness of those
dear to me. I have seen your prettily of you.
If you knew how much I am hurried, and what a pain I have
in my shoulder from the rheumatism, you would say, I was very
good to write to-day; but I had those things I wished to express immediately—my failure with
When Missionary
Your letter made me roar. I was in Berkshire when it
arrived, and only got it three days back, but Missionarythe evening of Tuesday next), so that is
pretty plain. My trunk goes directed for your ladyship’s to-morrow. To-night I expect your enchanting a sin to love him, what a passion I could feel for him! I have asked
the famous. I will explain the mistake of the book when
we meet—till that, joyeux
revoir
Will you not send for me to Holyhead?
He was then on the point of starting for France, and he was good as his promise. The shoes came in the next ambassador’s bag, and were sent to her with the following note.
I send you the long-promised shoes, which, however,
without your encouragement last night, would not have dared present themselves
to you. They are not what I intended, being like all other shoes; but Paris
could never produce anything like the vision of a shoe that I had in my
mind’s eye for you. I depend upon your sending me
In the reply which she sent to this gallant epistle,
Before The Wild
Irish Girlaux
abois
She is ignorant whether her keepers mean to exhibit her for her intelligence or ferocity, like the learned pig at Exeter Change, or the beautiful hyena at the Tower, which never was tamed. But whatever part she is destined to play in her cage, it is certain that she will often look forth with delight to those days of her freedom, when, untaught and untamed, she contributed to your Grace’s amusement, and imbibed those sentiments of respect and esteem for your character, with which she has the honour to subscribe herself your
There is some mystery about
“Last farewell letter to
I am told you have had the kindness to call more than once since your arrival in town at my door. I should have anticipated the intention and endeavoured to prevent it; but the fact is, I did not wish to intrust a letter to another person’s servant, and still less to send my own to your house.
It is with inexpressible regret that I am obliged to decline your visits. I have no hesitation in declaring that I prized your society beyond any enjoyment within my sphere of attainment, and that in relinquishing it for ever, I do a violence to my feelings which raises me in my own estimation, without reconciling me to the sacrifice I have made.
The only intercourse that could subsist between us, proximity has destroyed. I thought your circuit would have lasted five weeks. I thought I should have been in England before your return, and all this would have been spared me. Were I to tell you the motive that detains me in Ireland longer than I wish or expected, you would give me your applause. At least do not withdraw from me your esteem, it is the only sentiment that ever ought to subsist between us. I owe you a thousand kindnesses, a thousand attentions; my heart is full of them. Whilst I exist, the recollection of all I owe you shall form a part of that existence.
Have the goodness to send me my answer to your last letter,—it was written under the influence of a nervous indisposition and exhibits a state of mind I should blush to have indulged in.
The affair between bien aimé
He was punctual to his appointment, and was naturally impressed by the
environments, which gave him a higher opinion of MissionaryYou
rascal! how dare you make all that noise for nothing?
” Nothing comes of all
the danger, and everything remains much as it was in the beginning.
I ought to have announced my arrival to you before this;
but I have been involved, engaged, dazzled, and you who are a philosopher, and
see human nature just as it is, will account for and excuse this, and say, she
is not ungrateful nor negligent, she is only human. My
entré here was attended by every circumstance
that could render it delightful or gracious to my feelings. A coach-and-four
was sent to meet me thirty miles off, and missed me. I remained a day or two in
London with my very kind friends the first
favourite, and the favour I for-en famille
Among the visitors at Stanmore Priory was
If you knew how little at this moment I am master of my
time, you would readily pardon me for the freedom I take with the shall be finished within the week.
You write to me with so much good humour, and so far below your claims on my thankfulness, for allowing me to attempt this gratification to your friends and the public, that I am the more vexed at my ill fortune, in dooming me to begin it with so ill a grace.
The temple you speak of is a pretty, fanciful building, but there is something very cold and chilling in that said “vestibule,” If another door opens, let me go in with you!
Believe me, with the greatest respect,
My evil genius does haunt me, my dear madam, but not in your shape—on the contrary, I believe that it takes you for my good one, for it is very studious to prevent my seeing you. To morrow I cannot, Sunday I cannot; but I will make it as early in this ensuing week as my distractions will admit.
“Doldrums and bother”
are weak terms for ladies of your invention—at least, they touch not my
state Striking and
beautiful” is certainly a most liberal translation of “flagrant and inveterate”; but
I have seen
PS. I have written in haste, emulous of the restless
rapidity of your hands; but it is
* The
† The poet and author of the Pleasures of Hope
The following passage is a frank confession of principle and
practice from a young, much admired, and unmarried woman. It is from a diary of the year
1811. In
Inconsiderate and indiscreet, never saved by prudence, but
often rescued by pride; often on the very verge of error, but never passing the
line. Committing myself in every way—except in my own
esteem,—without any command over my feelings, my words, or
writings,—yet full of self-possession as to action and
conduct,—once reaching the boundary of right even with my feet on the
threshold of wrong; capable, like a menage horse, of
stopping short, coolly considering the risk I encounter, and turning sharply
back for the post from whence I started, feeling myself quite side, and, in a
word—quitte pour la
peur
Early imbued with the high sentiments belonging to good
birth, and with the fine feelings which accompany good education. My father was
a player and a gentleman. I learned early to feel acutely my situation; my
nature was supremely above my circumstances and situation, the first principle
or passion that rooted in my breast, was a species of proud indignation, which
accompanies me to that premature death, of which it is finally the cause. My
first point of society was to behold the conflict between two unequal
minds—the one (my mother) strong and rigid—the other weak and
yielding; the one strong to arrest dispute—the other accelerating its
approach. The details which made up the mass were—seeing a father
frequently torn to prison—a mother on the point of beggary with her
children, and all those shocks of suffering which human nature can disdain, and
which can only occur in a certain sphere of life and a certain state of
society. Man, who has his appetites to gratify, which Nature supplies in his
social or artificial character, has thousands of wants which suffering poverty
may deny; and even their gratification is not always attended with effects
proportionate to their cause. So delicately and fatally organised, that objects
impalpable to others, were by me accurately perceived, felt and combined; that
the faint ray which neither warmed nor brightened, often gave a glow and a
lustre to my spirits; that the faintest vapour through its evanescent passage
through the atmosphere, threw no shadow on the most reflecting object, darkened
my prospects, and gloomed my
It may be supposed that life hastens to its close when its views are thus tinged with hues so dark and so terrific? But the hand which now writes this has lost nothing of the contour of health or the symmetry of youth. I am in possession of all the fame I ever hoped or ambitioned. I wear not the appearance of twenty years; I am now, as I generally am, sad and miserable.
This tendency to depression of spirits—which, the reader should
remember, was exhibited before the whole world had learned from
Another entry in the next page is of the same tone.
“It is a melancholy conviction that all my starts of happiness
are but illusions; that I feel I do but dream even while I am dreaming,—and that
in the midst of the inebriety I court, I am haunted by the expectation of being
awakened to that state of hopeless melancholy which alone is real—and felt and
known to be so. It is in vain that my fancy steeps me in forgetfulness. The happy
wreath which the finger of peace wreathed round my head, suddenly drops off, and the
soft vapours that encircled it, scathe and dissipate;—all in truth and fact, sad,
dreary and miserable—
“I may not say with Proverbs—
” ‘Wisdom dwelleth
with Prudence.’
The position of this young woman of genius in the household of a great
family, if brilliant in outward show, was accompanied by a thousand vexations. The
elopement of
Her own ambition had never allowed her to rest; she had been
wonderfully successful; but, at Baron’s Court and Stanmore Priory, all she had
obtained looked dwarfed and small when measured by the hereditary power and consequence of
the family in which she was for the time an inmate. She did not become discontented; but
she was disenchanted (for the time) with all that belonged to herself, and saw her own
position on its true comparative scale.
The portrait of Miss Owenson was at length finished by The Missionary
I must be indebted to your kindness (and I fear it must
put you to the trouble of writing) for preventing the insertion of my name in
I have an anxious desire that the readers of The
Missionary
There are many of them whose talents I very highly
respect, and might reasonably be jealous of, did they
I will take the greatest care that the drawing be as well copied as possible; the engraver has just left me.
Let me beg the favour of you in your communication to
Believe me, with the truest respect,
On the publication of the book,
By this you have received my little packet; it is near a
fortnight since I sent it to be franked, and I have been rather anxious as to
its fate, but perhaps at this very moment you are seated at your fireside, Poll
at your feet, and Pug beside you, and The MissionaryMissionaryfor you, to heavy coaches, so pray have the goodness to
mention the circumstance to him, as it will ensure the safety of my poor little
property. Your letter was most gracious, and received with infinite pleasure.
Dearest and kindest of friends,
I am on a visit to an East Indian nabob’s, whose wife and family are all kindness to me.
This “East India nabob and his family,” were think, if they discovered she had come in a hackney-coach!
She persuaded
The hackney coachman, who had been ordered to wait, espied them, and
followed to explain that he was there and waiting.
“What
” asked does that man mean by following
us?
“I really cannot imagine,
” said the elder lady.
“I wish he would go away,
” said the younger one.
“What do you want, fellow?
” asked
“I want these ladies either to get into my coach or to pay me
my fare.
”
“What
” does he mean—is he
drunk?
“No,
” said but the fact is, that
we were so ashamed of coming in a hackney-coach, that we wanted nobody to know
it.
”
“So you came in a hackney-coach, and would rather have walked
home in the mud than have had it known. How very Irish!
” was his
lordship’s comment. He put them into their despised coach, and saw them drive away.
The comparative failure of The Missionary
I read your letter to the person you desired, dear, and
if I did not write “by return” (O you
Irish expression, why cannot I write the proper brogue for such a broguey
expression?) you must still impute it to the penny postman’s life I am
living, for when you ask me a question worth an answer, I will never delay it.
What your genius for melodrama, or any drama may be, I have no other reason for guessing than my suspicion that you have genius enough for anything that you will give proper attention to. I should, however, be sorry that the drama, in any shape, should supersede the intentions of the romance or novel production that you last professed.
Hand-in-hand with it I have no objection; and as you give
me my choice of two heroes, I will so far decide that he shall not be Henry
The qualities, virtues, and vices of
So much for my wisdom with which I shall begin and end.
So bye-bye, sweet
During this visit to London, Hints from HoraceChilde
HaroldEnglish Bards
If it had not been near making me cry, what I am going to
tell you might make you laugh; but I believe you are too good-natured not to
sympathize Court Guide
See me before you leave town, and send me your number and street, I beg of you; the impression you have made is, I assure you, a little stronger, but I never can recollect one direction—do you think the new man could teach me?
My direction is always Melbourne House.
The two ladies soon met to become friends and associates for ever. No
contrast could be greater than le bien
aimé
“We brought
” entre nous
gaieté de cœur
We learned Professors of the College, The Alma Mater of true knowledge, Whore students learn, . in memoriaThe philosophical amatoria, Where senior fellows hold no power. And junior sophists rule the hour, Where every bachelor of arts Studies no science—but of hearts. Takes his degree from smiling eyes And gets his Fellowship—by sighs;Where scholars learn, by rules quite simple, To expound the mystics of a dimple; To run through all their moods and tenses, The feelings, fancies, and the senses. Where none (though still to grammar true) Could e’er decline—abillet doux.Though all soon learn to conjugate, ( ) Eadum nos autoritateWe—learned Professors of this College, The Alma Mater of true knowledge, Do, on the Candidate Morgani,( Doctissimo in Medicini )Confer his right well earned degree, And dub him, henceforth, sage M.D.,He, having stood examination. On points might puzzle half the nation, Shown where with skill he could apply A sedative, or stimuli,How to the chorda tympaniHe could, by dulcet symphony. The soul divine itself convey, How he (in verses) can impart A vital motion to a heart, Through hours which Time had sadly robb’d. Though dull and morbid it had throbb’d. Teach sympathetic nerves to thrill, Pulses to quicken or lie still; And without pause or hesitation, Pursue that vagrant thing sensation, From right to left,—from top to toe, From head of sage to foot of beau, While vain it shuns his searching hand, E’en in its own pineal gland.But did we all his feats rehearse, How he excels in tuneful verse, How well he writes—how well he sings, How well he does ten thousand things, Gave we due meed to this bright , homoIt would— . Turgeret hoc Diploma. Glorvinæ Owensonæ
On leaving England
He was one morning sitting with the
May the event your sweet letter
communicated, and every event in your family that succeeds it, be productive of
increasing happiness. Too much the creature of circumstances as they influence
my manners or my conduct, my heart, ruled in its feelings by the objects of its
affections only, knows no change, and the sympathy, the tender interest in all
that concerns you, my longest, kindest friend, which
chance recently discovered to you, has always existed under an increasing power
since the first moment I pressed your cordial hand—I met the kind welcome
of your full eyes. If I am too apt to visit abroad, I am sure to come home to
you, and the increasing kindness with which you receive and forgive me, hourly
quickens my return, and extends my contrition.
We have got a most desirable acquisition to our circle,
in the
We expect the
You see the too kind! I
believe all things remain on the other side in statu
quo
Glorvina
Between the last letter to
I am the least taste in life at a loss how to begin to
tell you what I am going to ask you—which Dublin husband, but that if I
accepted
He has now five hundred a-year, independent of practice. I don’t myself see the thing quite in the light they do; but they think him a man of such great abilities, such great worth and honour, that I am the most fortunate person in the world.
He stands in the first-class of physicians in London, having taken his Doctor’s degree at Cambridge; his connexions are excellent, &c., &c., and in person very distinguished-looking. Now tell me what you wish, for I am still, as ever, all your own loving and dutiful child,
On the same subject, she wrote—after a few days—to most of
her old friends. The letter to
Your inimitable letter was a source of great comfort to me. Your eloquent and exalted theories are still less powerful in their influence over me than your bright example. I have seen you the Providence of your family, and I admire and revere too much not to endeavour to imitate.
This event, the most unlooked-for and rapid of my life,
has been accelerated by my friends here, and by the more than romantic passion
of the most amiable and ardent of human beings, so as to leave me in a state of
agitation and flurry that
prevented me writing on the subject to any human being but my family—and
even to them so incoherently as to leave them more to guess at from inference
than fact.
The business was, indeed, so
hurried, that it was all like a dream. The licence and ring have been
in the house these ten days—all the settlements made; yet I have been
battling off, from day to day, and hour to hour, and have only ten minutes back
procured a little breathing time. The fact is, the struggle is almost too great
for me—on one side engaged, be-
week or two, while I am yet a free agent. When
I read that part of your letter where you say manly, I had
almost said daring, tone of mind, united to more
goodness of heart and disposition, than I ever met with in a human being. Even
with this circle, where all is acquirement and accomplishment, it is confessed
that his versatility of talent is unrivalled. There is scarcely diableriethat I would not hear of. He is just thirty; has a
moderate property, independent of his profession; is a member and a fellow of
twenty colleges and societies, and is a Cambridge man. This is a fulllength
picture drawn for your private inspection. He read your letter with bursts of
admiration. He says you must have a divine mind, and that if all my
country-women resemble you, his constancy will be sadly put to the test. We are
to live one year with the My man is now playing science than any one, and sings the most difficult
things at sight. He has so much improved me in Italian and singing, you cannot
imagine. Ten thousand thanks for your benevolent attention to my poor old
father—never did he stand more in need of it, sick, worn down and
deprived of the attentions of a child he adores, and who has hitherto lived for
him. You are all goodness, and to
A thousand loves to all the fire-side circle; but
above all to
It is an age since we held any communion; in the first
instance (I was prevented by the fear of boring you by a platitude of a letter, which could only repeat what you
know—that I love you. In the second, I have been prevented writing since
my arrival here (now five weeks ago) by an event unexpected and critical; in a
word, in this little space of time, a man has fallen in love with me,
tête baisséea diploma—and
thus prepared, we met under circumstances and in empressement
The fact is, there is much pour et contreperfection. His mind has
that strength of tone and extent of reflection, which you admire so much. He
thinks upon every subject of importance with us, and is sometimes so daring in
risking his bold and singular opinions, that while it raises him in my esteem,
it makes me tremble for his worldly interests, so seldom promoted by this
sovereign independence of principle and spirit, which throws rank and influence
at such an incalculable distance. He is, with all this deep philosophy of
character, a most accomplished gentleman. He speaks and writes well several
languages, and is a scientific musician, a devoted natu-mind, I never saw a wretch so thrown
upon the heart for his happiness, or so governed by
ardent and unruly passion, of which his most romantic engouementworse for him. I am still putting it off from day to day, but fear I
am too far committed to recede with honour. All this is entre nousprônezil est bon
de se faire valoir
Glorvina
We expect the
Shall I say the import of your letter surprised me? I
know not. However, I think surprise was not the sensation predominant among the
many it set afloat; that you should have met with a man who looked, listened,
and entered the lists of love, tête
baisséecontreà tout epreuve
When she was fairly engaged, dénouement were a pleasant excitement, had no idea that the ceremony in real
life could be anything more than the last page in a novel, or the last words in a play,
after the characters have grouped themselves. She sent for the marriage ring and licence,
and would have proceeded to extremities, without consulting the wishes of one of the
parties most interested.
protegée. In one of
Here I am, again, safely returned from Strabane, after
going through a day’s eating and drinking enough to kill a horse. We had
a most heavenly day, yesterday; but to-day, it has rained incessantly; we were
not, however, wet, being well provided with coats, so that I am in no danger of
dying this trip. Baron’s Court to-day is dulness personified. you a winter’s residence in the house of
mourning—whatever the Apostles may say, I infinitely prefer the house of
rejoicing. But to return to a more grateful theme, how is my best beloved after
her journey? I hope to-morrow to hear a good account of you, and that you found
your father and sister better than you expected.
Have you been gadding about much? Have you seen many
people? Are you happy and comfortable? or are you, like me, looking forward
anxiously to the happy time that will unite us for ever? Dearest somebody’s lips. Shorten time, by every means, that separates
us, if you value the happiness of
Will you, can you pardon my ravings? How angry I am with
myself! I have at last got a sweet, charming, affectionate letter from you, and
half my miseries are over. If my two last letters gave you pain, think what
misery (well or ill-founded), what horrid depression must have been mine to
inspire them. Your rea-sonings are all very fine and very conclusive; but,
alas, I parted with reason to a certain little coquette,
and I can attend to and feel no language but that of the heart. Still, however,
I must insist upon my distinction, that while I am ready to give up everything to your lovely, amiable family feelings, I can ill brook your associating any unpleasant idea
with that of returning to me. If I know my heart, neither solitude, sickness,
nor slavery would be unpalatable, if it gave me back to own
father’s dominions. I have but one object in life, and it is
you; and so little can I bear the idea of your preferring anything to me, that
I have been angry with because I love, that I cannot suppose it possible any feeling of
disgust, or ennui, can associate itself with your return
to me, and, I would fain hope, happiness. You cannot think so meanly of me as
to suppose the dimity chamber could urge me to draw you from your duties. Trust
me, love, you never win me more than when I see you, in imagination,
discharging them; but when I picture to myself the thoughtless, heartless vanities of
this wicked world than with me, I feel not sure
of her. Do not think me cruel in reminding you that you have lost one husband
by flirting, and that that makes me feel it is just
possible you may drive another mad. I cannot, solitary winter in it;
trust me, dearest, a little natural philosophy will make
time pass pleasantly enough, never fear.
I read part of your letter to tout son saoultact than another, it is badinage. If you knew
how much eloquence there was in the magic ——; if you knew the
pleasure I felt in touching the paper that had touched your lips! Oh,
your
orders, know that I have not opened my lips to say more
than—“a bit more,” “very good,” and “no
more, thank you, My Lord,” since you have been gone. I do. I assure you I have
made myself quite ill, and others will think and speak of nothing but you. As to my
commissions, do not, best and dearest, put yourself to any inconvenience about
them; when done you may send them by the mail, the pleasure of receiving
anything from you is worth the carriage, though it even amounted to gold. There
is, however, but one commission about which I am anxious, and that is to love me as I do you, exclusively; to prefer me to every other good; to think of me, speak
of me, write to me, and to look forward to our union as the completion of every
wish, for so do I by you. Do this, and though you grow as “ugly” as to love. Cultivate,
then, the latent feelings of the heart, learn to
distrust the imagination, and to despise and quit the
world, before the world leaves you. How, dearest, will you otherwise bear the
hour when no longer young, lovely, and agaçantegreat
ones lay aside their plaything and forget their companion who can no
longer give them plea-dimity chamber is a school worth all the Portico’s
in the world, Mrs. Stoic. There nature reigns, and you will hear none but the
language of truth. Do you recollect folding up a piece of blotting-paper with
one of your letters? I preserve it as the apple of my eye, and kiss it, as I
would you, all to pieces.
My sweetest life, I do not mean an atom of acrimony
towards you in all this; but misery will be querulous. I determine to pass over
my sufferings in silence; but find I cannot. Do not say I am selfish; if I
were, I should have pressed you to marriage when I could have done it
effectually. I should have opposed your leaving me; and now I should give up
all to you for comfort. I flatter myself, that hitherto
every sacrifice has been on my part. My only comfort is, that my wishes have
given place to yours.
I do not wish you to cut any one; but I think particular in his attentions; besides, how can I bear that anybody
can have the pleasure of talking to you and gazing on you when I cannot. I
should be sorry you offended a friend on account of any
whim of mine; you can be civil to him without encouraging his
daily visits. Strangely as I show it, I am obliged and grateful for
your every attention, and in this instance in particular; but indeed I do not
wish it. I have not so mean an opinion of myself to be jealous of
anybody’s alienating your mind from me et pour tout le reste j’en sais
assez
I have kissed your dear hair again and again, as I do the
bottle, twenty times an hour; do not judge of my temper by this instance, for,
believe me, I am not always, nor ever was in my married life, in the horrible
state of mind I now am. You know I think ill of life in general, and kick
against calamity as if I received an affront as well as an injury in it from
fate. But trust me, no chance of life can reach me to wound as I am now
wounded; when reposed on your dear bosom then my spirits will be calmed, my
irritability soothed. If I thought there was the remotest chance of my giving
you the uneasiness I know I now do, when once you are mine, I would release you
from your engagement au coup de
pistoletc’est un monde
passableshall be so
to you, if I can make it so. God bless you, my own dear, sweet, darling girl;
don’t, don’t be angry with me, for I am very wretched without that.
representation.”
Adieu ma belle, ma
chère
Pity and forgive a wretch whom nothing but your
presence can console. God, God bless you, dear
La reine le
veut!
The glad you were not with us last night. We played magical music,
“What’s my Thought like?” and many other games equally amusing, for three or four hours; you would have
been bored to death, as was almost your poor go out frequently, and
though he was bored as bad as man could be, he did it with an ease and grace
that was very pleasing; he certainly is thoroughly a gentleman on those points.
Che
farò senza mio benio morirò—ahi!
ben mio, how happy should I be could I behold thee and be near thee,
and see thee with thy dear family, but what useless wishes, I love thee
“Do the diurnal act, but I lay my head upon your bosom in
a wife-like way, and suffer you to press me gently to your heart, which is more
than you deserve! I am glad you changed your pen—I
hate poesy—
Remember me.” His mouth was
Primmer, that is the text, vide “very ill indeed lately, and
talked like a fool very often.
I am not half such a little rascal as you suppose; the
best feelings only have detained me from you; and feelings better than the best
will bring me back to you. I must be more or less than woman to resist
tenderness, goodness, excellence, like yours, and I am simply woman, aye, dear,
“every inch a woman.” I feel a little kind of tingling about the
heart, at once more feeling myself nestled in yours; do you
remember—well, dear, if you don’t, I will soon revive your
recollection—I said I would not write to you to-day, but I could not
resist it, and I am now going off to a man of business, and about
Your song is charming; you are a clever wretch, and I
love you more for your talents than your virtues, you thing of the world. What put it into your stupid head that I
would not return at Christmas? did I ever say so, blockhead?
Well, I have only the old story to tell, no more than
yourself—
Take care of the loves you, and you loves
me, whiskers—mind they are
not to grow
You are a pretty pair of Paddies, you and your sister.
Only see how you enclosed your letter for me, to first at breakfast,
premising he had read three sides of it, under the
supposition it was for him, till he came quite at the end, to “my dear
Epistle General of St. Judethe gods take care of
” There was not a
word of his frolics, of the stupidity of Josephism. I
wish I had something to confess, just to satisfy you; but, ah, alas! you have the best security
in the world for my fidelity, the want of opportunity for me to go astray. For
unless I made love to a young diablesse or an old witch, and became the papa of
an incubus, the devil a chance have I of doing wrong. I should like to know the
“when and the who” of your thoughts; perhaps it would give me an idea. Seriously, my best love, if you doubt me, come
and claim your own, for I am yours and only yours.
Dearest girl, how much I wish I could say anything
satisfactory to you about your father. I cannot judge
accurately, but all your accounts of him have given me an unfavourable
impression of his chance of ultimate recovery. I should think the whiskey bad
for him; at least, if not rendered necessary by
circumstances, it must be injurious. Your low spirits distress me very, very
much. Would to God I could be with you to soothe and comfort you! I am,
however, not less so than yourself, as you must see by my awkward attempts at
humour. I am very irritable at these times, and do not
know whether to laugh or cry.
My yesterday’s letter (written in this mood) was
particularly dull and fade; I am very much pleased, flattered, delighted by
your second letter; it is so decisive a mark of your tenderness and affection.
Dearest have
no love for any but you; you have my whole, whole
heart, and if my letters vary, it is because my spirits vary, and with
them my tone of thinking. When, when will the day come
that shall make me yours for ever.
You give a horrid picture of poor dad! He must very ill indeed to
require so much blistering. I find you are quite in raptures with Dublin. Four
dinners beside evening parties in one week; that is pretty well for a person
who went there merely to enjoy the society of her family
for a few weeks. However, if you are amused, I am content. You must want
occasional distraction, and to be candid, I should be
all the better for it, if it were in my reach. Only love me, and write
good-humouredly. You do not mention the
Me voici de retourfull extent of any sickness or calamity that may reach
you or yours. It is only the
entire confidence that communications are made, and that nothing would be hid
that might happen ill, by which absence is rendered supportable. An anxious,
fretful and Rousseauishfor my good. I hope and trust you have acted sincerely
by me in this instance, and are as well in health and about one-eighth part as happy as if you really were “on my knee” What an image! how lovely! My bosom
swelled in reading it, and the obtrusive drops, for once harbingers of
pleasure, danced trembling on my eyelids; bless you, bless you, dearest love! I do kiss you with my whole
heart, and pat your dear caen dhumais
n’importefamously. I kiss it every instant (now) and
now and now-w-w-w.
Pray take care of the mourning ring you took as a pattern, as I value it much.
arch trick about it. By mistake, she opened the muslin
and found the ring; she and abstracted it. I missed the expected delight, and flew
(à la moi) all over
scarlet, up to her to inquire if it was amongst her parcels, and very
soon discovered by her joking how the land lay. Oh! I am a great fool, and
it’s all along of you, you, though, for all that.
OssianThe Way to Keep
Himtrue to nature,
passionate and tender, that I adore you. You never are
less interesting to me than when you brillezfemmeA propos de la
déessenot from Paphos, they are from the coldest chambers of your ice-house
imagination. you, curse me if I can tell
you any one thing I do from morning to night.
The whiskers thrive, and so, too,
does the hair, but you really!
I cannot write another letter, and yet I cannot bear to
part for two days in anger. Imagine all that is unsaid—I know you love me, however paradoxical your conduct, and I will try
to be content; I cannot bear to give you pain; God bless my dearest love.
I am very tired and it is late, so I shall write but a
short letter to-day, and that is the better for you, dear, as I am thoroughly
displeased with you and your cold, calculating, most truly unamiable epistle.
As for favours, whatever this tremendous favour that you dread to ask, be, I
suppose it will be granted—if it can. I have never
yet been in the habit of refusing you the sacrifice of every one of my feelings
and prejudices. In every instance you have done exactly what you pleased, and
nothing else; and my wishes, right or wrong, have been held tolerably cheap by
you; but this, I suppose, is to break me into an obedient husband by times. I
could, however, better away with that, than the manner in which you have
trifled with me in the business of delay. Why could you not at once have told
me, when you first conceived the idea in September, as I
remember by a conversation we had, that you did not mean to return till
Christmas. You would have saved yourself some little trouble and me very much
pain, besides freeing yourself from the necessity of stooping to something more
than evasion. But I do not mean to reproach you. I know
this is but a specimen of the round-in detail, be so often ill-judging, wrong, and (shall I
say) little. Ah, dearest me, almost to madness, that you can wish to stay from me! You do not mention how the letter missed, or
whether you have gotten all mine regularly since. Dearest, I know I am cross;
but it is because I feel strongly, and, perhaps, not
always correctly. Believe, however, that none can be
more truly devoted to you than your own, own
Je vous donne mille mille
baisers
“Tout homme n’est
pas maître de sa propre vie
The gaieties I mix in, are unparticipated by others. You
mistake me totally if you suppose I am the light, volatile, inconsequent wretch
you paint me. Much as I am, and ought to be, flattered
by the attention and kindness of a very large circle of respectable and
distinguished friends; intimately associated as are all my feelings, and
habits, and social pursuits with my sentiments for them, still, it is not they
nor the festivals they give me, that could have a moment’s influence with
me. Oh, no, it is a far deeper feeling.
Yes, My poor
father! I am very ill—obliged to assist
After three days of painful, miserable discussion,
welcome, welcome to the holy Sabbath, and to pure,
unmixed love. I know not why, but I enjoy to-day a triste sort of calmness in regard to you, to
myself, and to all that life can give, which is ease and happiness when
compared with the eternal flow and ebb of hope with which I am usually agitated. I will take advantage of it (while it
lasts) in writing to you, contrary to my previous
intention, and I do so, because I can avoid at all
touching on your affairs.
I should much like to have been present at your disputation on the influence of mental
cultivation on human happiness. You knew my
opinion, as I had so lately mentioned it, though in a cursory way, in aggregate by “bettering the condition” (that
is the fashionable phrase) of man, and multiplying his comforts, but individually, in a way not at first sight very visible.
The physical sciences all consist in facts and reasoning on facts, totally unconnected with morals, and, as
” The mind, then, perpetually
abstracted from the contemplation of this influence, stimulated by brilliant
discoveries, and absorbed in the consideration of beautiful, well-arranged and
constant laws, is enlarged to pleasurable emotion, at the same time that it rejoices in the
consciousness of its increased powers over the natural world. Those pursuits,
on the contrary, which have been supposed the most to influence happiness and
to tame the tiger in our nature,—the moral and metaphysical sciences, belles-lettres, and the fine arts, are, in my opinion,
of much more doubtful efficacy. Though their influence, when opposed to the
passions, is really as nothing (indeed, they too often but co-operate with them
in corrupting the heart) yet they cast a sort of splendour about vice by the
refinement they create; and render man, if not a better animal, yet certainly a
less horrible animal. As to the question whether humanity is bettered by the
multiplying wants, and decide,—the advantages and disadvantages
of each state are so little comparable; most probably what is lost on the side
of liberty, is gained in security and the petty enjoyments which, by their repetition become important, so that, on the whole, one
age is nearly on a par with another in this respect. As for the influence of
these pursuits on the cultivator of them, there can,
in my opinion, be hardly a dispute; he is to all intents and purposes a victim
immolated for the public for which he labours. In morality, the mind always
bent upon a gloomy and shaded system of things, is either tortured in making
stubborn fact bend to graduate with religious
prejudices, or if forced to abandon these, lost in
seas of endless speculation; consciously feeling
actually existing evil, and perfectly sceptical to future good. These sciences, too, generally are
connected with a cultivated imagination, the greatest curse
in itself to its unfortunate possessor. Imagination, always at
variance with reason and truth, delights in exaggeration and dwells most
constantly on what most affects the passions. Its food, its occupation is pain;
then, again, how constant is that sickly squeamishness of taste which finds
nothing to admire, nothing to approve; that sees the paucity of our conceptions
and the endless repetition of them. In point of fact, I have rarely seen poets,
painters, or musicians (I mean composers), happy men.
Fretful, irritable, impatient; guided by enthu-false conception). [End missing.]
“And if I answered you ’I know not what,’ It shows the name of love.”
Give me, my dear philosopher, ten thousand more such
letters, that I may have ten thousand more excuses for loving you still better
than I do. I glory in my own inferiority when you give that exalted mind of
yours fair play. I triumph in my conscious littleness; I say, “and this creature loves me.” Yes, dearest of all
the dears, this is a proud consciousness. I think precisely with you, and
argued on the same grounds; but not with the same eloquence that you have done.
après
toutbornéMorganmind in man; before that, everything sinks. When you talk en
philosopheput in
mind,” I hate you. So, as you see, my love is a relative, not a positive, quality. You will
know how to manage me, and I wish you every success, dear.
I shall not write much to you, to-day, because I am
writing a long, long, letter to— to— the—Lord Freeman’s
Journal!!you, joking and
dissipation, had an equal share in the wretched spirits in which I addressed
the dearest and the best. “Oh!
” but so it is,—it is next to
impossible to follow the quick transitions of our feelings. Just as I had got
thus far, enter coûte qui coûteà quoi
bon?I’m
pretty sure I shall be married”
) I will make you the dearest,
best, and funniest little wife in the world.
PS.—I shall not write to you to-morrow, love,
because I am going out about business for poor sise of the
blister to be shaved; but when the pain came to the front of his
head, he was obliged to have it all shaven. Yesterday he said to me,
“Tell
” for seeing me in
a wig!
I wish you would accustom yourself to write a little every day in mere authorship. I mean we shall write a novel together. Your name shall go down to posterity with mine, you wretch. The snow very deep, and the cold insupportable.
In the next note from Youth, Love and Folly, she included
I have behaved most ungenerously, most unjustly to you,
and I am a beast. Do not despise, do not hate me, and I will endeavour to amend. I have sat building odious castles in the
air about you till I fancied my speculations were realities. Do me, however,
the justice to believe, that you have been a little the cause of my
irritability. When you reflect that you told me * * *
was coming to Baron’s Court only on your account,
and that I found you were not shocked at the indelicacy of his
attentions—when you add to this that I found his name mentioned in every one of the first few letters you wrote, do you not
think that a man who really and truly loved, might, nay
must, feel anxious and uneasy. Never, for a moment, did I doubt your preference
for me, nor dread his influence over your mind; but
I was angry that you should indulge your vanity at the
expense of my feelings and your reputation. I was hurt
that you mentioned to your
grief to diminish mine, and you have overwhelmed me by your apparent
indifference; the badinage and frivolity of tone in your letters (excuse me,
dearest), have overcome me with a conviction of your indifference towards me,
no kindness of individual expression could confute. Had
you at first told me the extent of your wishes about absence, hard as they
were, I must have yielded to you. But the little preaching of delay upon delay, has impressed me with the
idea, that you wished that delay should terminate in separation. Tell me, tell me, dearest, even
what you wish and all you wish, and I will, at any risk,
gratify you if I can. Do not wrap yourself in stoicism, nor
“disdain” to open your bosom to one whose privilege it is to share your griefs and to soothe your sorrows. When
you will look to me for support, you shall find me a man capable of strong exertion, of self-command to act and to suffer for you. It is your
indifference, your reserve, with which I cannot contend. I confess I cannot see any adequate reason
for your dread of Baron’s Court. They will not return to England till
late in the next summer. Do you wish, do you really wish to delay my happiness
so long? I do not think you can avoid coming here, without positively
affronting the delay
it. But, as far as I am concerned, do whatever
will contribute to your own happiness, and leave mine to its chance. You know I
had set my heart upon our being well and intimately known to each other by
marriage, before the necessity of domestic arrangements should interfere with
our enjoyments. When we go to England we shall have much to do and something to
suffer. I was in hopes that by the cultivation of every tender feeling, we
should have prepared each other to go through this with cheerfulness. But do as
you will.
I told you I would not write to you to-day, dear, yet
down I sat, determined on sending you a long letter when I had finished
think of you, so take it for granted, my life is yours, and should be devoted to your happiness.
God bless you! “à la hâteseems, at least, in too good
spirits for anything very serious to be impending.
And God bless you, my dear love,
notwithstanding your shabby apologies for notes. Well, well, you are amused—e basta
cosislender diet. Your views of life are so different from mine, that at
first they gave me great pain and uneasiness; use, however, reconciles to many
things and I have already lost the uneasiness; perhaps
the pain will soon follow, at least I feel a
satisfaction in submitting my will to your’s, which already diminishes
it. Nonobstantindependent in your pleasures, and did not receive
the bright lights in your picture of life so much by
reflection from the world. For myself, I am not without a large
portion of personal vanity, and am as pleased with incense, when offered, as
others, but it is not a want of habit with me; and, on the whole, I had rather be loved than admired, and, I fear
also, rather than esteemed. This, you will say, is
weakness, “moi) ni sur la même route, ni de la même espèce,
que celui des autres hommes; ils ne cherchent que la
puissance et les regards
d’autrui; il ne (me) faut que la tendresse et la paix, ne suis je pas un vrai
Preuxpepper life;
and truly, at little more thirty, it is rather hard to find all “vanity and vexation
of spirit.
” I am as convinced as of any mathematical fact, that
the whole life can give is included in the four magical letters home. The affections are the only
inlets to real satisfaction; and they, alas! are so
often chilled, thwarted, or, by death and separation, annihilated, that I repeat, most sincerely, “of happiness I despair.” Ah, with the dead. I am again the sport of hopes and fears, and you are at once their cause, object
and end. Dearest love, you have much in your power; oh! be merciful, be
merciful! nor think it beneath your genius to strew some flowers in the path of
him who lives but to adore you! But to descend to the
common-place of life, has received another parcel of the books, and now finds
she has got a copy of them already. She wishes, therefore, to know if the man
will take them back, giving her something else in return? she will not send them till she gets your answer. The major is again
returned from his military duties. How much more
palpable his peculiarities are after a little
absence. Have you burned the letters yet? Why will you
not put me at rest on that point? You complain of my temper sometimes, but you
should afford the same pardon to sickness of mind as to
bodily infirmity; your absence is the cause of it
all.
How is this I will not pain you by that exhibition of my lacerated mind; I have
already destroyed it. On the subject of delay, however,
one word for all. As long as your presence is necessary to your family, so long
(be it a month or a year) I freely consent to your absence from me; but not one hour longer; you have no right to demand it, and if you knew what love
was, it is impossible you could wish it. But I fear you
are a stranger to love, except as it affects the fancy. You may understand its
picturesque effects; but of the anxious, agonizing alternations of doubt and
confidence, joy and despair—of all that is tender, of all that is heart in it, I fear you are utterly ignorant. For what
purpose can you wish a protracted stay? refuse invitations to go out; for them,
therefore, for your “pleased alacrity and cheer of mind.
” Seek not, then, to
torture me with your coldness and carelessness. Remember that, attachment means
bondage, and that we are mutually bound to promote
each other’s happiness by every means in our power. Remember, that savage freedom is incompatible with the social affections, and that you have no right to render
a being miserable, who lives and breathes only in your love. You cannot imagine
the grief of heart, the tears, this early avowal of your wish to lengthen our
separation has cost me. By heavens, there is no place so vile, so infectious,
that I would not inhabit it with you; and you object to share my love in a place to which another and a more
worthless passion—vanity, has chained you for
nearly a year at once, with every circumstance that should have driven you
away! How every unkind word, every doubtful expression with regard to your
future conduct towards me, recurs to my recollec-If you really do not mean to marry me, your trifling
with a passion like mine is worse than cruelty. For God’s sake, be
candid, and let me know the horrid truth at once.
Another thing—why do you keep secrets from me? Why
suffer me to learn from others circumstances which so materially affect your
interest?—as those of your father’s health. For my sake, for your
own, let there be no mystery between us, no separation of interests. Trust me,
I was rejoiced to learn that he was better again, and that you were the cause of it—that is the true balm, the only balm
you can pour upon the wounds made by your absence—it gratifies and
consoles me.
Great God! is there to be no end
of this? is every idle, every mischievous person to change your sentiments
towards me, and to destroy your confidence? what have I done, what have I said?
to bring down this tirade of abuse and reproach? Your letter has distracted me.
I thought myself so assured of your esteem, your confidence! I cannot write on
the subject. If it is
Never mind what I said about the bond, no matter about
that, or anything else. Your answer shall determine the moment of my departure.
I will throw myself into the mail the night of the day I receive it, by all that is
sacred—at the expense of health and life, I will do as you desire. to a
certainty, except some misfortune happens, and means to leave this on
the morning of the 2nd, so that she will, of course, be at Baron’s Court
on the night of the 3rd. If I have, indeed, been the cause of much pain to you,
what remains of my life shall be devoted to your happiness. How different do we
feel towards each other! I am all confidence, all esteem, all admiration, you are in love and nothing else. Any woman may inspire
all that I have inspired—passion accompanied by distrust and
suspicion—still I embrace you, my beloved, as tenderly as ever.
I am far from well. I have a most painful sore throat and oppression on my chest, with some remains of my cough; this is owing to my having gone into a bath at 105 degrees, when there was a hard frost; but the country will soon, I trust, put to flight every symptom of delicacy. God bless you! may your next bring me some comfort.
The horrible struggle of feeling I sought to forget in
every species of dissipation of mind, is over—friends, relatives,
country, all are now resigned, and I am yours for
ever—from this moment be it. The study of my life to deserve your love,
and to expiate those
I have gained my point in putting off our marriage for
three months, by which I have gratified the independent spirit of my character
in avoiding any addition of obligation to those on whom we are already too
dependant. I have satisfied the feelings of my heart by fulfilling the tender
duties they dictate, to my father and my family. I have obtained a more
thorough knowledge of your character from the development of your feelings in
your letters; and I have satisfied my woman’s delicacy, and the
bienséancebaby-house. Well, dear, we are now where we ought
to be, and long, long may we remain so. Pray tell
Here is one of my wife-like
demands. Will you send to London for six yards of black velvet for me?
Grafton
House, for half-a-guinea a yard, and your friend of Pall Mall, will
frank it over. This, dear, is no extravagance.
I perceive it is easier to command your obedience than
to endure it. You have taken me now, au pied de la
lettreles absens ont toujours tortThou canst not say ’twas I did
it.” The inequalities, the inconsistency of my manner and my
letters, the quick alternation from golden calf, sooner than waste your homage upon an invisible object. Dearest, I have divined you well.
You will say, “My sweetest I
too often find ridicule substituted for that admiration
now too necessary to me. Again you rush on me, and all is forgotten. Your true,
disinterested love! your passionate feelings! your patience! you long endurance
of all my faults! your generous and noble feelings! your talents, your
exclusive devotion to me! then, my
whole soul is yours! Father, sister, home, friends, country, all are
forgotten, and I enter again upon life with you; I struggle again for
subsistence; I resign ease and comfort, and share with you a doubtful
existence. I give up my career of pleasure and vanity to sink into privacy and
oblivion; and the ambition of the authoress and the woman is lost in the
feelings of the mistress and the wife.
It was thus I felt yesterday,
five minutes after my cold letter to you. After dinner I threw myself on the
couch and heard the clock strike seven, and I was transported into the little
angular room! To surprise us all, the door opened, and, carried in between two
old servants, appeared the dear father—papa! Hot
cake ordered for tea, and a boiled chicken for supper. We tuned the harp and
piano, and would play his flute in such time and tune as it pleased God! There never was such a family
picture. In the I am
thinking, my dears, that if God ever restores me the use of my hands, I
will write a treatise on Irish music for
” Again, when he was going back to his
room, he leaned on my shoulders to walk to the door,—“you are my
support Now, my little darling,
” and he burst into tears. Such,
dearest, are the feelings alternately awakened in a heart so vitally alive to
impressions of tenderness and affection, that in its struggles between
contending emotions it is sometimes ready to burst. Oh, then, pity me, and
forgive me; bear with me, examine the source and cause of my faults, and you
will see them in that sensibility which makes a part of my physical structure,
and which time and circumstances have fatally fed and nourished. You do not
expect, do not deserve, perhaps do not wish to be bored,
with this letter, yet I shall send it; keep it by you, and when you are angry
with me, read, and forgive!
When the postman knocked, I said, “Ah! the
rascal, after all his impertinent, icy Strabane letter, he has
written.
” I flew to meet it—burst it open with a smile of
triumph. It was from
Poor dear papa! The consequence of his little frolic last night are, that he is confined to his bed today, and symptoms of gout in his head. I am going to see him. God bless you.
You are not worth writing to, little fool, for though your words are fair, they are few
and probably false.
Have you really the presumption to think I will condescend to write to her, who instead
of writing two or three for one, thinks I am going to put up with a miserable cover of
another letter?
As to “
I do pity while I blame you. But your great instability, whatever be the
cause of it, is equally cruel in you and equally
unbearable to me. It is absolutely necessary for you to
exert some firmness of nerve. Review your own conduct to me and think how very
unnecessarily you have tortured with repeated
promises, all evaded; while each letter has I beg you to carry that
in your remembrance. The same effort of self-denial, which gave you
one month, would have given you three, had you asked it
seriously and firmly. It is the eternal fiddling upon
nerves untuned by love (perhaps too romantic) for you, that I cannot bear the
repeated frustration of hope. The evident preference you give to general
society over mine—your very dread of this place,—the instability of
your affections as depicted in your letters, are all
sources of agony greater than I can endure, and it must have
an end. To finish this business, then, at once—of your own mere motion within this last week, you have
fixed with me and with your sister too, to leave Dublin
at Christmas, and that much I give to nature and to amusement. If you can then return
to me freely and voluntarily (for I will be no restraint upon you) say so, and
stick to your promise. If not, we had better (great
Heaven! and is it come to this!) we had better never meet
again. The love I require is no ordinary affection. The woman who
marries me must be identified with me. I must have a
large bank of tenderness to draw upon. I must have frequent profession, and
frequent demonstration of it. Woman’s love is all in all to me; it stands
in place of honours and riches, and, what is yet more, in place of tranquillity
of mind and ease; without it there is a void in existence that deprives me of
all control of myself, and leads me to headlong dissipation, as a refuge from
reflection. If, then, your love own happiness’ sake, by Heaven! more dear
to me than my own, do not let us risk a life of endless regret and
disappointment. Deliberate; make up your mind; and, having done so, have the
honesty to abide by your determination, and not
again trifle with feelings so agonized as your unfortunate friend’s.
As to your two chapters on
story-telling, I am indignant enough at them, but my
mind is too much occupied to dwell on that subject—only this; you assume
too high a tone on these occasions. I set up no tyrannical pretensions to man’s
superiority, and have besides a personal respect for your
intellect over other women’s. I know too, that in the present
instance, you are right. But I never will submit to an
assumed control on the woman’s side; we must be equals; and ridicule or command will meet
with but little success and little quarter from me.
Oh, God! oh, God! my poor lacerated mind! but the horrid task is over, and now, dearest woman (for such you are and ever will be to me), take me to you, your own ardent lover; let me throw myself on your bosom, and give vent to my burdened heart; let me feel your gentle pressure, the warmth of your breath, and your still warmer tear on my cheek. Think, love, of those delicious moments! when all created things but our two selves were forgotten; of those instants wherein we lived eternities.
I am indeed a wretch to inflict pain on so much
excellence; but, alas! what can wretchedness do but complain! Recollect how
often my hopes in you have been delayed a few days, the return of a post, a
week, a month for you to go to town—three weeks delay in your departure
added to this. And now, by every means in your power, you would delay them
still further for an indefinite time. Recollect, too, the things you have said
of yourself, your “exaggeration of your faults,” the array of
lovers you have dressed out; the times you have been on the point of matrimony
and broken it off, and think what I must suffer with a mind making food for
irritation even out of mere possibilities. Indeed, I was cut to the very heart
of heart, when you first hinted at your dislike of this place being a
sufficient motive for keeping from me. But when you
renewed this plea, ere the first pang of parting had ceased to vibrate in my
bosom, when you talked of happiness without me too great for comparison, can
you wonder that I was horror-stricken and overwhelmed with misery. I doubt not,
feel the sacrifice, I should count the
hours till we met, and should be, as I now am, a very wretch till that time
arrived. I little good agent in creation scarcely
admissible. For God’s sake give me some idea when you think of returning.
What hopes do the medical people give you of your father’s recovering his
limbs? Your last letter told me you feared he never
would. If I had never been buoyed up with hopes of our speedy union, I could
have better borne your absence. I am in so horrid a state, that I have already
burned two sheets full written, least I should annoy you; and here I am writing
worse than ever. Oh, God! oh, God! can I ever bear it? Can you forgive it?
you
cannot resist—ridicule. You will never endure the
object of her constant raillery. Really I do not see how she can affect you,
now your father is ill. I did not part with every earthly happiness, with
peace, with everything, that you might furnish out her dinner-tables. If you
can dine out, you can come to me. I sent you home to nurse, and every hour
taken from your duty to your father is a double fraud to me. Indeed, if I hear
of your being gay, I shall go quite mad!—I cannot be gay.
If you are not, you ought to be,
very indignant at my last chapter upon long stories, for
I certainly treated the subject rather pertly; but you
know my way of preferring any one of the deadly sins, to
the respectable dulness of worthy bores; and if there is
any one thing on earth more insupportably provoking than
another, it is to see a man like yourself full of that stuff which people call “natural
talent” cultivated by a superior education, enlightened by science,
and refined by philosophy, concealing his native treasures, and borne away by
the bad ton of a bad style of society, substituting, in
their stead, the “leather and prunella” of false taste. It is thus
the Irish peasant plants potatoes on the surface of
those mountains whose bosoms teem with gold! I have seen
the best and the worst of English society; I have dined at the table of a city trader, taken tea with the family of a London merchant, and supped at Devonshire House, all in
one day, and I must say, that if there is a people upon earth that understand
the science of conversation less than another, it is the English. The quickness, the variety, the
rapidity of perception and impression, which is indispensable to render
conversation delightful, is constitutionally denied to
them; like all people of slowly operating mental faculties, and of business
pursuits, they depend upon memory more than upon spontaneous thought. When the power of, and time for, cultivating hébêteton is
so great that every one fears to risk himself. In Ireland it is quite
different; our physique, which renders us ardent,
restless, and fond of change, bids defiance to the cultivation of memory; and,
therefore, though we produce men of genius, we never have boasted of any man of
learning—and so we excel in conversation, because, of necessity we are
obliged to do the honours of the amour-propregive and take, for thrown upon excitement, we
only respond in proportion to the quantity of stimulus received. In England,
conversation is a game of chess—the result of judgment, memory, and
deliberation; with us, it is a game of battledore, and our ideas, like our
shuttlecocks, are thrown lightly one to the other, bounding and rebounding, played more for
amusement than conquest, and leaving the players equally animated by the game,
and careless of its results.
There is a term in England applied to persons popular in
society, which illustrates what I have said; it is “he (or she) is very amusing,” that is,
they tell stories of a ghost, or an actor. They recite verses, or they play tricks, all of which must
exclude conversation, and it is, in my opinion, the very bane of good society. An Englishman will declaim, or he will narrate, or he will be silent; but it is very difficult to get him to
converse, especially if he is suprême bon
tonrising man; but even all this, dull as it is, is better
than a man that
puts me in mind,” and then gives you, not an anecdote, bat an
absolute history of something his uncle did, or his grandfather said, and then,
by some lucky association, goes on with stories which have his own obscure
friends for his heroes and heroines, but have neither point, bûtmoral (usually tagged to the end of old ballads). Oh,
save me from this, good heaven, and I will sustain all else beside!
Ah, dearest love, what a querulous letter. While I,
waiting impatiently for the post, was scribble, scribble, scribble, and
would have gone on till night in the same idle way, had not your letter cut
me short;—dearest, suspicious I who entreat
permission to prolong my residence here, it is a father whom I shall never see again—it is a sister, whom I
may never see again. It is friends I love, and
who love me, who solicit you to leave me yet a little longer among
them—you who are about to possess me for ever!
My best friend, if after all I should be miserable, would you not blame
yourself for having put a force upon my inclinations? If I come voluntarily and self-devoted to you, then the
penalty abide the issue. I will tell you honestly, and I
have often told you so, you call it caprice or weakness if you will; but
I shudder at the place! You will understand me,
I know the susceptibility of my spirits, and I know the train of gloomy
impressions which await them. I am sure of you! I am only delaying a good
which may be mine whenever I please, and avoiding evils which are certain, and which once there, I cannot escape.
Still, however, I am not the unworthy wretch you think. I am always more to
be pitied than blamed.
God bless you dearest, ever.
My yesterday’s letter will be a sufficient answer
to yours of this morning. I can only repeat, that I will no more consent to
delay and trifling, and that I consider your fulfilment of your sacred promise
as the touchstone of your affection, and the only means of regaining my
confidence, at present, I confess, somewhat in abeyance.
I do not mean to accuse you of deceit, as you have so
often said, but while your wishes extend in proportion to my facility in
complying with them—while your love of pleasure (now no longer disguised)
exceeds your love for me, and your regard for your own honour and pledged
word—while your marrying at all, you cannot wonder that I
think you tired of your bargain, and I am anxious to
reduce to certainty my hopes and fears on points so entirely involving my
complete life. Professions of love are easily made; but if you really have that
regard for me which I suppose, place cannot make so much
difference. Your hatred of this place is an insult which any, less
foolishly-fond than myself, would seriously resent. You complain of my
irritable feelings; they are your own creation; from the very first hour of our
intimacy, either from want of tact, or from disregard of
it, you have kept them afloat, and when the cup is full you cannot wonder if a
drop makes it run over.
Ah, dearest, what have I done? positively nothing, but
what I was always prepared to do, what I always felt
bound to do—given up to yourself,—and considered you entirely your
own mistress, to act as you pleased; free as air,
unpromise-bound—to the very last moment of your approach to the
altar; and yet, though our relative situation is not altered, I am fretful and
uneasy, that you should deliberate. Perhaps I am
mortified that deliberation should yet be necessary; whatever it be, I have not
the courage to look the possibility of losing you in the face. Surely, truth, that has uniformly haunted me with the idea that
you would not ultimately be mine. Do not say I am meanly
suspicious, or that I have any fixed notion of
your intending me unfairly; it is but the restless anxiety of a mind, naturally
too susceptible of painful impressions, acted upon by circumstances very
peculiar, and which (when once we are married) can never recur.
“
” This
is exactly my state; ah, my God! you deliberate!! and under what circumstances?
surrounded by objects all acting forcibly on your senses and imagination, all
opposed to my interests in you. Bored eternally by acquaintance who wish to
retain you they know not why,—and no one by to take my part, to support
my cause and plead with you for me. Alas! the paper can indeed carry my parceque j’aimecomplaints, can show you the variety of my feelings, but
it shows only the désagrémentsinconvenience to which (perhaps an ill regulated) love
appears to threaten you. Little can it express the
warmth, the tenderness of the feeling, still less can it convey the kiss, the sigh, the tear, the look which speak at once
to the heart, and “outstrip the pauser
reason;
” ah! les absents ant
tort, en veritécalculation and debate.
Dearest, dearest girl, I have a friend, an eloquent
friend in your bosom; call him often to council; he will tell you far, far more
than words can express; he will remind you of moments, blissful as they were
transitory, moments when the world was but as nothing, compared to the passion,
the tender self-abandonment of your friend; he will whisper of instants when
father, sister, all were forgotten, or remembered only as less capable of
conferring happiness than he who now addresses you. You have had, I admit, but
a bad specimen of my temper. Irritable feelings but too
idly indulged; but consider the unusual situation in which I am placed. You had
always assumed a volatile, inconsequent air, and before I could be assured of your love, you left me. Honestly and
fervently, I believed you no trifling good, and the
weight of the loss has always pressed on me more than the probability, that I should lose you. I was uneasy because I was not
absolutely and entirely
certain of you.
Do you understand this? If I at all know myself, and can
judge by my three years of married life, I am above suspicion and jealousy. I
do not know that I ever felt one uneasy moment on that head. But while fate can
snatch you from me, while you are anything short of my married wife, I cannot
help taking alarm—I know not why—and from circumstances that
won’t bear analysis. Cannot you comprehend a sensation of uneasiness that
crossed me (for instance) when I read your friends’ satirical account of this place. It appears as if
every body were trying to de-but of every anecdote you have written
me of Dublin conversation. Ah, my own sweet love, you
cannot think how much more than they ought, such trifles prey upon a bosom agitated like mine. I should,
indeed, be ashamed to confess this, if I did not feel it was nature, and a
necessary part of a devoted affection. Our weather, contrary to your
supposition, is fine, and Baron’s Court in (my eyes) as lovely as ever.
Were you out of the question, I could live here for ever. London and its
gaieties would be forgotten.
Your letter to-day [of the 16th] came very opportunely.
Your dreadful epistle yesterday [of the 14th] totally overthrew me,—it found me ill and low
spirited, and left me in a high fever; in my life I never received such a shock—its severity, its cruelty, its suspicion. Oh, what
a frightful futurity opened to my view! I went to bed almost immediately to
hide my feelings from my family, but never closed my eyes all night; I am now
languid and stupefied; my cold is very oppressive, it is an influenza going; my
throat, however, is better.
From the style of your letter to-day, I suppose, I may
stay to accompany my sister on the 2nd, that is, next Thursday, the day week on which you will receive this. Still I
will go the moment your mandate ar-whether I am better or not, and whether my life is
at stake or no. It would be much better to die than to suffer what I
did yesterday. I don’t care a fig about being
popular or unpopular. I am sick of that stuff and intend to be more savagely
independent than ever. I am so very unwell, particularly in my head and throat,
that I cannot write much to you. I have been obliged to give up extracting.”
PS.—Write me word how my large trunk can be
conveyed to Baron’s Court, as I would send it off directly. My
dearest, do not think of coming to meet us—we both particularly
intreat you will not. We shall be quite full inside the carriage and cannot
admit you (maid inside), and what use your riding
beside the carriage? I entreat most earnestly you will let our first
meeting be in your own little room. I will fly there the moment I
arrive—but no human being must be present. My cold is better. If
set off at daylight on Thursday morning,
no human power shall prevent me setting off in the
evening without. She will decidedly go, and on
that day, and so, for once, have confidence
and believe. Who could invent such a lie, that I did not mean to go to
Baron’s Court till the middle of January? The idea never suggested itself to me; the 3rd was the most distant
day I ever thought of. I suspect that wretched
I will write to-morrow if the post leaves this, but I fear it does not.
“Not know you? by the Lord
” why, I wouldn’t be acquainted with
any man that I didn’t I
do, as well as he that made you, find out in speaking two
sentences, or reading a couple of paragraphs of his letter. Well, then,
although I know you these fifty years, I am at a loss
whether to believe the whole, or the half of what I hear of you; to save you a blush (for I suppose
you’ve learned to blush since you came to this immaculate country), I shall believe but half, and if you are but the tenth part of that half, by
the Lord you are too good for a son-in-law of mine, who have been, however,
half the while, little better than one of the wicked. Well, all’s one for
that; heaven’s above all, and as we in the south
say, “there’s worse in the north.” The
cause of this saying arose from the hatred the southerns (especially the lower
orders) had to the northerns, looking upon them as marauders and common
robbers; and it was a common thing with nurses to frighten the children to
sleep, by threatening them to call an Ulsterman. I
remember this very well, myself. Now, if one man is speaking ill of another to
a third person, that man will probably say, “Well, well, he is bad
enough; but there’s worse in the north.”
“But hear, you
” here’s a little bit of a thing here, that
runs out in your praise as if you were yadward,the god
of her idolatry;
” by-the-bye, you’ve had a good deal of
patience with her lately; don’t let her ride the bald
filly too much; and if she won’t go quietly in a snaffle, get a good bit and curb for her. But I have nothing to say to it;
“among you be it, blind harpers.
”
For myself, here I am, “a poor old man, more
sinned against than sinning.
” Instead of being the
“fine, gay, bold-faced vil—
” no, I’ll change
the word to fellow, I was wont to be—the very head
and front of every jollification—I am dwindled into the “
” I deny this, for my feet and legs
swell so in the course of the day, that I can scarcely get hose large enough to
fit me; but this swelling goes off in the night. “slipper’d pantaloon, with my hose a world too
large for my shrunk shanks.Can’st thou
not minister to a leg diseased? if thou can’st not, throw physic to
the dogs, I’ll none on’t;
” time, however, is drawing
near, when it will be “sans eyes, sans teeth, sans
everything.
” With me, however, although “I owe heaven a
debt, I would not wish to pay it before it’s due;
”
therefore, if I could get these legs well, and the cursed teasing pain in my
head somewhat banished, I should not fear lilting up one of Carolan’splanxtirs, in such a style as to be heard from this to
the Monterlomy mountains with the wind full in my teeth;
for the old trunk is as sound as a roast, and never once in the course of a ten
months’ illness, was in the least affected, therefore, “who is
afraid.
”
PS. You have worked a miracle—for eight months back, I never could take a pen in my hand! I really am astonished at myself now, bad as it is.
I told you yesterday, dearest, that you should have a
long letter to-day, and here comes one as short as myself. The reason is, that
a good old Irishman has sent me 20,000 volumes of old Irish books to make
extracts from, and I am to return them directly, and here I am in poor
Dad’s room just after binding up his poor blistered head, and I am just
going to work pell mell, looking like a little conjuror, with all my
black-lettered books about me. I am extracting from tant soit peude quoi vivrenutshell house in London, I shall
be satisfied, and you shall be made as happy as Irish love, Irish talent, and
Irish fun can make a cold,
shy Englishman. Your song is divine. Here is
I like and thank you for your pretty song,—it
is quite in the style of Italian composition, and is
the very thing for my weak natural voice, and I shall sing it with the
Spanish guitar to great advantage. I suppose I may thank billet doux.
Irish books are pouring in on all
sides—anonymously, too, which is very singular, and mostly
“Rebelly” books as you English would call them. Has Taaf’s
Impartial History of Ireland
I write, as usual, in a hurry. There is a puff in
In the next letter it will be seen that
I own I think if you are not here by Christmas, you use
sometimes it might so
happen that a man might recollect that though he was accepted of for a
husband, that past conduct proved it was more par
convenance
I should be sorry to offend gratitude. I only want the bookseller to change the books for
others—they are damaged, and I have a set of them here. He might let me
have No. 62, which is about the same price.
What is the cabinet? tell me. What is become of
Pacata
Hibernica
“And the last note is shorter than the
first.
” I totally despair of ever writing you a legitimate letter
again, and you have met with a more formidable rival in Lawyers. I have not yet got through the Pacatatête
baisséelatter do not find its
extinction in the former, and depend upon it, dear, had
I asked your leave to stay in Dublin three months, you
would have knocked me down. I will do all you desire on the subject of odious
business, and I shall write to you (barring I do not, believe, as the less my
” words, the more my love appears.force in the commencement of this business, that my
heart was frightened back from the course it would naturally
have taken. I have now had time to reflect
myself into love for you—how much deeper and fonder than that mere
engouementdecided upon rational grounds, I am immoveable, and I am as much yours as if the Archbishop of Canterbury had
given his blessing to the contract; by your wishing to get all business out of
the way, I suppose I am to be met at the door by Mr. Bowenbe fed before I
am offered.
Why, I’m coming you wretch! Do you think I can
borrow
*
No, you are merciless as a vulture, and I am worse off
than
Well, no matter. I go on loving ad libitum
Now, Stupid the First, read the following paragraph to
the best of all possible marchionesses:—
“The injured
”
A thousand thousand blessings upon my soul’s best
will come, then! you will be here at Christmas? and no longer leave me to
pine at your absence, and doubt your love. Yet tell me so again; tell me your
arrangements; as yet I dare not trust myself with this promise of better days.
I have had a long and dreary dream, and fear has not yet quitted me. How weak,
how inadequate are words to express all that I would say to you on this event!
the ideas crowd upon my mind, and in vain seek for utterance. I would tell you
of my love, my devotion, my gratitude. I would do homage to your virtues, to your tenderness, your
affection, by heaven more welcome to me than
fortune’s proudest gifts, her foremost places; but it must not be. Your
imagination must befriend me; think me at your feet, my long frozen bozom
thawed and melting into all that is tender, all that is affectionate. What an
age of misery I have suffered!—the pain, the grief of heart to think
hardly of you! Yet so it has been; you have suffered in my estimation more than
I dare tell; and though I feel now that I wronged you, yet was I not
unjust; but thank God, thank God, all is again peace, and I have nothing
to regret, but the lingering flight of slow-winged time. My sweet love, why do
you not take care of your health? Why do you suffer that odious cough to
remain? be more thoughtful of your-billet doux for her to-morrow I will write.
I could almost fancy, my dearest life, that there was
something more than chance in your having inclosed the billet
douceureux; that I, too, might have something
pleasant to peruse to-day, and so sympathise with you in the delight with which
you are now reading my letter of Thursday last. Ten thousand thanks for it! How
little do you know my temper; that small note has a power over my mind beyond
comparison greater than your grave, sententious epistles; you will never scold me into yielding a point; but coax me, out of
whatever you will, though it be my heart’s blood. I cannot think of your
stupid Irish post without vexation. Two whole days of torment added to your
sufferings, and to my repentance. But I have sinned, and
must bear your anger till the return of post on Monday relieves me. When I look
back at my senseless irritability, I am more than ashamed. It was the excess of
love; but I am sure un peu plus d’indifferenceprinciples of conduct and compelled me (according to my ideas) to
risk our happiness, by protracting courtship; the whims and
caprices I mean are those little peculiarities of habit, which can
only be known to us by the close contact of matrimony. All the courtship in the
world will never teach them. What the conquest has cost you, you do not know. If love had a triumph over reason, reason has,
in its turn, gained the advantage of love. I love you certainly less than I
did. It is more vale of years. “Such as you are,” you are necessary to my
happiness, so I must e’en marry you, your
“sensible men” and
all. I hope and trust all unpleasant discussion is over between us.
Burn my “eloquence” that it may not rise in judgment against me,
and if you can, forget the ungenerous reveries in which I have indulged. You must, I hope feel, that in spite of my nonsense, I am ready to sacrifice every
feeling of self to your happiness. I do not wish me
faire valoirtrusting my hopes into
your possession. If you had asked little all lies. My long annuity stands in my own name; my wife’s settlement is vested
in the Three per Cents., in the names (I think) of rigid accountant, demanding the long arrear of love you
owe me, and one who will not let you off “till you have paid the
uttermost farthing.” Thank your sister for her note, she, too, shall love me; kiss her for me.
Packing to be off, you quiz! Don’t grumble at this
scrap, but down on your knees and thank God you get a line. I am all hurry and
confusion, and my spirits sad, sad, and sometimes hysterically high; how much I
must love you to act as I am acting! I shall write to-morrow; but not after.
Oh,
Lady Clarke’s
The vice-regal party are here, and are all running after
the grouse, at this moment. The Knight. The ceremony is to take place in a few hours. The coquette
has behaved very well, for these ten days past; she really seems now attached
to him. She is afraid Sir Charles Morganhave the mate. He is in as great
a frenzy as ever about her. He left me, last night most suddenly, in the midst
of an Italian duett, before the whole Court, to go and
listen to what his love said to Mr. Parkhurstgreat
capabilities. However, I must tell you,
Her ladyship took
The event had at last come upon her by surprise. No one of the many
visitors in the house knew of it coming on thus suddenly; nor was the fact itself announced
till some days afterwards, when
”
Having with difficulty won his wife,
The first year was very stormy, not without seasons of fine weather,
but not “set fair.” Afterwards, the domestic atmosphere cleared, their mutual
qualities adjusted themselves, and, like the people in the winding up of a fairy tale,
“they lived happily ever after.” The works she wrote after her marriage take a
different rank to those she wrote previously, and bear
The following letters to
You, who have followed me through the four acts of my
comedy, seem to cut me dead at the fifth, and leave me to the enjoyment of my
own catastrophe without sympathy or participation; not a single couplet to
celebrate the grand event, not even one line of prose to
say “I wish you joy.” It is quite clear, that like all heroines, I
no longer interest when I gain a husband.
Since you will not even ask me how I am, I will volunteer
the information of my being as happy as being “loved up to my
bent”
(aye, and almost beyond the same to-day, to-morrow, and
for ever,
” that I can give you no other notice of my existence
than that miraculous one of a man being desperately in love with his own wife,
and she “nothing loath.
”
Though living in a palace, we have all the comfort and
independence of home; besides bed-rooms and dressing-rooms, joli boudoirthe
world forgotten, and by the world forgot,
” we live all day, and
do not join the family till dinner time, and as chacun a son goûtevery inch a wife, and so
ends that brilliant thing that was Glorvina
N.B.—I intend to write a book to explode the vulgar
idea of matrimony being the tomb of love. Matrimony is the real thing and all
before but “leather and prunella.
”
This chapter I dedicate to enthusiast in everything, he is a zealot as to talent, and one of your old letters has roused all his fanaticism in
your favour; he longs as much to know you as I do to see you, et c’est beaucoup dire!
I have just learned from bonne
bouche
A chance (studiously sought for) threw it in my way to
speak of dear more skilled to raise the wretched than to rise,
”
seemed to please him. Shortly after, he asked me if he had not married a
daughter of
I merely mention this to you, because the rebuter
I long to hear from you; by this I hope you have seen my
dear partout
où vous êtes, et partout où je suis
PS.—Poor, dear, excellent
The tone of the following letter is very much softened and subdued from
the “saucy
It will be seen that all the kindness and luxury
I never answer your dear, kind, welcome, and clever
letters at the moment I wish to answer them (which is the moment they are read)
both for your sake and my own, because I wish to delay the moment of bore to you, and to keep in view a pleasure for myself.
To hold intercourse with you of whatever description, has always been to me a
positive enjoyment since the first moment I saw you, and that was not the least
happy moment of my life. I was then full of the spirits which create hope in
the mind. I was beckoned on by a thousand bright illusions, and it was a
delicious event to meet half way in my career such a creature as yourself. In
short, my dear friend, our physical capabilities for receiving pleasure wear
out rapidly in proportion to their own intensity, and those who, like me, see
life through the dazzling prism of imagination long before they are permitted
to enter it, must, like me, find the original infinitely inferior to the
fiction; still I have no reason to complain. I have associated myself to one
who feels and thinks as I do, and this is, or ought to be, the first of human
blessings; but his thoughts and feelings are still of a
higher tone—they are not qualified by that
light vanity which brings my character down to the
general level of hu-love
he is
” yet, for his sake, I would be almost
contented to be less loved, because I should see him more happy. He admires the
picture I have drawn of you, and often says “Of all the persons you have
mentioned to me,
You will laugh at this wife-like letter; but provided you
do laugh, I am satisfied. Could you take a peep out of your secluded Eden at
the vicissitudes and miseries of those who live in the world, you would hug
yourself in your own “home-felt certainty”
of peace, comfort, and competency. The worst of all human evils you never can
have known—poverty! As
” I am, however,
for the present, living upon fifty thousand pounds a year, and shall do so for
another year if I choose; but although our noble hosts
are everything that is kind and charming, we prefer a home of
our own, be it ever so tiny. Since I wrote to you, we have lost the
beautiful heavy blow.
I am delighted your winter has been cheered by the
society of your new son-in-law, and the amiable June, if her health permits, and
after that I must settle in England and she in Ireland. I am at work again; but
with the sole view of making some money to furnish a bit of a house in London,
which, coûte que coûtehopes and views which in the first era of life give such spring to mind, and such energy to thought, are all dead and gone. At
present nothing would give me more pleasure than to meet you in London when we
go there. We are daily expecting the arrival of inevitability about it that is
a dead bore.
I long to hear how the dear little farm is going on, and
all the improvements. Is the pig alive? is Poll as brilliant as ever, and
you? Do you walk about with the little black silk apron
and feed the pets? Pray write to me, and soon—directly; this I ask in the
honesty of earnest wishes.
The genuine Irish romance that was to furnish the little house of our
own in London was the O’Donnel
The first heavy sorrow of her life came upon
’Tis an excess of selfishness in me to write to you
under my present feelings, as, except to detail my own he might have been mistaken. In
short, it appeared to me impossible that my own dear father, who was my child
as well as my father, could die—nor I don’t
believe it yet! it is to me as if a curtain dropped before life. I can look
neither to the past nor to the future without connecting everything with him,
and the present is all, all him. The tie which existed between us was not the
common tie of father and child. He was the object for which I laboured, and
wrote, and lived, and nothing can fill up to me the place he held in my heart.
My dearest
They allow me to breakfast and dine in my own
sitting-room, which is a great comfort, and I have not seen a creature since my
misfortune, but
My dearest
God bless and preserve you,
PS.—Dear
Your message to
Everything that you say about Dublin is very seductive,
but we really are in a pitiable state of hesitation at present. They have not
the remotest idea that we can or will leave them as long as they remain in
Ireland, and yet they talk of that being a year or two. If we (what they would call) desert them, we shall risk the
loss of their friendship, which would indeed be a loss; but if we remain we
lose time, and it is quite fit that Mais pour aller à Corinthele désir
ne suffit pasyou
don’t patronize my Lords and Ladies Fiddle Faddle,
I will vote your pride, but the “Damn nigger
you get for your money” is quite below purchase! Native worth
and native genius (like your own) must always hold the ascendant in whatever
circle it is to be found, and if you find not these amongst a certain class,
you find something else with people of rank; you get the next best thing, education, which, with English people of fashion of the
present day, you never fail to find. The young people of this family (including
the son-in-law, savoirfaute de mieuxde loinreal brilliant,
I am sure I should always have discovered your “original
brightness” in whatever setting I should have found it. I know your
intrinsic value, and prize it at its worth; meantime, let me prefer the rose
diamonds of my Lord and Je vous
aime de tout mon cœur
“To each his suffering;
” you have had
your portion, and it would have been unfair and unjust to have written to you
under the influence of my sadness, and have drawn from you an unavailing
sympathy at the moment you have been so actively and beneficially engaged in
soothing and comforting my dear true friend,—I have always thought so,—I
have always said so, and every year of our friendship has given me fresh reason
to confirm my opinion. The dearest and strongest tie, which time, nature,
habit, and acts of reciprocal affection can form, has been wrenched from my
heart; I ought long since to have been, and yet was not, prepared for it. It
was a dreadful break up to the feelings; it is so much of life broken off. A
host of dearly remembered events, feelings, and associations, are necessarily
gone with it. Were it possible I could ever again love anything so well, I can
never again love anything so long. The best point of existence with me is over,
and new ties and new affections must be light in their hold, and feeble in
their influence, compared to those “which grew with the growth and
strengthened with the years.
” My dear husband,
heart, and to live in Ireland, if those I love cannot live with me in
England, where interest and ambition equally call he has no wish, scarcely any will, but mine, and is ready to make my
country his, “my people his people.” As yet, our views are very misty;
impossible. We have not,
however, said so.
We have lately added to our party,
As
What think you of the state of public affairs? our
letters to-day, from England, say that the opposition still hold out, though
offered six places out of twelve in the Cabinet, or seven out of fourteen. What
a * Alluding to the gossip of the day that the
bouleversementlevers et coucherstourbillonbonne fortuneChilde
Haroldforce, fire, and
thought than anything I have read for an age) is
cold, silent, and reserved in his manners,—pray read it if you have not.
When I was in London, Childe Harold
We expect
There is no letter or memorandum to show the exact time when
They went to stay with Novice of St. Dominic
The prospects of
A few years after his marriage, Outlines of the Physiology of
Life
Another letter from
My epistolatory sins multiply upon me at such a rate, I
am almost ashamed to face a correspondent of any description, and quite so to
appear before you. Where are my congratulatory replies to your Dublin letter,
announcing your marriage? Literally in
nubibusliterally, for scores
of them passed through my brain in forms so airy, that they flew aloft before I
could catch one to fix upon paper. The sober truth up, they
carried with them my best wishes for you and yours.
I have not been in town since the summer of 1811, nor much at Cheltenham, preferring, whenever I am permitted, the enjoyment of my cottage, in this my native village. But don’t think I spend my time in idleness. My pursuit has lately been, when uninterrupted by vaccination, the morbid changes in the structure of the livers of brutes, which has led me to some conclusions respecting the same changes in the human, ’tis hard, methinks, that the poor animal that is content with what the meadows afford for his daily bill of fare, and whose cellar is the pond or the brook, should perish from the same diseases as the drunkard; but so it is. There are plants which, somehow or another, are capable of throwing the state of the liver into that sort of confusion which calls hydatids into existence. These do not continue long in their native state, but produce a great variety of tubera, cartilaginous, bony masses, &c. In other instances, the disease originates in the biliary ducts, which become astonishingly enlarged, and thickened in every part of the liver, and finally destroy it in various ways. This is the outline of my research. The hydatid I can call into existence in the rabbit in about a fortnight.
I most heartily wish well to the scheme you have in view,
and shall use my best endeavours to promote it. I know but little of the
locality of Dublin; but it is fingers’ ends will grow sore with professional
exercise. Let me advise you to take up some scientific pursuit, which will
admit of an exhibition—why not mineralogy? You are quite at home there. I
have a medical friend who has long ranked as the first physician in one of the
largest cities in these realms, and whose fossils were the stepping stones that
led him into the wide fields of practice. If you can bear to write to such a
correspondent, pray let me hear from you ere long, and believe me, with every
friendly wish to you and yours
The next letter is from
I will not be
rebutée, nor (throw me off as you may)
will I ever give you up until I find something that resembles you, something to
fill up the place you have so long occupied; the fact is, my dear I do not like women, I cannot get on with
them! and except the excessive tenderness which I have always felt for my
sister be called friendship, you (and one or two more, par parenthèse!lierDevancer son sexedevancer son
sièclecommode d’être
joliethere; active and restless, the spur was
given, and off I went, happy in the result that my
comparative superiority obtained me one such friend as yourself—that is,
as you were; but I fear you now cut me dead.
We have at last got into a home of our own; we piggery into a decent sort of hut enough; we have
made it clean and comfortable, which is all our moderate circumstances will
admit of, save one little bit of a room, which is a real
bijou, and it is about four inches by three, and,
therefore, one could afford to ornament it a little; it
is fitted up in the gothic, and I have collected into it
the best part of a very good cabinet of natural history of set out. I was thinking, that may be
Susette could enrich my store in the old
china way, if she has any refuse of that sort which you may have thrown her in
with your cast-off wardrobe—a broken cup, a bottomless bowl, a spoutless
teapot,—in a word, anything old and shattered, that is china, and of no
value to you, will be of use and ornament to me, and
With respect to authorship, I fear it is over; I have
been making chair-covers instead of periods; hanging curtains instead of
raising systems, and cheapening pots and pans instead of selling sentiment and
philosophy. Meantime, my husband is, as usual, deep in study, and if his
popularity here may be deemed a favourable omen, will, I trust, soon be deep in
practice. Well, always dear friend; any chance of a line in answer to my three
pages of verbiage? Just make the effort of taking up the
pen, and if you only write
You will think me, as you have no doubt long ago thought
me, a very miserable correspondent; but the fact is, that of late my time has,
in a most unusual manner, been occupied. The History of
Hampshire
You, I presume, are by this time comfortably settled in
your new residence, and, as I should conceive, find domestic pleasures
infinitely to be preferred to those of pomp and bustle in a house not your own.
This is peculiarly the case with me. Since I have been in Christchurch this
time, I believe I have only dined from home about four times, nor do I ever
wish to be from my own premises.
When you next write you must inform me how many patients you have got. I presume that your knocker must, by this time, be almost worn out. I am glad your packages arrived safely; but I must confess, when I was putting your chattels together, I did not conceive that I was doing it for a voyage to a foreign country.
The new edition of the Animal BiographyWelsh Tour
By the way, I have been employed, during the evenings, in
preparing a little introductory work on Zoology, the first sheet of which is
printed. This, at present, is unknown I believe to any except the bookseller
and my family. The plan is nearly the same as that of Animal Biography
PS.—
The next letter is from O’Donnel
You see that I do not lose a moment in obeying your
orders, and be assured that you ought to give me some credit, as I am in
general but a bad correspondent. Your inquiries as to whether you are to make
Evening Post
Excuse me now, if from being over anxious for the fate of a work, which, coming from your pen, will, I am sure, have so much to recommend it, I venture an opinion. Do not mix anything of religious or political opinions in a work intended only to amuse,—it will lay you open to animadversion, and party may influence opinion.
This was very sage advice, but felt to be impossible by the
During the whole of the first year of her residence in Kildare Street,
O’Donnelpur sangYes, my
dear, it is very beautiful, but I will never open the book again, it makes me too
miserable. Don’t hang him.
”
O’DonnelO’Donnel
O’DonnelThe
Wild Irish GirlQuarterlyIda of Athens
Your letter was sent after me into the country, which must be my apology for my apparent delay in answering it, and in assuring you how very much gratified I am by your kind remembrance and attention in dedicating your new work to me.
It will not, I hope, be long before I have the pleasure of reading it.
In the year after the publication of O’Donnelsoirées, where the company were singing
“l’autretrousseau
Poor old that palace
The name of the author of such charming works is as well
known to
One of the most remarkable of the acquaintances made by pâtemordants
You have not written me a line since your departure. I
hope you have not forgotten me, as I admire and love you more than any one
else. I have been to see à mon égardsoirée
soiréeFashions continue the same.
I meet de temps en
tempsrecherchébel esprit
My best love to
I have had the pleasure of receiving your agreeable
letter of the 29th of October, and have executed all your commissions except
that auprès degens
d’esprittout autre chose que bonneNovice of St.
DominicMissionarypar
cœurcomme à l’ordinaire
By the way, although I sent my love to intrigantesoi-disant
Dear triste, tout
m’ennuie dans ce monde et je ne sais pas
“pourquoiséjour of
America, and the climate destroys the little health which has been left me; but
any inconveniences are more supportable than being separated from one’s
children. How much more we love our children than our husbands—the latter
are sometimes so selfish and cruel, and children cannot separate their mothers
from their affection.
I have seen all the persons who interest you since the
reception of your letter, except
PS.—I hope
After her return from Paris to Kildare Street, and while engaged in
preparing her work on France, O’Donnelrégime, a favourite with bal de l’ Opera
Your letter of the 21st September, dear Miladi, has been
received in our colony with a sentiment which could only be surpassed by the
happiness of receiving yourself. I am equally proud and happy at your
partiality for our towers and for their inhabitants, whose distant admiration
for you has become tender and con-
We show less philosophy than you about the misfortune for which we were already very sorry before we knew how much worse it was. It is vexing to think that the work which fulfilled so perfectly the expectations of your friends, should have been for you alone the occasion of a disappointment. The copy you had the goodness to send to me has not come to hand. I expect it with great impatience.
I see that you have much amusement in retracing the
articles of the last royal ordinance upon the physiognomies of your different
friends. The party that you have left pretty well united, finds itself cut in
two, like a polypus, and makes two distinct bodies, which make grimaces at each
other, en attendanttracasseriessalons. See! I am also doing a little in politics
myself! You know that very few of our summer days have the inconvenience of
heat, therefore I pity you for your walk; the rains are dreadful here; we are
afraid we shall have great losses in our harvest. The bread is bad and
dear—a franc for a four pound loaf. Our sheep suffer also from the damp
herbage this year. Mine, however, about which you are good enough to inquire,
have not suffered so much. You see that we here have also complaints to make,
besides other misfortunes, the impression of which is too deep to be complained
about. The two last years of war have taken away from our peasantry the
provisions which would have enabled them to meet this year of dearth; but they
have, in the course of the revolution made a provision of energy and good
sense, which makes them stronger and more enlightened under the strokes of
fortune than they would have been thirty years ago. We sympathise with all our
heart with the misfortunes
My daughters, my grandchildren and all the generations here desire to offer you the expression of their gratitude and attachment, which sentiments animate all the inmates of La Grange. Believe me, my dear lady, I join with them in the renewal of the tender and respectful homage with which I am
While the book on France was growing under O’DonnelFranceLiterary Gazette
I am just returned from the city, and have scarcely time
to save the post, and say that I really considered the offer I made you
handsome, and as liberal a one as in common prudence could be made under the
particular circumstances. Without seeing the contents, which certainly promised
well, I naturally expected the most interesting work on the subject that has
appeared; but however excellent and original, you
perhaps have no idea how great a disadvantage to the sale is the number of
works on the same topic that has already appeared.
I should indeed be sorry that you should be compelled to
arrange with any other bookseller, and whatever apparent
advantage there may be in publishing with any other, I am very confident, on a
proper balancing, of its being in my
favour. No one bookseller, I am certain, takes the tenth part the
pains I do in advertising, and in other respects I do
not think any one will in future, cope with me, since,
from January next, I shall have under my sole control two
journals, viz., the New Monthlyweekly
literary journal, which is to be sent free by the post
instantly all over the country like a newspaper, and to
foreign parts. It is to be called The Literary Gazette and Journal of the
Belles-Lettresnovelty of its plan; the value of its contents, and the preferable mode of
publication—thirteen numbers for one of the
To conclude at once, though at a really great risk, I
will consent to undertake to pay the one thousand pounds, and on my honour if
it succeed better than expected, I will consider myself
accordingly your debtor, besides making up
to you the other fifty pounds on O’Donnel
That I may make arrangements accordingly, I will beg your ultimatum by return of post. I am obliged to conclude,
On the 17th of June, 1817, France
The work on France made a great sensation It was so long since France
had been open to the English, that it was fresh ground to that generation; indeed, it wore
a new face to all the world; for the restored France of 1816 was a different world to what
had been the France of the old régime, or the France of the
Consulate and the Empire.
The clamour of abuse was enough to have appalled a very stout heart.
The praise and admiration, though quite as hearty, came from a less influential party.
The work itself, which provoked all this clamour, is extremely
brilliant and clever; the sketches of manners, opinions and people, are bright, vivid, and
touched in with a life and vigour that impresses the reader with their truthfulness. The
sketches of the French peasantry are excellent and graphic; her own experiences amongst the
Irish peasants gave her a practical insight into the general conditions of this class. The
notices of French society, both Royalist and Bonapartean, are charming and sparkling. She
had keen perceptions, and admirable powers of narrative; but in Francesuccès de société
It was a pardonable vanity; but it gave her enemies a handle against
her. It was easy to make “a hit, a
The Quarterly
Florence
Macarthy
The following jeu d’esprit from the pen of
her sister,
Looking to the correspondence of
Poor, graceful, gracious
Many thanks, dear
I wish I was able to write any satisfactory account of my
But
My The Rivals
I hope your labours will soon be over and amply rewarded. Much is expected from you; and I trust you will not disappoint expectation.
I beg my kind compliments to
Our next letters are from
There is no need to draw attention to the passage on “the loves
of the
Your kind letter by
All your friends are well and anxious about you as ever.
par
semaine
France is the country you should reside in, because you
are so much admired and liked here. No Englishwoman has received the same
attentions since you. I am dying to see your last publication
You would be surprised if you knew how great a fool she
is, at the power she exercises over the Duke; but I believe that he has no
taste pour les femmes d’esprit
The
I know not a single syllable of the political news of
France or any other country, nor do I even read the gazettes at present. My bad
health and ennui more than occupy me, and deprive me of
all interest in life.
Adieu, my dear
How is
I shall write you a long letter when I am better. I am confined to the house at present.
Mrs. the “Muse of
Fable” has come back after a tour to the south of France. Did you
know she was in
I have not seen triste
” Her
friends are encouraged to flatter themselves, that her great sensibility will
not kill her; at the same time that it induces her to give them parties and
attend their reunions. She grieves in the most agreeable way to all those who
find her house convenient or her society desirable.
My desire to see my child is stronger than my taste for
Paris. I really am of your opinion, the best thing a woman can do is to marry.
It appears to me that even quarrels with one’s husband are preferable to
the ennui of a solitary existence. There are so many hours besides those
appropriated to the world, that one does ennui and
tristesseennui in any state, because, when absent from society,
you cultivate talents which will immortalize you. I know no person so happy as
yourself. pire qu’un
crimeManuscript of St. Helena
Adieu, my dear pétri d’espritdifficilementmédiocre and tiresome. I hope bel esprit
PS.—Write me addressed to my banker here. After
my departure, dans l’autre monde
The next letter is from
I never was more pleased to hear from you, dear improving every year, that
I rejoice all these stern readers can now say is, that you relied too hastily
on the bland and decent manners of Frenchmen, and could not conceive, with a
pure and honest heart, that any one could recommend an unvarnished tale of
indecency to your consideration. Pucelleslanders of ruffians.
I received your letter of the 7th; you now know why it
remained unacknowledged. I knew before I received it that France
The Danish Ambassador, who speaks English as well as we
do, said to me the other day, “We, in Denmark, cannot impeach
”
I agree in * See toto with your feelings
of what true religion should be, “to visit the sorrower in affliction,
and keep one’s self unspotted from the world;” this, with a firm
acknowledgment of the great truths of Christianity, would be the perfection of
all doctrine!!! To persecute is horrible, and every species of protection ante, p.
58.
I have heard since I came into town yesterday, that
Rob RoyThe Dragon
Knight
Early in July, FranceI have announced the work by numerous paragraphs and advertisements, and it
shall be well advertised everywhere.
” FranceFlorence
Macarthy
It is not so romantic as O’Donnelould Irish noble family of decayed fortunes.
It is curious that whilst the story is wildly improbable, the
accessories are all true, not only in spirit, but in the letter. The heroine, con amore
The sketches of character, the pictures of fashionable society in
Dublin, the English fine ladies and dandies of the period, the Irish characters, both of
the good and of the despicable class—in short, all the shades and varieties of the
moral and social influences at work in Ireland at the time, are given with a subtlety and
vividness which is wonderful; they are dashed off with vigour; they live, and move, and
bear their truth to nature stamped upon them in every line. FranceQuarterly
In the end, the conversion of the hero is rewarded by marrying
Lady MorganFlorence
MacarthyFrance
In March, 1818, Florence Macarthy
On their way to London
“This is the first time I arrived at Holyhead without the hope of
seeing dear
* Published by Florence Macarthyparureen route to Italy, has been minutely chronicled in the
“You are not to suppose we spend all our time in idleness, for
we study hard in our different departments. I give an hour to Italian every morning,
and have began a course of history, ancient and modern, to rub up my memory before
touching classic ground.
”
Italy was not then the accessible holiday tour it has since become.
There was enough of difficulty and adventure to give the journey a dash of the heroic to
Whilst in London she received the following letter from
I have not received a line from you since my arrival in
America, which I regret more than I can express to you. I wrote you a very long
letter describing the effect your ennui. You have a great deal of imagination,
but it can give you no idea of the mode of existence inflicted on us. The men
are all merchants; and commerce, although it may fill the purse, clogs the
brain; beyond their counting houses they possess not a single idea—they
never visit except when they wish to marry. The women are all occupied in
les détails du
ménageréunionsennuyéevery respectable offers; but I prefer
remaining as I am to the horror of marrying a person I am indifferent to. You
are very happy, in every respect, too much so, to conceive what I suffer here.
I have letters from Paris which say
Qu’en pensez-vous?en
passant
Paris offers too many agréments
de toutes les
manièrespour me débarrasser de mon
tempstristes
Adieu, my dear il ne faut pas que je
vous vous ennuye davantage
A letter from
Here we are, my dear love, after a tremendous expense at
the hotel at Dover, where we slept last night, and embarked at twelve
o’clock this morning, in a stormy sea. The captain remained behind to try
and get more passengers, and the result was, that we remained tossing in the
bay near two hours, almost to the extinction of our existence. In my life I
never suffered so much. As to aubergeaubergemaman.” She is herself
about fifty, so you may guess what “maman” is. She is admirable—a powdered head, three feet high, and
souflet gauze winker cap. Our chamber-maid is worth anything. She is not one of
the kitchen beauties, par exempletable d’hôteEnglish sauces, said the fish was infamous, and found
fault last remark, “Why, your confounded room has
not been papered these twenty years,” was too much for our good breeding;
and we and the Frenchman laughed outright. Is it not funny to see our
countrymen leave their own country for the sole pleasure
of being dissatisfied with everything?
We leave this early to-morrow, and shall be in Paris the
next day, please God. La Grange, direct to the Hotel d’Orleans,
where we shall go on our arrival in Paris. I feel myself so gay here already,
that I am sure my elements are all French. A thousand
loves, and French and Irish kisses to the darlings.
The travellers passed through Paris and Geneva into Italy. In
Florence, they met
This leg of mine seems inclined to turn out rather a
serious concern, and the sooner I avail myself of
This “leg” had been an ill of long standing.
“Oh,
“Damn your soul!” said
Argument was not the strong point in
The ground mentioned in these letters has been constantly
travelled over since; but there is a freshness and vitality in
By this I trust you have received my letter from Geneva,*
which we left with difficulty and infinite regret. We had entreaties and
invitations to remain for months to come, and as a temptation to bring us back,
we have the offer of a house and garden on the * Published in “ConfessionsFrancemise à l’Index
Having passed two or three days in Chambery, which is not
much larger than Drogheda, we proceeded the next day through scenes of romantic
beauty that defy all description. At a lovely Alpine village—Aquibelle,
we were so delighted, that we made a halt, and made some delightful little
excursions on foot, where no carriage could penetrate. Here the snow mountains rose closely on us. The next day’s
journey all appearances of spring gradually faded into a perfect winter, the
horrible grandeurs of the Alps multiplied around us, and fatigued in spirits
and imagination, we reached the dreary little village of Lanslebourg late in
the evening, where all presented a Lapland scene, nothing but snow and ice, and
a hurricane blowing from the mountains. We found at the foot of Mont Cenis,
which we were to begin to ascend the next morning, an inn kept by a good little
Englishwoman, and I believe, next to finding myself at your chimney corner,
this truly English inn gave me the greatest pleasure I could feel. It snowed
all night, and we began our ascent in a shower of snow, with four stout horses
and two postilions dragging our light carriage. My imagination became
completely seized as we proceeded, and I sat silent for near seven hours, my
teeth clenched, my hands closed, my whole existence absorbed in the sublime
horror that surrounded me. The clouds that form your sky were rolling at our
feet, and the pinnacles of the mountains were con-la
tourmentevalet de placecorps diplomatiquehaute
noblessenoblesseThe
Missionary
At last here we are, in the ancient capital of Lombardy,
now under the government of the * Outlines of the
Physiology of Life
The Opera-house is considerably larger than the Opera-house at London, and truly magnificent and imposing; but the stage only is lighted: the women go in great bonnets, and it is, therefore, by no means so brilliant or enjoyable as ours. The orchestra is immense, and the scenery, for beauty and taste, beyond what you can imagine; and the ballet the finest in Europe as a drama, though the dancing is bad; as soon as the ballet begins, every one attends. They have played one wretched opera for these forty nights back, for they don’t change these entertainments ten times a year. Last night we had a new one brought out, and helped to damn it. God bless you all, dear loves, and send me safe back to you!
ItalyMysteries of
Udolpho
The attentions of the Milanese increase with our
residence among them, and persons of all parties, Guelphs and Ghibellines, have
united to pay us attention. The Ex-minister of the Interior made a splendid
entertainment for us at his beautiful villa, as did the
Lady M. W. Montague’s Letters
The next day we set off on our aquatic excursions through
regions the wildest, the loveliest, the most romantic that can be conceived. We
landed at all the my villa of Someriva, which we found to be a splendid
palace, all marble, surrounded by groves of orange trees, but so vast, so
solitary, so imposing, and so remote from all medical aid, that I gave up the
idea of occupying it, and we rowed off to visit other villas, and at last set
up our boat at a pretty inn on the lake, where we sat up half the night
watching the arrival of boats and listening to the choruses of the boatmen. The
next day we returned, and after new voyages found a beautiful little villa on
the lake, ten minutes row from Como, which we have taken for two months, at six
pounds a month. The villa Fontana consists of two pavilions, as they are called
here, or small houses of two storeys, which are separated by a garden. In one
reside the Signor and Signora, our hosts, with a charming family; in the other
reside the Signor and Signora valet de chambre
” with
my Spanish guitar, my name is not douaniersdrôle
de corps
The weather has been splendid; the heat was at ninety
degrees of our thermometer for some days. In the midst of the glories of this
beautiful clime these sudden storms burst forth, and while they last, spoil
all. Among our Comoesque amusements, one is going to the festivals of the
saints on the mountains, and to the churches. To-morrow we are to have an opera
in Como, with a company from Milan, and the Commandant has given us his box.
There has been an imperial fête at Milan, called a carousal, for which we had an imperial invitation; but as court
dresses were necessary, we thought it not worth the expense. We are delighted
with the good family of our host here; they are, ce n’est pas mal
I labour, as usual, four or five hours a-day. I think I
shall do the best that I have done yet, and that my great glory is to come.
Don
Juanà mourir de rire
Love to sans adieu.
A letter, from excellent Tales of the
HallMazeppaDon Juan
Had I required to learn the uncertainty of all human
projects being fulfilled, my now sad tale had taught it me. After a
consultation here, a warm climate was held to be good for I went
to ColburnFlorence
MacarthyHeart of Mid LothianMazeppaTales of the
HallThe Bride of
LammermoorLegend of MontroseDon JuanI hear it is not personal, but very impious and
very immoral; however, this may be as false as the other distorted account of
it, and, write what he may, his is a great genius unhappily directed.
There have been half a dozen marriages, and another dozen
are about to take place.
This letter is a true account of a most agitating, frightful state of mind, that required all the effort that I was capable of to enable me to seem like other people before my dear child, for he judged his state by my impressions of it as they appeared to him, and I did act a difficult and a cruel part, laughing and telling tales to him when I thought all lost!!
Farewell; and to your better pencil I consign all the
glories of Italian scenery; may you, in
PS. I have just finished Don Juan
Here we are again, and here, owing to the kindness and
hospitality of our Milanese friends, we sojourn for two days. You never saw
such lamentation as our canapéposte restante
In contrast with the tone of keen enjoyment in
Your letter from ennui of my fate in America, and should never have
ventured another voyage to Europe could I have found the means of education for
my son which exist here; but either he must have remained ignorant or I was
compelled to leave the repose of my fauteuil
You know we have been nearly ruined in America, by
commercial speculations, and even I have suffered, as my tenants are no longer
able to pay me the same rents, and the banks have been obliged to diminish the
amount of yearly interest which I formerly received from them; these
inconveniences are, however momentanétout ira bienhas and never will contribute a single farthing towards his
maintenance. We have no correspondence with him since the demand I made two
years ago, which was merely that he would pay some part of his necessary
expenditure; this he positively refused, therefore, I consider myself
authorized to educate him in my own way. I wish I could see you again; it was
so unfortunate for me that you had left Geneva before my arrival. I fear, too,
that you will not return this way, and it is impossible for me to leave my son
without Florence
Macarthyesprit de corps, or de
coterieles bien venus
partoutà
propospetits soinsséjourseulement par devoirparmi les gens de haut ton
prendre à un prix très élevé des étrangers en
pension settlement “pour leur
agrémentspirituels to imagine that their pemionnairesla belle NatureLa belle nature, Mont
Blanc, le Lac de Gènéve, le beau coucher du soleil, le lever
magnifique de la luneparaissant tenir lieu de tout autre
chose
My health is entirely restored, and I am much less genre
larmoyantphysiquement, that I had not sufficient force to support
les maux moralesà tout prendre
The above would reach
We left you setting off for Florence. At the opera the
Counts finalementeempressementA proposI am your man, and
I’ll carry your can,
” thrown into a very charming and
gentlemanly young man. I never saw so kind a creature. He said he had orders to
bring the Captain’s boat and ten men for me as often as I pleased. He
came with this set-out twice, and was in despair that I could not go. He wrote
me an elegant note to tell me so, but alas! after near a fortnight’s
struggle, and going out every day sick and weary, I was knocked down fairly, or
rather foully, with a bilious complaint that threatened fever. There was no
getting a breath of air,—I suffocated; however,
Arrived at Bologna, we sent out our letters, and the next
day were visited by all that was delightful and distinguished in the town. The
Outlines of the Physiologyof Life), which, by-the-bye, has taken wonderfully in
Italy, and procured him infinite fame; a second edition of the French
translation has appeared. When we arrived at Bologna, they recommended us our
apartments by telling us they were well aired, as
The hotels at Florence are handsome, comfortable, and
expensive. We set up at the Nova-Yorka, kept by an Englishwoman. Our arrival
being known, some of the principal persons came to visit us instanter; the réuniontristes
You will now like to know how the deuce we have got into
a palace, into a suite of elegant and spacious apartments, filled with flowers
such as are only found in Italy. (homme
d’affaireFlorence
Macarthyfrom that
enlightened and grateful people. The first thing I saw here in all the
booksellers’ windows was my picture stuck up with a good translation of
Florence MacarthyLady
Belvidere
A little note from
I have only time for a line; but a line from Rome is
worth a hundred from anywhere else. This place does not disappoint. There are
some old brick walls to be sure, before which people stand with a delight and
veneration in which I cannot sympathize; but the Coliseum is the very poetry of
ruins. My leg, thanks to you and
I think of being off from here the latter end of this week. It was my intention at first to go to Naples, but Cannæ was by no means tempting, and then there is such talk of escort, &c., &c., that, what with the Colonel and the guards, I thought it much too dilatory a proceeding, and gave it up.
Love to
The “son of
I received your letter at the foot of
tea, sugar, tea-things and kettle, but
from Florence to Rome we could get neither milk nor butter. There was but one fire-place in each inn, and
that kept in the heat and let out the smoke. Our precious servant (a treasure) took care of us as if we were children, and
made a fire in a crock in our bedroom, which, with stone
floors, black rafters, and a bier for a bed,
and the smell of the stable to regale us (for it generally opened to it) was
quite beyond the reach of his art to make comfortable.
We always set off before daylight and stop before dark. Thirty miles from Rome
begins that fearful desert the climate, is terribly consuming. I think I look twenty years older
than when you saw me. However, I am in excellent spirits and health, odds wrinkles!!!
The kindness of our Florence friends pursued, or rather
devancéssoirée, to
a concert at the fall heavy on the unfortunate,
&c. I confess I do not see that exquisite beauty she was so celebrated for.
She is, she says, much altered, and grown thin, fretting about her brother. Her
dress, though demi-toilette, very superb; and the
apartments, beyond ex-Queen of
Holland
The Eternal City disappoints at first entrance. I thought
it mighty like an Irish town, shabby and dirty—we have yet seen nothing
save St. Peter’s, to which we ran like mad the moment we arrived. The
first impression of that disappointed too; the interior overwhelmed me! but not
as I expected—but of such places and things it is impossible to speak
with the little space a letter affords. The climate heavenly—orange trees
in boxes out of every window, mignonette, &c.; young lamb, chickens, and
salad every day. We have got into private lodgings, lots of
visitors—rich beauty, all glowing and bright—the most
good-natured, caressing creatures. We get on famously with our Italian. I spoke
all along the road to the common people, and got lots of information. Did I not
tell you that delightful, and recalled
December 18.—We had a delightful party at the Monti
The following amusing account of a visitation from two bores is written in a journal of scraps kept whilst on her journey—this is the only finished entry. There are other things which, if finished, might have been entertaining, or if legible; but they are jotted down in memoranda as indications for her own memory, and are unintelligible to any one else. The present sketch of a morning with two Bores, has been recovered from MS., compared with which, ill-written Greek characters, or a cuneiform inscription, would be legible as fair Italian text-hand!
Enter Mrs. B—— and her brother, who prosed me out of Spa, begged me from Lausanne, and hummed me into such a lethargy at Geneva that it is a mercy I was not buried alive! They are the best poor dears on earth—and there’s the worst of it.
I had my cheek kissed by the sister, and my hand by the
brother, for ten minutes at least, by the town clock—not rapid electrics,
but long-drawn kisses,
The kissing over, the prosing began.
Mrs. B—— took the lead, comme de raison, opened the campaign d’ennui, with unwonted vigour; the fun was to see her brother
deliberately taking up his posture of patience, like a general on active
service, his heavy lids gently falling over his heavy eyes, his very nostrils
breathing stupefaction.
Observe, for it is good to know the outer and visible signs of our natural enemies, Bores have noses peculiar to themselves. The nose of a German Bore is a sort of long, broad, romantic, rather aquiline, and rather drooping nose—the drooping nose characterises invariably the nosology of a bore—in a word, it is the leading feature.
But to return; Mrs. B—— began with an account
of her journey. Not a stage, not a turn in the road, not a cross that I had
gone over six days before but was described to me, first en grosen détailthis was nothing; they were graphic
pictures, however ill-drawn—it was the moral
demonstrations, the particular parentheses, which left me without hope, help,
or resource; every beggar, post, landlord, or landlady, “put her in
mind” of her mother’s housemaid, who used to say when goûtéDrink deep or taste not.
”
The dear B——’s have drunk like sparrows
and swelled like crows, but drunk a little of everything, “from humble
port to imperial tokay,
” and it is this that renders them more
tiresome in their prosy scraps than the most obdurate ignorance could ever make
itself. No one could be in the room a moment after Mr. B—— came in,
without knowing that he was a geologist, botanist,
archæologist,—everything. He began by complaining of all he had
suffered from heat, and I gave him my whole share of sympathy! But when he got
upon the causes, and talked of the fundamental laws of
nature, I started up in the midst of a diatribe on cosmogony, and in despair,
exclaimed, “My dear Mr. B——, you are aware that God made the
world in six days, and did not say one word about cosmogony!” It might be
thought that was a hard hit;—not at all, he took it gravely and began a
disquisition on the Mosaic account. The word me in mind
that in Ireland we call a bore “a Mosey,” and there was something
so utterly Moseyish in the look and manner of the
proser, that the ridiculous application was too much for me, and I owed him,
perhaps, one of the pleasantest sensations in the world, that of laughing, not
wisely, but too well. I have now made out my case of bore-phobia.
Your letters have given us great uneasiness about our house; but I have no room for any feeling except joy and gratitude that you are well out of your troubles, and that the young knight promises to do honour to his people.
Now for Rome, and our mode of existence. Immediately
after breakfast we start on our tours to ruins, churches, galleries,
collections, &c., &c., and return late; dine, on an average, three
times a week at English dinner parties; we are scarcely at home in the
evenings, and never in the mornings. The old Mr. Bonaparte
Nothing can be kinder than the
soirées all in one night. With great difficulty I at last got at
A letter from
A long and severe attack of my spasmodic affection,
dearest sposasse compte pour quelque
chosesinging second, à gorge
déployée to the musical misses, and making
love, tout son saoul, when his brother’s death struck him to the
heart;—for a heart he has depend upon it, and a generous one too. The
he sent for
the Duke of
SussexMy father and brother dead,
warns his family to unite and live as they should do. I can forget
everything!
” The duke wept much, and the world is pleased with
the king, and does him justice. Again, the late king’s Will is unsigned,
and consequently all his money-wealth goes by law to the Crown. When the
No, my lord, I am here to fulfil my father’s wishes, not to
take advantage of such a circumstance; therefore the Will will be executed
as if it had been signed.
” Of another amiable trait you will
think as I do. Walker, apothecary and surgeon, who has attended him since his
Demm it, I’m glad you fail, for it
would have vexed Walker,
” and turning to whom, he said,
“Come man, tie up the other arm.
”
Observe, if you please, the excellent feeling which, with
his life dependant on the operation, animated him to forget himself for the old
man who had often sat up in his nursery, and you will allow it was very fine.
The report of all travellers who have had any knowledge of the
The Habeas
Corpus! All this you will hear of better than my defective information
can apprise you. In the way of literature, we have been all busied with
Anastatius; or,
Memoirs of a GreekIvanhoe
It is now known that
Here we are again, safe and sound, as I trust this will
find you all. We were much disappointed at not finding a letter here on our
return, and now all our hopes are fixed on Venice, for which we should have
departed this day but for the impossibility of getting horses; the moment the
Holy Week was over, there was a general break up, and this strange, whirligig
travelling world, who were all mad to get here, are festino
I really was rejoiced to see your pretty hand-writing
once more. The recollections of old friends are to me infinitely more precious
than the attentions of new, and killing, accommodation wretched, and
expense tremendous.
Imagine, on our reaching home, we found the tenant who
had taken our house during our two years‘ absence, had gone off with the
rent, destroyed and made away with our furniture, and left our house in such a
ruinous condition that we have been obliged already to spend three hundred
pounds to make it habitable. I have brought many pretty things from Italy, so
that we endeavour to console ourselves for our loss by enjoying what is left
and what we have added. I am now writing eight hours a day to get ready for
publication by December, and endeavour to keep out of the world as well as I
can, but invitations pour in. People are curious, I suppose, to hear some news
from Rome, and I want to keep it for my book. And now, dear
The following letter from
I wish they would give us your bêtemaître de litteraturepar parenthese
How is dear
The soulagementsur le cœurdé-domagerA
proposloueurs des
Gazettes
Do not let me forget to tell you that le
mariageennui of existence, and in those moments of wretchedness I have no
human being to whom I can complain. What do you think of a person advising me
to turn Methodist the other day, when I expressed just the hundredth part of
the misery I felt? I find no one can comprehend my feelings. Have you read
Les
Méditations Poétiques de Lamartinelarmoyantcombine tous les genres
d’espritnatural où
naturelle
Do hurry, then, with your work on Italy, pour maintenir vôtre reputation
I have seen a German Countess;—that means, seen her
every day during three months; she is a practical philosopher of the Epicurean
sect, a person just calculated to make something of life—unlike me as
possible—she has a great deal more sagacity; to do her justice, she tried
de me débarrassermes idées romanesques et mes grandes
passions; but I am incorrigible, and go on tormenting myself about
things which I cannot change. She had more coarse common sense, with greater
knowledge of the world, than any person I have ever known. I wish I resembled
her, because I should be more happy.
Adieu, my dear
The Odd VolumeI am paying two thousand pounds for it,
which Fame.”
Italy
Comparatively little was known of Italian society, or the condition of
the country. Italy had just passed from the despotic but intelligent sway of
It is still the best description of the state of Italy, moral and political, as it was at the period of the restoration of the Bourbons.
Her ladyship’s criticisms on the public buildings and pictures
may lie open to question; but the spirit of the book is noble, and its fascination is
undeniable.
In his letters, there are curious indications of the state of journalism in those days; except the great reviews, which were governed by party politics, the literary papers were entirely in the hands of those publishers who advertised largely.
ExaminerNew TimesJohn BullI am intimately acquainted with the
editors; and
” Criticisms and reviews went more by clique than merit.
advertising with them a great deal, keeps them in
check.
A letter from
I have forwarded to you some papers, in which the book
is mentioned after a fashion,—to call them criti-TimesTimesLiterary ChroniclePressGlobeHeraldStatesmandelay the publication of it.
I had the pleasure of receiving from
The public will be quite ready for a new work in January or February next. But it is high time, I should think, of settling my account, fifteen hundred pounds; the other five hundred to remain open a little while, if you have no objection. I assure you I always wish to be square. If agreeable, instead of giving my bills, I will pay into any banker’s in town.
In another letter of later date, Italya great and
profitable effect upon the sale.
”
When you write to
” His Lordship had been at the pains to defend himself to
He says, “Much is coincidence; for instance,
” excellent
book, I assure you, on Italy) calls Venice an ocean Rome; I have
the very same expression in Foscariyou know that the play was
written months ago, and sent to England; the Italy
Amongst
These “refugees” were men who had been mixed up in plots
to attempt to gain political freedom and enlightened laws for their country, which had been
condemned by other nations to return to the old Bourbon rule. Some of these men had
suffered imprisonment, and, after many trials and tortures, had
To those who know what it is to endeavour to serve to the utmost,
with necessarily limited powers, which every one persists in believing to be unlimited,
some adventure on his hands, and two or three of these
in which he rescued distressed damsels from the snares and force of ravishers, made a
deal of noise at the time.
” During the period when he was in America, he was
often in want of money, his remittances from home being uncertain. He was indebted for a
livelihood to his mechanical skill, which enabled him to take charge of a cotton factory at
New York. In his youth he was eminently handsome, remarkable for his noble stature and
bodily strength. He was proud of having run a foot-race in the presence of Garde du Corps
The following letter from him to gentillesse not acceptable to the lady.
I did my duty to my Sov—— no, to my family.
I kissed the lion’s paw, but did not attempt to pull the tail of the
beast. I have seen my caricatures, which are strong likenesses of the original,
but until I saw
I shall be well pleased to hear that the charms of the
Hermitage give way to the boudoir and library in Kildare Street. I really am
not fit to leave home for more than a few hours. I even cross the bridge with
reluctance. Yet I rowed my boat down to the bay, expecting a noble assemblage
of vessels of war, but I was disappointed; probably because when soldiering on
South Sea Common, I had repeatedly seen the British fleet riding at Spit Head.
You have heard how six feasts a year, &c.,
&c., &c., which, however, are at a stand, for
A letter from London of the 11th, says the King is
Two bad days after what we have had are bad omens for
rents. Yet, I cannot think with
I am lithographising
A second edition of ItalyItalySalvator Rosa
With liberal good sense he sent her as a present all the books that he
conceived would be useful to her in the course of her work. He also pathetically entreated
In addition to her swarm of Spanish and Italian refugees, BertramMelmoth
”
The difference between the position of
Once, when Plaze, my Lady, the masther says, ‘My angel is
better, but my cherub has flown!’”—a piece of “good
luck”
for the cherub.
Melmoth the
WandererWoman, or Pour et ContreMelmothPour et Contre
ManuelBertramManuelFridolfo
He died in great poverty, feeling resentment equally against those who helped him and those who had not.
In December 21, 1821, Life and
Times of Salvator Rosa
If
Here is a note from
A long time ago, in one of your excellent works (all of
which I have read with great satisfaction), I remember your having expressed
your approbation of my style of writing, and a wish that
I would lose no occasion of rendering it useful. I wish I could agree with your
Ladyship in your kind and partial opinion; but as there never was an occasion
in which it can be more useful to excite popular feeling than in the cause of
the Greeks, I send your Ladyship a copy of the
In her search after materials for her Life of Salvator Rosa
The Death of
RegulusRegulus
There is also in RegulusPythagoras teaching his doctrine to
Fishermen
There is an etching of the Regulus
Whenever cicerone.
Regulus
A letter from an old Irish gentleman who had “registered a vow;” marks the spirit of the times, and may wind up the letters of this year.
I think it necessary to inform you that when the Union
Act passed, a few patriots, with myself, invoked the most solemn imprecations on our heads if we should ever attend levee,
ball, or dinner, at the Castle until its repeal should take place!!! I have
great respect for
Lady Morgan
I should not have delayed so long answering your
interesting letter, if I had not been almost in daily La LucreziaLife of
Salvator Rosa
We have had a severe winter for Rome; and even to-day,
though very fine here, we saw snow on the Alban Hill. A fouille
PS.—A fine statue of a Bacchus has been
discovered, about four days ago, not far from
I send you all that I can recollect about Jacob’s VisionZenocratesPhryneJason and the Dragonporter malheurBelisariusDiogenesDiogenesRegulusBattle of the
Giants and the Child exposedSt. John preaching in the WildernessProdigal SonWitch of
Endorforestieri
A letter from
I have at last got into the Chigi palace. The Satyr and Philosopher
From Philosopher
The a vile performance, not worth sixpence, and
certainly not done by Prometheus chained
to the RockSardiniaen attendantburns your ItalyBaron Boulter
Now you have got all the information which Rome can
produce on the subject, so go to press as fast as you can. We shall remain in
dear Rome another month; if you answer this, direct—Venice, poste restante. I shall not be more than three weeks going
there, from hence, and that will just give time for you to receive this, and
for us to hear you are well, wicked, and radical as ever.
From
I hope you will not impute it to me that your questions
are not answered; the truth is, I am in the country, enjoying this most
beautiful time of year, and my
My Phryne Jason was
sold, and was a most beautiful picture, full of all the bold and wild
character of Jacob’s
VisionJacob
and the Angel wrestling
The
I send you a list of the pictures which are known to be
I have taken with pleasure all the pains necessary to
procure you the information which you wanted, but do not be offended if I say
that I should have felt still more pleasure in doing so were you less unjust to
this country; fallen they are certainly in power, but not in intellect, or
talent, or worth of every kind; and your stay in Italy was far too short to
admit of your appreciating them as your own undoubted talent would have enabled
you to do, had you staid longer and derived your information from other
sources. You said to me once, that were you to write your journey in France
again, that you should write it very differently. I am sure you would say the
same were you to come again into Italy; every monument of antiquity is attended
to with the greatest care, and every picture that requires it is either
cleaned, or noted down to be so. The commission of five attend on every new
discovery to give their opinion as to the merit of what is found, and most
productive have this year’s excavations proved to be in sculpture. Mosaic
repairs go on, and new buildings in every part of Rome, and the Braccio Nuovo
alone merits, in the
I know not any capital so adorned by its sovereign as
this is. To know with certainty the different ob-lacquey de
placelacquey having given an assumed
name, and the proprietor, like put by as not Salvator’s
Miserere, which was
sung this year; but
Events of the day are passing which may deserve blame,
but the efforts,—the heroic efforts which the Greeks have made and are
making, are worthy of all our admiration, and will end, I hope, by restoring
that interesting country to its situation in Europe. There is matter to animate
your genius, and I hope you will
Once more adieu, my dear Madam, and pray let me know
when your
So much for
The right of the Lord-Lieutenant to confer the honour of knighthood
was impugned. It was speciously argued that since the union, the king alone in person could
confer honours. The titles of several
In the absence of
I expect the return of notorious as the doubts of the Lords of
the Admiralty which originally occasioned the discussion.
Amusing letter from
I have been much annoyed to-day by a paragraph in two
papers about my turning a woman out of doors—pray if you see or hear of
it, contradict it. As I hope for mercy, it is a most shameful falsehood made by
a very wicked girl because I sent her away. She came to me as without
clothes, in the night; instead of which, my coachman conveyed her to
an inn, and had great difficulty in making her sleep there. She took my clothes
away and seal, which were taken from her. She now calls herself
E. M. She left them wet in the laundry or they would
have been sent to her that night.
I have, I think, the very person
There are other letters from the same fascinating and gifted, but
most unhappy, lady. They are full of a whimsical grace, and might have been written by a
bird of Paradise for all the practical sense they evince.
” She was full of generous impulses and good
instinct; but she was too wilful either to hold or to bind. More than most women, she
needed to be wisely guided, and this wise guidance was precisely the “one thing
lacking” to her brilliant lot. Monsieur, le chant ne s’enseigne
pas
I thank you from my heart for what you said
She has, certainly, good abilities and considerable
knowledge. Of the latter, perhaps rather too much, as it makes her somewhat
positive; but there is no conceit: her presumption is in her manner. It appears
to me that there is a good chance of her doing well; but O’Donnel
Thank you and thank Ada Reis
Whoever has reviewed Ada Reis
Dear
As it is my intention to bring the Church Establishment
of Ireland before the House of Commons in the ensuing session, I shall be
obliged by your sending me any authentic accounts of the value of the Church
property, i.e., of the bishops, deans, and chapters of
any diocese, that I may lay it before the public as completely as possible.
The cause is so good a one that I wish to be in moderation, and within bounds, as exaggeration always hurts our cause.
The system of tithes ought to be entirely abolished, as every attempt, like that of the last session, to bolster up so preposterous and a bad system must tender to render the change too violent when it shall be made; and the late conduct of some of the church militant will only hasten the event.
Until a radical change takes place in the Church establishment and Church property, there will be no peace in your wretched country, and every aid to affect these changes will be a real benefit to the country.
To expose these evils of the system of tithes as it has been working in the last year, it would be of great use to me if you could cut out of any newspapers all the cases that can be depended upon, where burnings, murders, the interposition of the military, the destruction of cattle, &c., &c., have taken place on account of the tithe system, that they may be brought into array at once; also the conduct of such of the clergy as have taken the law into their own hands, or have behaved harshly so as to produce disturbance or mischief.
Can any account be obtained of the number of persons who have been murdered, hanged, and transported in the last year in Ireland on account of the tithes’ disputes?
All these, with documents to enable me to prove them,
will be most valuable in forwarding the object I have in view, an exposure to effect a complete change.
I shall want as much information of that kind as you can collect for me before the middle of January, to be prepared to agitate the subject by the middle of February. Callous as the ministers are to proceedings that disgrace the country, and regardless as they are to the misery produced in Ireland by their conduct, and indifferent as they are also to the enormous charge on Great Britain to keep a whole nation under military power, I am confident that nothing will rouse the public indignation so much as a proper exposure of all these evils and their causes.
If you will zealously aid me, you will, I trust, aid the best interests of your own country; and in your desire to do that, I hope there cannot be a doubt.
I shall, therefore, expect your early attention to my requests, whilst
PS.—I this day delivered to the charge of
Mr. Felix Fitzpatrick a copy of
In October 1823, the Life and Times of Salvator Rosashould it be deemed worthy of enquiring why I selected the Life
of
” vertufirst (my only merit) to light a taper at the long
neglected shrine, and to raise the veil of calumny from the splendid image of slandered
genius, I trust it is still reserved for sbme compatriot hand to restore the memory of
Having begun her work with this intention,
Those who wish to obtain the facts of
Some of the incidental observations in this idle prodigality of kings is the result
more of ignorance than of vice. If they usually know little of the arts, they are even
still less aware of the value of money.
”
ugliness, that
In spite of the high prices he paid, who, he feared would be rather angry at his presumption, coming next door to
her, shop and all!
”
ColburnThe New MonthlyAbsenteeism
She began to read up for her materials and she found much help from
the Pacata Hibernia,
not the ungrateful, ill-requited task it has been the
fashion to represent it. drudged, without feeling degraded by the process.
May 9.—This page is from an old Account-book.—By my
earnings, since April 3, 1822, I have added to our joint-stock account, such sums as makes
the whole £5,109 7s., from £2,678 11s. 6d., as it stood on that date. The several
sums, therefore, vested in the Irish and English Stocks, and which, being my earnings, I
have disposed of according to my marriage settlement, are—
The above is not a despicable sum to have made by her own industry, and saved by her own thrift.
“I have brought your Excellency an offering, a letter of the
woman you loved best in the world, a letter that will interest
you.
”
I am very grateful to
The above note is written in pencil. The essay on Absenteeismnotes would not be too long or too numerous, it being her
peculiar tendency to pile up all her loose lying materials into notes as long as the text.
AbsenteeismNew
Monthlywhen all in
Ireland who were not saints were kings, and many were both, while none were
martyrs.
” In those true Church and State times, the Irish kept in their own
country,—a pilgrimage to In taking up the subject of
absenteeism, the peculiar bent of
” The whole of Absenteeism
Imprimis,—We have three and ninepence to pay for
the last packet, charged overweight; but as I suspect it was the “chillies bulletins” that kicked the balance, I am
quite satisfied to pay any sum for the productions of the most original writers
of the age, routs and riots, and, in truth, so am I. The heat is
more oppressive than I ever found it in Italy. I have passed such a curious
morning that I must describe it to you whilst I remember it. I sat to three
artists from ten to one o’clock; then came a delightful person, en
brefnatural, charming, and interesting letters: warm affections and high
morality in every line. Poor fellow! He says, on the death of his mother,
“Now she is gone, I have not one friend on earth, and this at
twenty-three! What could I have more to say at seventy!
” Just as
I had devoured them (as I did in a great hurry), came in a packet of What do
”
We have just got notice that
Our dinner at Quintin
family vault, and insisted on his funeral being a peer’s funeral, from which the vulgar public, the nation, was to
be excluded. There would not have been a single literary person there, but
last moment, suggested others. All was mean and pompous,
yet confusion: hundreds of persons on foot, in deep mourning, who came to pay
this respect to one of the greatest geniuses of the age. Whig
party. Did I tell you of the gentillessekeys of private boxes?
I can no more. God bless you all, good people; and love
me as I love you. S. Morgan
In allusion to I
will not affront you by supposing that you will suffer by the ordeal your patriotism
and your radicalism are undergoing. I will only say that I shall congratulate you and
human nature if you end your gaieties among the Tories without a slight degree of
contamination. I am alike enraged at your abuse of Dublin (though as to society, it is
just) and at your idea of adding to the number of those
” you
yourself write against by becoming an absentee. True
friendship shows itself most in misfortune; and the riches, the society, the comforts,
of London and of England should only attach an Irish patriot more strongly to his
country,—the land of sorrow and suffering. I trust neither the variety, scenery,
wealth, nor society afforded on the Continent or in England, will ever tempt us to have
a home in either, but that like a captain to his ship, we shall not abandon poor old
Ireland so long as our rulers allow our lives to be safe and of any use to
it.
The tone of the “friends of
Ireland” was then little
The following letter from
Habeas Corpus” was at that time
suspended. He was examined before the Privy Council, was committed to the Tower, where he
endured a somewhat rigorous imprisonment, until March, 1801, when he was discharged on the
expiration of the “suspension;” without having had any regular trial. He
suffered much in health; and domestic afflictions fell heavily upon him during the
twenty-two months of his imprisonment. The lady to whom he was engaged to be married, died
of sorrow and anxiety on his account, his father also died, and to avoid the contingency of
confiscation, left away from him the sum of seventy thousand pounds; this, together with
the disorder that his affairs fell into, made his loss in a pecuniary point of view a
sufficiently heavy fine.
I see by the papers that I owe you sixteen shillings and
eight pence on the Greek account, which you can either receive from Val. or
hold over in terroremcorps
réformateur
I am truly sorry
I want to consult you as to an application from
Morning
HeraldEvening
Herald
PS. Our M.D. here is an Irish Papist, brother to
The correspondence between
“de convenance
Her account of
“‘you should know
the new poet,’
and he offered me the MS. of Childe Harold‘he
has a club-foot, and bites his nails.’
I said, ‘If he was
ugly as ‘mad—bad—and dangerous to know.’
A
day or two passed; I was sitting with ‘I must present
‘That
offer was made to you before; may I ask why you rejected it?’
He
begged permission to come and see me. He did so the next day.
‘
bon tonGlenarvonfracas with the page, which made such noise. He was a little
espiègle‘Oh, my lady, you have killed me!’
Out
of my senses, I flew into the hall, and screamed, ‘Oh God, I have
murdered the page!’
The servants and people in the streets caught
the sound, and it was soon spread about. one month—I wrote and sent Glenarvon to the press. I wrote it,
unknown to all (save a governess, Glenarvon
We may now proceed with the correspondence.
I have sent for, and I know not if I shall receive, the
portrait you wished to see. I am afraid you have seen me under great
irritation, and under circumstances that might try any one. I am too miserable.
You have not yet advised me what to do—I know not, care not. Oh, God, it
is a punishment severe enough; I never can recover it; it is fair by
Think about Ireland—if only for a few
months—yet what shall I do at Bessborough alone? God bless you; thanks
for your portrait; hearing this, is a sad ending to a too frivolous and far too
happy a life. Farewell; if you receive the portrait, return it, and send the
letter; it is his parting one when I went to Ireland with I
mean Lord
Byron’s
If tears which you saw and know I am not apt to
shed,—if the agitation in which I parted from you,—agitation which
you must have perceived through the whole of this most nervous affair, did not
commence until the moment of leaving you approached,—if all I have said
and done, and am still but too ready to say and do have not sufficiently proved
what my real feelings are, and must ever be towards you, my love, I have no
other proof to offer. God knows, I wish you happy, and when I quit you, or
rather you from a sense of duty to your
May God protect, forgive, and bless you ever and ever, more than ever
PS.—These taunts which have driven you to
this, my dearest now than then, but more than ever at this
time. You know I would with pleasure give up all here and beyond
the grave for you, and in refraining from this, must my motives be
misunderstood? I care not you only that
they are, yourself. I was and am yours freely and
entirely to obey, to honour, love, and fly with you when, where, and how
yourself might and may
determine.
From the confession of
No, no, not that portrait out of my hands—I cannot
bear. I will have it copied for you. I must take it with me to Paris. Thank
you, dear
Faustusconceive what I had heard translated elsewhere, but the end particularly is
in very contemptible taste. The overture tacked to it is magnificent, the
scenery beautiful, parts affecting, and not unlike
I hope he and petit
Send me my portrait. I trust to your kindness and honour.
You know not what misery and illness I have suffered
since last I wrote to you. My brother
PS. I was rather grieved that you never answered my
last imprudent letter; fear not, they have broken my heart—not my spirit; and if I will but sign a paper, all
my rich relations will protect me, and I shall, no doubt, go with an Almack
ticket to heaven.
I have a great deal to say to you, and to explain to
you, and I will write soon; but I have not been well. when I
die Lord
Byron’spicture, now
under the care of
It would be charitable in you to write me a letter, and
it would be most kind if you would immediately send me
PS. Direct to me care of the
I hope you received a letter from me written before I left England.
As being a lady whom my adored mother loved, your
kindness about
I was a trouble, not a pleasure, all my childhood, for
which reason, after my return from Italy, where I was from the age of four
until nine, I was ordered by the late
In the year 1825,
Letters from Italy state that the tribunals of Austria
have just condemned to death carcere
duro
May 4.—Received the affecting news of
chezci-devant
Journey to London.—Struck by the changed
physiognomies of the population—more intelligent-looking and less well
fed. Blessings of science and all-pervading illumination staring one in the
face at every mile through the Welsh mountains—their romanticism
disappearing—their civilization increasing.
St. Albans and its delicious abbey!
London.—Curious visitors—hélas! The Sketch
Bookbas bleusThe Middle Ages
” When I told
this to entendez-vous
” “Did you say
that?
” exclaimed somebody having taken his drumstick from him.
”
Went to St. James’s Palace to see
At Parody
Jacopo Ortisdu bon
ton
Went with
London, Bury Street, St James.—June
15.—Yesterday’s campaign we had thousands of Italians who came to
pay their devoirsEdinburghthe wit, par
excellencesoiréegreen, where it was not blue!
June 17.—To-day, dinner at
Carlton House was on fire the other night; there was one roomed burned, but they succeeded in extinguishing it before it did any more mischief.
The
I saw a warming pan at Strawberry Hill, the other day,
which had belonged to Sarve God and live for
ever;
”—the date 1660—the period when his love for
This is all of the diary 1825, which the general reader will perhaps
care to have. The following letters from
The chief event in her affairs of this year was, that in August 22,
1825, Salvator RosaNew MonthlyMetropolitan
It is an age since I have heard of you, and I really was in hopes when you arrived safe and sound on the other side of the water, that you would have sent me some news of you and yours.
I shall hope to hear of you, if you send your letter to Castle it will be forwarded to me; let me know what is going on among you all. I hope you are in your own house again, and that it is done to your satisfaction.
Adieu, pray make my remembrances acceptable to
husband’s palace at Florence, surrounded by
friends, and conjugally regretted by pour
mes péchéschèreséjourmalgré le temps et
l’absence
You are very kind in inquiring after my father and my
son. The former is living, the latter has grown up handsome—a classical
profile, and un esprit justepeu véridiquesque cela va sans direelle
avait ramassé en Allemagnedevotion, or her hypocrisy, or both.
Poor veuvage du
cœurfolle comme autrefoisune occasion particulière
PS.—un
sentiment
During this year, The O’Briens and the
O’Flahertiesjust, especially in Ireland, than can now be
understood; to be liberal then, needed a very earnest conviction. We return to the
diaries:—
March 13.—My novel of The O’Briens and the
O’Flaherties
I was last night at a private party at the Castle. I was
(as of late I have constantly been) the centre of a circle. It changed its
character very often, at first; the courtiers, chamberlains, and
aides-de-camps, all waiting near the door for the Vice-Regal entry, and as the
circle widened, I found I was the nucleus of the falling set; on one side
enfant
trouvéoriflamme of every species of
intolerance and illiberalism, all standing amicably side by side, like the
statues in the “Groves of Blarney,” though not “naked in the
open air”! Thirty years ago the roof would not have been deemed safe
which afforded
That—
November 27.—impayable
Here is a picture of
“The only country news I have is that some rain
has fallen, and the fields are beginning to look almost as green as
It was the first time
I have this moment received your two letters and
enclosures. The latter I will get set up in type, and correct before I leave
town. I think it good and amusing; but I fancy
I have written to quodnot unless it was a
” “fast
horse!Ah, ah, ah.
” (This is for
Oh this London! thus London!! here have I been on my
legs all day, like a penny-postman. I went to canevas,
and I shall try my hand at it. I have just got a kind note from Teobaldo ed IsolinaLa
Naissance de VenusI may say prettier) author than herself, but a more popular one.
I have seen the à l’heure qu’il estreading made easy”
and set the finance at rest. He is to represent Queensborough with its mayor
and freemen. These old boys beat us hollow. Think of his encountering the heat
and fatigue of late House of Commons work? By-the-bye, I met at breakfast, in
the coffee-room, this morning, our old Italian friend, bonnets the size of my umbrella; your gigot
sleeves as full as you can make them. I am reading Vivian GreySunday TimesNew MonthlyLiterary Gazette
PS.—If ever I am caught in this region of
smoke again “all alone, proudie,”
I’ll be ——!
In the mention of élèvesTales of the Castle
“
Of course there is an air of affable superiority in
The following scraps of diary complete the year 1826.
October 27.—Poor
October 30.—A ballad singer was this morning
singing beneath my window, in a voice most unmusical
Just received the following note from
As there is no certainty from what seeds or
flowers the bee extracts its sweets,
Early in 1827 the novel of the O’Briens and the
O’Flaherties
The work was more popular than any of her former O’Brien’s and the
O’FlahertiesO’DonnelO’Brien’s and
the O’Flaherties
A certain rebel,
February.—Death of
The Yes,
” said we are in a most deplorable condition, we must do something to help
ourselves; I think,
” said he, looking at we had better sacrifice a Tory
virgin.
” “Ah!
” replied she, “I believe there is
nothing the Whigs would not do to raise the wind.
”
There are several incidental mentions of her in the diaries of
Lalla
Rookh
For some time before her death she was in a languishing state of
health, but it provoked witticism rather than compassion. Called upon
”
In consequence of disease she became of a great size during the latter part of her life; and the best her friends could find to say of her was, that she would “leave a great gap in society.” For a woman who was so well known in the world, she has passed singularly out of remembrance.
March 8.—Last night, petite
soiréeLes Precieuses
In the dawn of refinement there is always a tendency to
the Précieuse-ism of the Hotel Rambouillet.
Tartuffe
May 9.—Received in Kildare Street the
The diary is resumed in London.
July 27.—aux choux et aux
raves
At the Duke, now, couldn’t you send me the pack for my
evening?
” “Certainly,
” said he, and they
were sent with a grand piano forte. When they came to her,
tout de
bon
The
Talking this morning with Not you, child,
” she said, “you have a
splendid imagination, but you have no powers of argument.
” She
was right as to the fact, but wrong as to inference. Men are always more easily
convinced by images presented to their senses, than by arguments
There is nothing less amusing than writing for the amusement of the public.
Miss ——
a nice person. “Don’t say
” nice, child, ’tis a bad word. Once I said to
nice
person,’ he replied, ‘what does that mean? Elegant is now the
fashionable word, but will go out, and I see this stupid nice is to succeed to it; what does nice mean? look in my
dictionary, you will see it means correct, precise.’
When
” The King overheard
them and said, “I am king,” said he, “I
will be my own secretary of the Admiralty.What nonsense is that you are talking,
Croko?
” “His Royal Highness is mentioning what he
will do in case he should become king.
” The next morning the King
sent for never invited to dinner
again.
The following note from
In consequence of a carrier coming this way, I have
heard to my excessive horror that
To return to the diary again—
àplombFranceLe Temple
de Madame
D’Angoulême
Dublin again.—We have busied ourselves very much
upon the occasion of
October 19.—We dined at our new Secretary’s
to-day (
I was telling O’Briens and
O’Flaherties
”
He was very blind and very absent, and his mind full of anything but military
evolutions.
such a one’s
mind is still in full force, but he must die, his physique is quite worn
out,
” he said “Dr. B—— says, ‘Mr.
—— must die for his physic is out!
” * * * The
habituéIl rien bougait plusblanchir son linge sale
November 12, Sunday.—At my
once-a-fortnight’s Sunday dinners yesterday, I had a strange olla podrida sort of gathering. prima donna (who sang charmingly); some of the old
Court, an American Corinne,
No friendship can bind him, he will
show up a friend in his writings all the same as his foe. He is said to
make three thousand a-year by the
” John Bull
Here he was interrupted by the frank indignation of
He is one of the greatest rogues that
lives unhanged! When
” I will spare none!’ The work, on the day it
was to appear, was suppressed;
The John BullThe AgeThe BeaconThe Satirist
[Note, 1847.—In
looking over this book I find all my opinions justified by time. Where now are
the John BullThe AgeThe SatiristThe
Quarterly
The O’Briens
and the O’Flahertiesde quoi choquer les
Prudesmœursposse of titled women of bold
reputation, who had the uncontrolled sway in everything. These ladies
introduced a kind of savage dance, or rather romp, called
“Cutchakutchoo;” this was performed by the parties squatting
themselves on the floor, both their arms underneath their legs, and changing
places with their partners as well as they could in such a posture. In short,
the Dublin court of that period was like the manners described in Grammont’s
Memoirs
The Freeman
I have got your manuscript, but do not leave
it because I hope you will allow me to transfer it to com-
Poor
I am much grieved that I cannot give you a
better account of dear
November 23.—Yesterday I went to see
In Howth Castle, as elsewhere in secluded places,
November 27.—Yesterday, we had a dinner-party, the
Poor
I have been very neglectful lately in not sending you
the accounts which I received. It is with great pain that I now send you the
enclosed. It is some consolation that she is relieved from pain; but illness is
a terrible thing. Send them me back, that I may forward them to
The following is the letter alluded to; it is endorsed,
“
I regret very much that I have but a melancholy account
to give you to-day of
You are so kind in the expression of an interest for my
recovery, that I must thank you, au
risque
Now you know as much as I do myself of
“mon physique et mm
moralseen, of the tendency of Roman Catholic tenets to put down human
intellect, to control and guide all human interests to their own profit, and to
create control even in the heart of every
Our own church has preserved too many Catholic trappings, which common sense must reject. I regret, so far as Ireland is concerned, that at the time we had our volunteers, our patriot hands were not strengthened to make a division of church lands, which would have afforded proper provision both for Protestant and Roman Catholic pastors of all ranks; neither of them could then have stripped the peasant of his mite,—the first by impoverishing him, and the other by superstitious rites.
I think my dear arms in our hands.
My
We had been so enslaved and so impoverished, that even
men like
They ought to have foreseen that with revived energies
Ireland should naturally become a still greater marâtre
Whatever objections philosophical inquiry may incline to make, the Church of England is pure in its precepts, and does not, by oral confession, put us into the hands of creatures as fallible as ourselves; whose interest it is to subdue our energies and destroy our judgment, in order to direct into one channel the exercise of intellect and property. But this opportunity is past; we can do nothing now but look on; I hope times will mend, as the old phrase says.
I hear from authority,
Many people fancy your enlightened Catholics do not
confess or would allow of political control; if they
My little grandson is Jean JacquesViva! compliments to your sposo
The interest which you have felt for my dear
Diary resumed:—
January 30.—Received this morning a letter from
the My dear creature,
have you really not a groom of the chambers with you? nothing but your
footman? You must let me send you something, you must indeed. You will
never get on here, you know, with only one servant—you must let me
send you one of my pages. I am going to Brocket, to watch the sweet trees
that are coming out so beautifully, and you shall have a page while I am
away!
”
I am sick of the jargon about the idleness of genius.
All the greatest geniuses have worked hard at everything—energetic,
persevering, and laborious. Who has worked so much and so well as
It was the wish of
At this, time, the Beef Steak Club—a high Tory political
gathering in Dublin—invited
The esteem and admiration I have heard you express for
sans préambuleBeef Steak Club. The circumstance is apparently
so insignificant, so utterly unconsequential that it is necessary to be utterly
Irish, and to know thoroughly the state of this unhappy country to attach the
smallest consequence to it, or for a moment to suppose that the well merited
and universal popularity of
The letter effected its purpose, and
The diary returns to the subject of
I was showing my picture of a propos
“One morning I sauntered into
Vathek
This is the only line I can recollect.
”
By-the-bye,
August 10th.—
We had just returned from a long, dreary drive, tired,
cold, covered with dust, when a thundering knock came to the
door—
my lady
having them furriners,
” cried, “I don’t think my
lady is at home; but I’ll thry, sir. Who shall I say, sir?
”
“The
Away went
I, like le cherfinished fop. Hélas! I shall have to unpaper and unpack my room and ask him to
dinner when he returns from Wicklow.
Will you and
I long to see you and
My
I have long intended to send you a copy of my last
The diary continues—
August 19.—What a pleasant evening I have spent
with my dear friends the
I heard a great deal of
August 21.—We were engaged to go, last evening, to
Maritimo, to à mourir de rire
“Sir
Charless!
“Ye most obedient and very humble servant,
Thos.
Grant.”
When they went for the Maritimohere? Oh, he will have you
down in his ‘morgen
blattpounce on
you.” In short, I saw there was a ridicule about him, or a something, but
it shall not deter me from being civil to him. He is a stranger and a
foreigner, and recommended to me by
There is nothing so extraordinary as that the nobility
of England should have produced so few geniuses. Who but la lie du peuple
August 22.—What a splendid head of physique. They were
Press
I have so little confidence in the certainty of this
life, that I always live as if I were going to die. I never Will, as circumstances direct.
I never am in debt one shilling. Poor people ought always to pay ready money, by which means they live as if they were rich. By not doing so, the rich often live as if they were poor and die insolvent.
August 23.—I received a letter, signed Recollections of a
Patriot
August 25.—Here is a letter from my poet showing a
degree of sense that is wonderful in a poet who is also an Irishman. Here it
is. What a contrast between the humble confidence that he can make good boots
and shoes for gentlemen and the “fortitude from despair” with which
he wrote his bad poetry! Oh! why will not every one find out his
“last” and stick to it. How much more pleasantly the world would
jog on!
Finding that I may expect no benefit from
my poetry, and feeling that I must use some exertion to get myself
out of the difficulties my want of employ has involved me in, I
again take the liberty of troubling your Ladyship, requesting,
should
Thursday, November 19.—To-day, is the Public
Dinner given by the friends of civil and religious liberty, and got up at our
house on Wednesday.
November 20.—I must get an account of the Dinner.
It went off splendidly, but there was some démélénoes” when
The conjugal anxiety of tout de
bonà propos
The next entry in the diary is, “The Prince
is gone, thank God!!!”
November 22.—physique!
Register
This meeting on Penenden Heath had an immense political importance at the time.
A meeting of the landed proprietors, clergy, and freeholders of the
county of Kent, was summoned for the 24th of October, 1828, to petition against Catholic
Emancipation. The place appointed for the meeting was Penenden Heath, in Kent, and from the
rank and influence of its promoters great importance was attached to it. a most masterly union of
logic and rhetoric”
November 30.—
December 4.—Dinners in old times! The joyous,
brilliant tables of the la fortune du potcauserie de
dessertJ’ai perdu en
lui mon meilleur causeurmon meilleur lecteurO’DonnelFlorence Macarthy
I was in all the prémices
Poor une
sotte vanité
Although
No two persons could have been more entirely opposed to each other in
their nature, taste, and character, than
I beg to acknowledge, with sincere thanks, the very kind
interest expressed towards me in your letters, both of which, after
considerable delay, occasioned, I imagine, by my late change of residence, I
have just received. It is indeed, pleasant to be the object of feelings so
cordial, to hear of unknown friends so zealous; nor do I the less gratefully
own the services thus frankly offered, because it is not necessary that I
should avail myself of them. I have recently met with a very liberal publisher
in The Records of
WomenThe Forest SanctuaryNew Monthly
In February, 1829, Parliament having been invited, in the Speech from
the Throne, “to consider the condition of Ireland,” proceeded to introduce a
Bill for the summary suppression of political societies under whatever name they might
exist. The duration of the Bill was limited to twelve months; it was passed without
opposition, in order that the course might be cleared for the great impending struggle for
Catholic Emancipation. It was well known amongst the friends of emancipation, that one of
the
The Catholic Association had done its work when the English Government
had been induced to consider the best mode of granting political justice to the Roman
Catholics. The friends of religious liberty felt that any sacrifice must be made to prevent
the least pretext for revoking the good intentions formed with so much difficulty.
Life of Sheilthat on its rising that day, the Association should stand perfectly
dissolved.” “The object of this body,
” said he, “was,
and is, Catholic Emancipation; that object, in my judgment, is already attained.
Nothing, except our own imprudence, can defeat it. The end being obtained, why should
we continue to exist? In a few days the Act of Parliament will put us down. Let us
determine to dissolve, and declare our motives for so doing.
”
The motion was carried, after some debate, and the Confederacy, which had existed under various forms for six years, separated to meet no more.
February 12.—I am just returned from the meeting
of the Catholic Association, and faithful to its fire; for so great was the
heat, and crowd, and excitement, that I nearly died under
harness. The great question—the dissolution of the Catholic
Association, was the subject of debate; and every ardent mind came worked up to
the contest. All the best feelings, cool judgment, and tact, was evidently for
the prompt and voluntary extinction of this great engine of popular opinion.
February 13.—Yesterday was memorable for our great
meeting at the Rotunda of the friends of civil and religious liberty—the
first great thing of the kind since the great era of the northern volunteer
martyrs, recalling the public spirit of 1782; there were fourteen peers
present;
The élite of the élite dined with us the same day. Lords
February 15. I was at a party last night of the debris
of the ascendancy faction; but the Orange ladies all looked blue, and their
husbands tried to look green.
Very shortly after this event,
While your Lordship is still occupied in receiving
testimonials of national gratitude and regrets, it is almost presumptuous in an
individual to make claims upon time so importantly devoted; still I cannot
resist the desire of soliciting your notice to the little sketch of vice-regal popularity in Ireland that accompanied this for
I am neither of a sex nor a country
I have the honour to be, with deep sentiments of respect,
This letter followed
I have this moment received your flattering effusion of the 24th.
I never could bear to keep the ladies waiting, even for one moment, and therefore hasten to tell you, that as my hour of trust is so near its close, I issue no more proclamations.
Why, the
PercyGare
But, surely, you did not suspect
me of inditing in rhyme? You must have found out that
I am the most prosaic, perhaps the most prosy (I leave you two full months to decide this latter
point) of all representations of royalty.
Be this as may, I will not shine in borrowed plumes any longer. No, my dear Madam, I am as incapable of making a rhyme as of effecting the quadrature of the circle, or of speech making, and this latter misery is daily inflicted upon me.
My dismay is great at finding this scrawl amongst my papers. I really thought that it had gone, and been long since committed to your flames.
I now send it as I found it, merely to show, that if I had forgotten my letter, I had not felt indifferent to yours.
Do not let all my good friends quite forget me, and I beg you to
March 11.—Sunday, dressing room, 12 o’clock.
What an age since I put anything into this book! Christmas festivities at
My article on “New Monthlyréunion
The letters which follow relate mainly to the Irish politics of the year.
Farewell, and always believe how much I am
Pardon me for not having immediately answered your kind
invitation. I intended to pay my respects to-day, and to say that I should wait
on you. I saw
Present my compliments to
March.—So the QuarterlyO’Briens and O’Flaherties
Now I have a right, like other British subjects, to be
judged by my peers, and I summon a jury of matrons, of the most intact
reputation, mothers “who wear pockets, and don’t hold opera-boxes
signs of inward grace,” to say if they detect in my pages one line that
tends to make one honest man my foe. Why, then, if they do, I submit to be
branded with that horrible stigma with which a modest woman and a moral writer
is now impugned withal. But I have been tried already before that truly Grand
Jury, the Public, from which there is no appeal, and acquitted; and I have
before me a letter from
I see in the papers, to-day, the death of
at least esperons!
The Quarterly Review
April 4.—Just dispatched to Book of the Boudoir
April 6.—Adieu to care and home, to some whom I
love, and to all whom I hate! I leave my trash bag behind me.
The Book of the BoudoirThe O’Briens and
the O’Flaherties
“Whilst the fourth volume of the
O’Briens and the
O’FlahertiesThis is the very
thing,
” said he.
It was as BlackwoodBook of the BoudoirThe Book of the Boudoir
There is no journal of her visit to France, this year, nor of her stay in London. There is the following entry in her journal after her return to Dublin.
September 1.—After a most delightful and
triumphant visit to France, and residence of three months in Paris; after a
most prosperous journey through the Low Countries and Holland, an excellent and
agreeable voyage from Ostend to London, and
business-like and satisfactory residence in London, and a detestable passage
across the Herring Pond, we arrived at our own dear but dirty little home, and
a most joyous meeting with our family in Great George’s Street.
first carriage, and
took it back to Dublin with great complacency.
Neither she nor
In shape it was a grasshopper—as well as
in colour. Very high and very springy, with enormous wheels, it was difficult to get in and
dangerous to get out.
He was extremely short sighted, and wore large green spectacles when
out of doors. His costume was a coat, much trimmed with fur, and braided.
The only drawback, to her satisfaction, was the alarm caused by
September 11.—This day sat alone clearing out the
dust traps, refitting up from kitchen to garret, working myself like a galley
slave, removed between two and three thousand volumes, cleaned and varnished
thirty pictures, washed all my old china and knick-knacks, worked with my
servants and the char-women for three days successively. Talked much to the two
char-women—such misery!! Told them how to make
a bouilli instead of eating salt bacon, when they did
get meat. One of them, a half naked creature, was a sentimentalist. I heard her
say, in her slang brogue, to her comrade, “Kitty, dear, did iver ye
read Caroline and Lindor? its an illegant story!
” This must be
Caroline of
Litchfieldread whiskey!)
September 12.—Went to Portran (
September 14.—Returned to town; house finished and
beautiful. Received a splendid present from the
September 25.—Received my first invitation from
September 24.—Dinner party at home; little
soirée
September 30.—Begun my new cours de toilettebien sonnée
The
Scribbling all day; called down to the drawing-room
at near five o’clock. “It’s Counsellor Curran
”
(Now this is a most unfair thing in husbands—this
asking to dinner à
l’impromptuplis et replisIt is not fair to take you in; we are invalids; our dinner is an
invalid dinner;
” soupe, bouilli and a roast fowl,
except we order up the kitchen pièce de
résistance
“If it is not a leg of beef smothered in
onions,
” said
“No; but is almost as bad—a leg of pork
and pease-pudding,
” said I.
Quoth he, “The thing in the world I like
best.
” So he ran home to dress, stipulating we should let him off
the moment we had dined (an old trick of his); but I chose to make the
agreeable, so did he, and he staid with us, en
tiersMorning HeraldThere! I don’t think I had
complete satisfaction!
”
We talked of the good, but coarse Irish novel, The
CollegiansNew Monthly MagazineCollegiansit was a sad business,
” and
called for soup. In this, one may discern the same temperament as in the
nephew, the murderer.
The fair, frail girl, whom this Munster Lothario
When he had sent her off in the boat with his servant,
who was first to shoot and then fling her into the Shannon, he lurked about the
shore waiting his return. To his dismay, he saw the party row back—she,
all smiles and fondness, extending her arms to him. The servant, taking him
aside, said, “I cannot kill her! Sure, when I had the pistol raised,
she turned round with her innocent face, and smiled so in mine; I could not
hurt a hair of her head, the crathur.
”
saw him come back without her.
The other anecdote was this:—The jailor of
Limerick had been an old and confidential servant in the
When the moment of execution arrived, and he knelt down
to knock off the irons, his tears dropped on every link, and looking up in the
young man’s face, said, “Ah,
The We have a outlawry to
appear in clean ones [shoes were, at that period,
de rigueursoiréeà apropos; when one
talks nonsense best and laughs at it most. It is enough to know there is an epoch of the day when one may
be agreeable without stimulus, and enjoy without effort.
17th January.—Just heard
of the death of
January 20.—Yesterday we dined at Dan O’ConnellIf you knew
how I found him this morning; his hall, and the very steps of his door
crowded with his
” clientèle—he had a word
or a written order for each and all, and then hurried off to the law
courts, and from that to the Improvement Society, at the Royal Exchange,
and was the first guest here to-day, when I arrived.
Two hours before, he was making that clever but violent speech to
quelle têteshanaos
Feb. 28th.—Poor
exigeante
April 28th.—Life of
SheridanOh, no,
” he replied,
bitterly, “
” this is authentic!
The following is an interesting notice of an excellent
I beg to offer you and your nieces my tickets for
A show of patronage from persons of talent would do much
for a debutante, and I know you will lend yourself for a
few hours to serve this friendless young creature on my account.
I beg four deaths have shadowed over my thoughts for some
time, and left me no joyous fancies for the present. I hope the saints may not
shut up the theatre,
I know how pleased you must be with the Relief Bill, and I trust in God it may promote general prosperity in this country.
The reader will not have forgotten
”
The month is not mentioned, but it was about this period.
I was greatly mortified yesterday at finding you and
spirituel gratifications which are always, I know,
of olden time, to be found with you and in the society which you select.
May 20th.—Off to-day for
Shangana and my dear
May 30th.—Returned home the
27th—Shangana is a divine spot! how I enjoyed its scenes! I used to
reproach the General for leaving it in these very words—
“Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which nature to her votary yields, The warbling woodland, the meandering shore, The pomp of groves, the garniture of woods; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that colours to the song of even, All that the mountain’s sheltering bosom yields, And all the dread magnificence of heaven; Oh, how canst thou renounce and be forgiven?”
this of all others
is my favourite stanza; it is true feeling, it is inspiration!
”
How can I “hope
Quoth I, “
Lord A. “What,
”
Lady M. “For the cut of your coat; who is
your tailor? or is all this your own order?
”
Lord A. (laughing) “Oh, I never give an
order, I have an old model coat, the great great grandfather of this; I
always say ‘make it like this coat,’ that is all my
order.
”
Lady M. “The fact is, you dress better than
any one,
” et je m’y connais
bien!
Lord A. “Well! I did dress well when I was
young, so well, that my early and kindest friend, the
” his head, stared, and retired. I
began to get a little impatient, when a page entered, walked round, and
followed the other two. The prince then made his appearance, dressed exactly like myself! I heard afterwards that
he was dressed when I arrived, and had sent to see how I was dressed,
successively changing every article, till he was told he was my double! All
this now appears ridiculous, but then it was tout de
bon
Lady M. “I don’t think he would have
taken your excellency now as a model in anything.
”
Lord A. “No, he hated me, at least, he
could never forgive me my conduct in Ireland. I grieved at this, for up to
my first Irish vice-royalty, he was the kindest of the kind, and I loved
him much.
”
Lady M. “Well, but to go back to the
toilette, don’t you think one gets more
” soigné
Lord A. “I really think one does; in fact,
one owes it to society to make amends for the defects of time; we ought to
shock the younger world as little as possible.
”
Much has been done in
the way of reform, but the Tories
” must swallow more
yet, the Church establishment must retrench. If those gentlemen
would save anything, they must give up much. If the king had lived a year
longer, you would have had a revolution, nothing could have stopped
it.
June 17.—Off to Lyons.
June 27.—Returned from Lyons—Book of the BoudoirForty years
back,
” he said, “it would have driven me mad, and even now
it makes my head turn.
” His brilliancy overwhelmed all the wit
present; trop
fortDo not put yourself to
any inconvenience for my people, (his servants), they never drink either
port or claret.
” “Upon my word,
” said
I am very glad to hear it,
for with me they will only get very small beer.
”
July 1st.—I had a few people last
evening,—my own family,
“I dined,” he said, “about forty
years ago with old
Cobbett’s Registernolle prosequichevaux-de-frise!!
July 5th.—Left town on
Friday for Morris Town, the seat of vi et armiscalèche, with his old French horses, and his French
cook driving us. He comes yearly from his hotel in the chaussée d’Antin “There,
” he said, “begins my estate, we
held it under
” My close neighbour is one Lattan, an Irish
Papist.
” The
”
Life and TimesHenriadeémigré
friend with the proceeds of its publication.
September 5th.—Since I last
scribbled in these pages, what events! I have lived in them, for them, and with
them, even at this distance from the scene of action! My life, made up of
sensations, will be found in the postscript of my new France
September 8.—The arrival of fait epoch
Great delay about the appearance of my book, it takes six days to receive and return each proof sheet. It ought to come out to-morrow.
The second FranceFrance of 1829-30 belongs as
completely to a time gone by as the Gaul of the days of FrancefeuilletonFrance
The political and social shades of society in France immediately
previous to the revolution of 1830, “the three glorious days” which have now
passed into oblivion along with much other “pomp and glory of the world,” are
caught like a rainbow at the brightest moment. The men and women of the time,—the
politics, the pictures, the music, the drama, the shrines of historical interest and of
social associations—may be seen as in a magic mirror. The chapter on the drama brings
back the faint echoes of names which in our youths filled the public ear. When
jeune premièreMariage d’InclinationHenri III.William Tellfaisant leurs épreuvesresumémotThe Archives of France
This work was, however, destined to cause
propria
motu
On their return, Wild Irish GirlI can only
” now say, that if when I know
what I am to bid for—pray recollect, that Lord Byron used to send his
works to
This sourde
The work was published in two volumes, the type and paper were
unexceptionable, the appearance of the volumes was handsome, and a spirited portrait of her
ladyship, as a frontispiece. The first payment was duly made—and then—there
came a full stop! The new work by Chronicle
“The opposing system,” referred to in the letter from
Messrs. declined this present book on France, and that all the copies of her
books might be had at half price. Nothing more insulting to
Dramatic Scenes and Sketches from Real
Life
New Monthly
I write to you under the depression of a most miserable
bad cold, but so impatient am I to communicate the sum and substance of what I
have to say,
The sum and substance is, that dexterous as the little
man is, he will be cleverer than even himself at mischief, if he contrives to
make the New
Monthly
If I followed the impulse of my own feelings, I should
not limit myself to negative conduct in this business.
You may easily imagine what I think of New Monthly
God knows when I may be able to accomplish my
long-thought-of jaunt to the Emerald Isle. I trust, however, ere long, to see
you or
September 17th.—Advice to
JuliaI beg pardon for the proposition, but do sit down if you
can.
” “Oh, you have found him out”
said
I have rarely seen him stay so
long anywhere.
” He got upon the public journals:
Court Journal
” Our wits belong to the last century.
My husband wished to get up a dinner for
I need not say to you how much I feel both the honour and kindness of the invitation which you propose to me, but the fact is, my mind is now wholly set upon getting away as soon and as safely as these equinoctial breezes will let me. Having the nervous task of transporting women and children, at this time of the year, either by Bristol or Liverpool, I am preparing to take advantage of the very first appearance of more settled weather, and, therefore, could not form any engagement that would be likely to interfere with this purpose, nor, indeed, enjoy it at all as I ought, if I did form it. It is my intention, however, to be here again before the end of next spring, and then (if my kind friends of the Dawson Street Club continue still in the same disposition towards me) it will give me the most sincere pleasure to accept their invitation. I write in a hurry, but you will, I know, have the kindness to convey all this to them in a way that will best do justice to my feelings, and believe me,
third dinner that
has been in contempla-
October 29th.—Ah! ah! my little friend, so you are
here!
” my blood ran cold, thinking what would come next. I blush
for my countrymen.
November 23rd.—A delightful letter and pretty present of tablets from
dear Athenæum
This is All who love Ireland to stay at home.
”
Some of en
attendant
The “letters” alluded to in the ensuing note from
I have been favoured by the receipt of your obliging letter of the 28th of November, and have also received the letters you were so kind as to send. These had already attracted my notice, and very able productions they are. The subject is admirably handled, and cannot fail to do infinite good.
Oh, that Ireland would try the effect of a little quiet!
From mere curiosity she should try it. Granted, that bustle and agitation are
very charming, but toujours, toujours
perdrix!
The following letter from Times
As you seemed to think it better that I should commune
direct with the publisher, and I had a prospect of being shortly in town, when
I could deliver my answer in person, I deferred writing to either you or them
till that opportunity should occur. I have now seen your messengers, at least,
one of them; a very grave, respectable TimesQuarterly
ReviewTimes
PS.—People express a little alarm about my
Life
and Death of Lord Edward
Christmas-day.—My birth-day—à quoi bon?
This note from
I am tempted to put your good
nature at rest, with respect to the refusal of the editorship. Your friend
My opinion is, that it would be for the
advantage of literature if periodical publications were
put down for ever. list of
friends those whom you say have
advised you not to publish your Life of Lord
Edward mal à
propos and inauspicious moment. Ireland is no more the
country you left three months ago than it is Cochin
China! To judge by the outline and aspect of things, a connoisseur in revolution (and I am pas malvirtúone coming from below, and such elements!
Imagine countless thousands of the lower classes pouring through the streets,
silent, concentrated, worked by a nod, a sign; and this, the day after a
proclamation from the government, forbidding all
meetings.(!) All other classes are paralysed; government
is without one organ to address to public opinion; not one newspaper in its service—terrorism the order of the day, and a parliament dispersed for six weeks at least, and the nation left to
the prayers of the Pasto of
given them a hint; his reception is a stain
upon the country, which can never be effaced; peace or war (civil war and extending woes) now lies in the influence of to this complexion are we come at
last”
January 26th.—I made a very
agreeable sort of pour combleen actionà l’improvisteà merveille
The proverb—“Poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window.”
What shouts of laughter and fun!—our
audience—
Had a letter to-day from
February 15th.—Sitting all
alone to-day; just before dinner enter pardi!Why, what on earth brings you here? is it to
dine with me to-day?
” “No, I’ll dine with you
to-morrow.
” “My
”
February 17th.—I had a
little dinner got up in a hurry for if you stay a day or two longer, I’ll do better than
this.
” “No, no,
” he said, “never
again can such a thing be done. This is one of the few happy accidents
which occur rarely; besides, I don’t want to efface the impression
even by something better.’
I never saw him more natural or agreeable. He praised
me, and did wish to know
April 1st.—Poor
battle royal! The subject was, as usual, one of my
improvements in the house. All, however, of my improvements have been made at
long intervals; the last I
was five years working at. The present point at issue is, I want a little greenhouse to put my plants in
on the open space at the back of the stairs; I want this
done, and have offered to pay for it.
MetropolitanMacaw’s débût in fashionable life will not be long
withheld.
This Macaw was the pet of jeu d’esprit, called Memoir of a Macaw of a Lady of
Quality
A letter marked private has always an attraction; the present note
from
Your letter to me is most gratifying; it is another and
a greener leaf in my parliamentary chapter, a thousand thanks to your good
heart. Believe me you mistake me much if you try me by my observance of the
rules of etiquette; I know how to value your faculties and your character.
There is no one whose friendship and praise I prize more than yours and
There is no news here in the political circles to which
I can give implicit confidence. It is said that
I met first time. The latter grinned horribly, a ghastly
smile.
Remember me to
August 13th.—We are invited
to the regatta; but we shall go to Lucan instead [Lucan was a watering place
near Dublin, fashionable, and much frequented at that time] to repose from
country house dissipations, and then I shall set to work at my Irish histories.
My dirty house is to be given up to workmen, and I
The review mentioned by
I ought to have thanked you sooner for the Review you
sent me, and for calling my attention to the well-written article in it by
extracts from it, with which, to be honest, I was
better pleased than with the whole, for it happens that
I go the full length with him in what I had before met with, whereas, in part
of that which was new to me, I differ. I am sorry—you, probably,
glad—that I have not time to explain myself.
dégourdissement
October 1st.—I thought the
child’s ball, at the triste
They were very civil; and minister of state at a child’s ball as possible;
he ran about and was even frisky, and at the ponderous supper (where there was
a smoking sirloin of beef at the head, and a cold round at the foot, two
turkeys and ducks at the side); he kept crying, “Why don’t you
eat; pray eat,
” as if he was feeding the poor Irish at a soup
kitchen.
October 16th.—On my return
from Lucan, I find mon bon amiMetropolitansoiréeDonnas
celebritissimasho troppo,
mangiato!bravissimo!
excellmtissimo!minestra al vermicelli; maccaronii
Ragazzitête-a-têtedames d’honneurpazzo per amorefracas, they
fought, fell out and separated. One day, in his despair, he was confi-Il Concerto d’AmoreBelle
Donne
Here is a letter from the
It is actually nine months since I received a letter
from dear
The bantling with bright thoughts is quite decayed, and I remain your stupid old eighty-six, without a second idea.
I should not venture to intrude upon you to-day; but
that I really am anxious to be regaled with one of your pretty greetings.
chez
moi
PS. You must write some beautiful panegyric on my
sweet friends,
This macaw, which has been several times alluded to, who spoke both
witty and clever, was a bird of wisdom belonging to Memoirs of a
MacawNew MonthlyThe Book without
a Name
October 30.—In that coarse, dashing, but not
altogether ill-written novel the Staff Officer
This moment the news came in that our excellent friend,
November 2.—My poor dear old friend,
November 7.—The cholera is approaching. I proposed
to I will stay, so last night we
set about thinking what was wisest and best to be done
A letter from one of the horse-riders of the Royal Arena, to beg I will command his benefit and give him my name; of course I refused. How people mistake my energy for influence!
November 14.—Yesterday was a day of offerings.
collet montésecula
seculorumproverbedouilliette for my French bed, dye it green and stuff it with eider
down.
November 27.—All the early part of the day
house-keeping, looking over table-cloths, cutting out dusters, and what not of
the huckaback order.
écuyer
December 20.—I cannot endure the sight of this
book (my diary), I have nothing but botherations to enter. But what a glorious
triumph! The Reform
December 25.—Christmas-day, my birthday.
Hélas!!
December 26.—Yesterday I dined with my own dear
family; what a cluster of clever, handsome and beloved heads!
To-day, off to Malahide Castle, where we spend our Christmas.
January 2.—Kildare Street. We had a cordial
household, hospitable time at Malahide—all old friends—the
Metropolitan
So enchanted to get back to our snuggery in Kildare Street, with all its warmth, comfort, and enjoyment. Those great castles are so cold and dreary, one has so many miles to walk between drawing and dressing-room that the contrast to my little china closet is very great, and then my agreeable droppers in, from three to five.
January 4.—A pleasant levee to-day, clever Mrs.
January 5.—Working hard at old chronicles for my
intended new novel, Grace O’
Mally
January 16.—Went to see the lions and boa
constrictor figuring away at the theatre, most wonderful!
January 24.—All going on cheerily, good company
and good spirits, when arrived the last number of the Quarterly
January 27.—By-the-bye, this has been a merry
week—a gay ball at cicerone of the
cathedral of Cashel, showing it to him the other day, said, “And here,
sir, is the ould part, built by the pagans, and these statues were the pa-gods!”
Our new some passages, and some only, be selected from the Bible and given to
the people. They left the church in convulsions, exclaiming, “the Bible,
the whole Bible, and nothing but
the Bible!”
January 28.—Last night, sitting with the
The “madder,” so often mentioned in Irish song, was a wooden tankard, made square; there were then no tools for turning. Wooden noggins and wooden dishes were universal; they are still much used in country parts.
When
February 1.—I began another new work to-day on
The Ignorance of
Womenany? I
doubt it, the motive no longer exists, and perhaps, too, the working material
is worn out—this frittering away of mind is very like it.
February 20.—The Whigs and the ministry going the
way of all flesh; these mongrel Liberals will never do,—never did do.
rompus et
corrompusIt is odd that
” “Sir,
” said he has the son in his eyes.
”
February 27.—Parties and balls galore this last
week—no need to specify.
March 23.—Ever since my last entry, “with
darkness compassed,” shut up, a dark room, a horrid state, a tax upon
those whose charity leads them to come to me. The kind
April 8.—The other day I took a party to see
Malahide Castle. As soiréedébut in Dominic Street, when
I went to be hired as a governess! I did the honours of the castle in my old
quality of Custoda
We had an excellent luncheon, and we came home loaded
with flowers and vegetables, à
l’ordinaire
I am getting on with the learned opening of my new book
on
April 19.—The cholera is making fearful strides
among the filthy dens of the wretched lower orders! many of the higher are
panic-stricken.
May 17.—Tory ministry out! just as
What emotions this event has raised in my mind! and
what an interval! Yesterday—Europe—mankind seemed thrown back on
the horrors of past and dark ages; and now they are not only restored, but
advanced by centuries. I could not resist writing to
In moments of great commotion and great
emotion, all forms of etiquette must yield to the expressions of
strong feeling which acknowledge no masters of ceremonies. My
husband and I were at the Park a day or two back, to pay you our
deep regret at your leaving. To-day, under a far different
excitement, I venture to obtrude the expression of our
congratulations on the greatest triumphs that freedom and knowledge
ever obtained over despotism and bigotry. England is saved, and
great and good men again take bouder
I have just had a letter from nasciter non fit
At the time I received your letter, I was
not very well able to answer it, and, indeed, till within these two
days, have felt by no means well, or like myself. I am, however,
now much better. I have been in correspondence, during part of the
time, with your friend of the Metropolitantied; it is this, far more than what you
call my aristocratic (God help me) prejudices, which makes me
reject so often the golden door (as the
shop-keepers say) fifteen hundred guineas and a thousand pounds a
year within the last three months; all the time, too, wanting money
most pinchingly. From what you said in your letter I took for
granted that has been a
noble fellow. You will think it looks very-like contributorship
when you come to see some verses of mine announced for the next
number of the Metropolitan
Give my best regards to
May 27.—A bright summer morning. frédoner La Biondina, in Gondoletta, and
an hour afterwards, under the combined influence of sunshine and green tea,
Women of the ChurchSee what I have composed,
” said he,
and laying it down on my tiresome writing-desk, he played and sang a pretty cavatina.
May 28.—I am suffering beyond all conception from
want of air and exercise. My house is small and confined; there is no thorough
air, and I am never allowed to open a window to obtain it. When summer comes,
Dublin is a dreary desert inhabited only by loathsome beggars, and I feel
suffocated; I complain, and think and say, “this is a hard fate.”
My complaints are met with ridicule and vehement argument—sometimes with
harshness; they are not borne with, because their cause is not felt, and all
that makes my misery makes the happiness of one who, by
law and custom, is the master of my actions, while books and easy chairs make
up his whole wise scheme of happiness! All he says may
be true, and I may be wrong; it may be weakness,
caprice, an appetite for excitement; but still it is misery, and there is no
reasoning with sensation. Men feel this, and plead it for the indulgence of
their own whims—poor woman is commanded to suffer, and be silent, if she
is so weak or wicked as to have no control over her sensations. This has been
and will be my little personal narrative in secula
secularam
[There is the following note at the bottom of this page
of the diary, which is an amusing commentary on the above. October 29, 1832.—Looking back on this page, I can scarcely
believe I am the person who wrote it; for now I am in high health and spirits,
and in great vigour of body and mind. My trip to England, and air and exercise,
have restored the balance of affection between us!]
London, July 1.—I thought I was past all
enjoyment; but well may I enjoy so cordial and gracious a reception from all my
old and new London friends. These pleasant and fresh apartments in St.
James’ Place, close to the parks, and within reach of everything that is
best, is very enlivening. My visitors begun at ten o’clock this
morning—authors, publishers, booksellers, and artists; afterwards, some
new and old cronies—
I was carried off to the parks and zoological gardens,
by
July 2.—Yesterday, a charming dinner made for me
at Comic
Annual
Pin Moneymany points. She made some clever
hits.
I have little time to write my journal, and so merely
jot down people and things as a
reminder. As thus: such a toilet!! her wit (un peu trop fortalmost be my mother!!
The following note from
The remords, as it was a profanation to
put together in the same shrine so holy relics with so trifling a
thing as it is; for the rest, the few lines of
The
August 16.—At last arrived at the original part of
our pilgrimage, Leamington! found it a
twaddle—people taking physic to slow music, and returning to quick; but
oh, for Warwick Castle! and Guy’s Cliff! enchanting! My
August 30.—We are now back to dull, dusty Dublin;
we have been to pay our respects to the vice-royalties, and saw will you dine with me to-day,
to-morrow, or Monday.
” We said, “Monday, if it suits
your Excellency.
” Who will you have to meet
you?
” I was going to say, “
” but thought that would be too
agreeable, so, said, “your Excellency’s
family.
” Oh, poh, you must have
somebody!
” At this moment, in came You shall have him.
”
Tuesday.—Our dinner was rather triste, dull, and fine.
October 25.—I have just got a fine new cloak, and
am so smart! Went to Riversdale, to see
” “ne vous vantez pas
d’être ma fille vous ne êetes
pasPardi
” replied
” Il
n’y a pas de quoi s’en
vanter!Such was her sagacity,
” said Madame,
“that she knew me from my reputation!
”
I see a great likeness in the upper part of en
beau
November 2nd.—Just returned
from Bray Head, its delicious scenery, and its beneficent mistress. But what a
neighbourhood to live in with its cagoteries!
One day,
” he
said, “we were the only guests at Holland House, when
” tête-à-tête with
I have often thought of this tête-à-tête. How could they understand each other? The
extremes of sensibility and insensibility, of honesty and
roguery—philosophy and philanthropy against diplomacy and villany!!!
November 28th.—Just
returned from Dio lo so!Adieu, dear
” The other day only,
“the agreeable creature” was toute au
contraire!
November 30th.—Met a poor
starved beggar child, and gave him a penny. “Och, the Lord pour a
blessing on your honour!
” “And how does your poor
mother live?
” I said, among other things. “Och thin, by
ating cowld victuals, marram!”
By-the-bye, this reminds me of a blessing I once
received from an old beggar woman, to whom I had given a sixpence.
“Och thin! the Lord bless yer sweet honour, and may every hair of
yer head be a mould four, to light yer sowl to glory!
” What an
imaginative race they are,(!) would sixpence ever have stimulated an English
beggar to such an invocation!
A note from
The friendly relations of
I would have come to you for pleasure on Saturday
evening, but nothing that is not brilliant ought to enter your boudoir, and my
eyes and intellect grow so dim together as evening approaches, that I could
only take the refuge of an owl, in the shade. To-morrow evening, not for
business, but for pleasure, I will come if I can; but I must tell you how I am
situated. A gentleman was engaged to pass the evening here, and I must either
beg your leave to make him my escort, or give him his congé till another time. If neither of these expedients will do,
you must again kindly excuse me, You are very good for including my little
artist in your invitation; the last time I called upon you, I brought with me
some of his drawings from the antique to show you; I will beg your acceptance
of one, should you think it worth receiving, the next time I have the pleasure
of seeing you.
‘December 6th.—So
ends my hospitalities for the year 1832. The thousand details necessary for
getting up a matelote d’anguilledinde farci à la daube!
To-morrow we dine with the gay young Vaughans in Merrion
Square (he is brother to
December 10.—Yesterday we were at an amateur
concert, at the castle. badinage.
The
I had the pleasure of taking my two girls with me after
a long dispute and struggle (and
a little intrigue) with their mother as usual.
December 14th.—Dined last
evening at
He said in the midst of a silence, with a half sneer on
his face, “Oh,
”
I affected confusion, and said, “Well, no,
you what is the census of the English
people in the reign of
The work on FranceDramatic Scenes and
SketchesFrance, but
they had not Dramatic Scenes
These Dramatic Scenes and SketchesDramatic Sketch is called
The Irish politics and grievances make rather heavy metal for a book
of amusement, but it is enlivened with some of the best touches of
Dramatic Scenes and SketchesO’Briens and
O’Flaherties
Here is a letter from
The graceful turn of the original is lost in the less flexible power
of an English translation; but the style of
I feel very guilty, Madame, for not having sooner
replied to your charming letter, brought to me by bulletins des lois
Public affairs will, however, Madame, leave leisure to read your works upon the present state of Ireland. The form you have given to it confirms me in an opinion I already held, that true talent can apply itself to every species of literature, and that you are as sure to charm your readers by your dramas as by your romances or your travels. Accept, I beg, Madame, all my own congratulations, and permit me to be the interpreter of those of my countrymen who have not, like myself, the honour of knowing you, but which they would address to you if they had.
I beg you to recall me to the remembrance of
The following notes of good-humoured badinage
explain themselves. It must have been a great relief to the thorny State kept by a
lord-lieutenant to be treated occasionally like a natural human being. The joke about
Cæsar alludes to a “command night” at the theatre, where the play had been
very hazardous, from its allusions.
I beg you to thank
As you say he is an artist, may I not be permitted to remunerate him for his skill, and can you not help me to guess what will be acceptable?
But why quarrel with Cæsar?
Cæsar was borne out by the results of last night. Cæsar took the bull
by the horns, and he vanquished him. Depend upon it, it is the only safe way. See how the bull was tamed! He made no fight
at all. But I must again defend Cæsar from the imputation of imprudence. He really, strange to say, knew nothing of
the gist of the piece. Knowing it, however, he could not have chosen better; he
gave his enemy fair play—fought him, as it were, upon his own ground, and
beat him.
Seriously, I never was more surprised than last night. I
own I fully expected a most tumultuous uproar, and lo! all was good humour,
loyalty, and almost couleur de rosesoirée
Cæsar is a very dangerous person to engage with,
whatever ground he takes! His desperate pas de
chargeold “veni, vidi,
viciaut
Cæsar, aut nihil!own favourite image), “like the bull in the china
shop, have it all his own way.” So much for
Cæsar! Now for the Lord-Lieutenant.
enameller, and should His Excellency ever desire to bequeath to
posterity one of the “thousand and one”
beauties of his own private collection, after the manner
of eternize eyes that once conquered the
conqueror, will faire les
délicescouleur de
rosethatched roof of an Irish cabin
with his presence, the mistress is ready to receive him
with that hearty
him to command the
evening. His Excellency’s secretary mentioned last night, that every
night in the ensuing week was taken, except that of Monday next, the 11th. On
that or any other evening,
For this year, the only diary of any general interest was kept during her visit to London, and her sojourn at Brussels. It begins abruptly:
June 18.—Arrived in London on Monday 10th, by
Liverpool, a prosperous passage of eleven hours. From Liverpool to Leamington,
where we rested two days, the country one continued garden; no beggary, no
poverty. It struck us that the face of the country was much improved since we
last travelled this way. We found invitations waylaying us on our arrival.
June 24.—To-day had a visit from TancrediCara Patria
Norma
I had a curious scene yesterday:
Gloire, she said,
“Gloire passagèreJe voudrais bien troquer mes chances
avec la posterité, pour la certitude de vêtre influence avec
les contemporains
June 28.—To-day, took my girls to Life of Mrs.
Siddons
The party at Conduct is
FateThaddeus of WarsawNew Road to Ruin
July 1.—Normapetite pensionnaire
July 6.—Days later. Till this morning I have not
had a moment to spare to fill up my journal. What a loss! Pleasure, business,
folly, literature, fashion! I was a
” petite demoiselleque faurais allé même à
l’Enfer! mes parens étaient desolés!Télémaque
“Do you,
” I asked,
“transport yourself into your
part?
” “
” Oui,
après les premières lignes. Je commence toujours en
Giuditta (mon nom) mais je finis toujours en Medea ou
Norma!
* July 14.—I had a peep at club life,—the
Travellers. It is the perfection of domestic life! Every comfort at once
suggested and supplied; good reasons for not marrying! Women must get up to
this point, or they Times
Went to see the hydro-oxygen microscope, which has extinguished the solar light. It shows the objects in a drop of water magnified 800,000 times. The wonders of the microscopic world illustrate all the base passions of the whole great system. The animalcules tear each other to pieces, and are agitated by all the worst passions; they are of monstrous and disgusting forms, the water devil, the water lion, with their great heads, and the strange motions of others, are all images of crime and weakness; to illustrate the same state by this exhibition, would be a sermon and a bore; to illustrate the world by the microscope would be an epigram.
July 16.—Amongst the notabilities who have sought
us out, are la
dèesse de la dansemaître de ballet
Last Monday we went to the British Institution, a very mixed society, everybody coming to be seen, and nobody to see the pictures.
After the gallery, we went to a select soiréeHamlet
July 29.—Yesterday we went to the House of Lords
to hear the last debate on the Church Temporalities Bill. We sat in the
Peeress’s box. The first thing that struck me, was the theatrical set out
of the place. The stage below, the gallery above, the dropping in of the
actors. To the right from the gallery, in the centre of the lower bench, sat
the Dukes of
In the box with us was the
The
Morning ChronicleExaminer
demi-esprits
July 31.—Last night an agreeable party at the
très
aimable
August 4.—We have had a cordial visit, from
Metropolitan
Rogers said, that The Gentleman in Search of a Religion
Yesterday
nations that
” He blamed deserve to be free, are free!consulted, but betrayed. We talked of Ireland. I said,
“The Irish have no idea of liberty, they want a king of their own. Come
and present yourself, and I will promise you a
I said “
It is well known that he did refuse a crown at the
hands of his brother. He and his brother toute petite campagne
I am always studying eminent persons. Women above
all—eminent no matter for what, e’est égal
“Ah si,” was her reply,
“
” This bit of
London slang, from the lips of
Saturday.—Yesterday was a curious day. I went Honey MoonWild Irish GirlLe Tu, et le Vous
The Temple and the Idol, were the most interesting things to me; the magnificence and taste of all the mirrors, gilding, pictures, furniture—the profusion of flowers, and, above all, the attending priestesses, the abigails, all over-dressed and ugly, such as any young Duke might be trusted with. The robust Duchess complained all the time of ill health, and said she would hand us over to her housekeeper after she had shown us over the ground-floor.
In the Very beautiful,
done,
” said she, “for my dear
” and so we did, at the
head of the drawing-room—an awful figure! We were shown by the
housekeeper into her Grace’s second dining-room, almost as magnificent as
her first. She said her Grace dressed here in the morning and below in the
evening, to save her the trouble of going up stairs. I was thinking of the
August 15, Monday.—Yesterday was curious and interesting; people coming to
take leave of us. We had at the same moment,
Monday night.—The eve of our departure for the
Rhine. All packed up and ready for the Tower stairs except my stomach. Oh, the
horrible sea, and steam-packet!
Tuesday morning, 6 o’clock.—Half inclined not to go. London, hot rooms, and late
hours have nearly killed
Everybody has been up the Rhine; and everything worthy of note about Antwerp, Liege, and Cologne, has been written, and may be read in the guide book; but Brussels, at that time, fresh from its revolutions, has a charm that cannot be repeated. We may, therefore, give a few patches from the diary kept during her sojourn in Brussels after they had finished their tour.
September 7th.—After our
charming tour through Belgium, here we are settled for some little time. We had
scarcely arrived when the French ambassador and his lovely young wife (the
La Tour Maubourgsconspiration
Received visits from Monsieur and table d’hôtetable d’hôte
impayableI’ll lay you a cheney tea
pot,
” said he, “they have no melted butter for the
salmon.
”
Thursday—Dined yesterday at the
Thursday 15.—What a leée
Foreigners complain here that there is no society, each
menagecafés and estaminetsdevote
September 17.—We shall have to leave this hotel,
as it is all taken for the great fêtes.
September 18.—Hardly got into our pretty
apartments in the Rue de la Regence (with our books, flowers, piano, drawings,
&c., &c), when enter
September 18.—We dined yesterday at the Palace;
great simplicity, with just as much splendour as any nobleman of good taste and
wealth might indulge in, but nothing more. The morguepas du
toutEnglish knight of
the Guelphic Order. The Grand Marechal, a very agreeable Count, asked me what
Order that was. I could not help saying, L’ordre de tout bêtepensante et instruit
” said he.
September 20.—What an odd coincidence. We had last
night nearly the whole of the last Provisional Government of the Belgian
Revolution, with the addition of The King’s OwnTrouble Belgique
September 26.—A week of carnival festivities. The
Concert d’Harmonie a la Place Royal, by six hundred musicians, consisting
of the corps of the army, with an audience of nearly ten thousand persons in
front of the beautiful Hotel de Ville,—really one of the most imposing
sights I have ever seen. In front was inclosed a space for the Ministers, the
Deputies, and the Senate. The windows and balconies belonging to the houses and
hotels all round filled with elegantly-dressed women. To the right, in a
balcony window, sat the King and Queen and officers of state. The royal party
were received by the music of the “Mar-
September 28.—The races went on yesterday in spite
of the rain; rather a laughable business, men and horses stuck in the mud, and
one poor horse broke his back, and the jockey, I fear, much hurt. These are
happy times when events are greater than the men that are placed at their head.
It is something to represent the first state that has thrown off its slavery.
The immense masses of opinion now afloat upon the surface of the political
society of Belgium forced into collusion by the ferment and kicking against
each other. It requires a cool head and a firm hand to wield the sceptre, and
Leopold seems to have both, and has a fine career before him. On the
king’s visit to Verviers, he said to the bourgmestre,
“naïveté of this good fellow,” and this
is the essence of all the philosophy of commerce—laissez nous faire.
October.—Just returned to London, and St.
James’ Street, after the most delightful tour up the Rhine
On my arrival at Jerusalem, 1808, the Temple of Solomon was then under repair, and nearly finished. The Turks, whenever they require any work of importance done, send out an order to arrest such Christian workmen as may be required for the undertaking, paying them with the greatest liberality; so much so, that they frequently return to their homes with a little fortune. Living in the same quarter, I naturally went with them. Among those whom I was acquainted with, were an old man and woman, whose son was employed as Scrivener at the temple, a place of some importance. For his particular privilege and emolument, an old door of cedar was given him; this door had been placed on the same site that tradition reputes that our blessed Saviour used to pass through.
The Turks hold in the greatest veneration all places
that are sacred to our Saviour, excepting the Sepulchre;
considering Christ as a spirit, consequently a spirit
could not be crucified, and that it was the body of Sepulchre, of course they
ridi-preamble about nothing, but the
insignificancy of the article required it. The accompanying cross was made out
of that door, and it received the benediction in the
holy Sepulchre, under my own sight. Will offering
of thanks, poor as it is.
PS.—The basket plate was made above the first
cataract of the Nile, Nubia. Fruit of the date tree, the inside is dissolved, and made into
beads.
The spoon that I bought in grand Cairo, 1837, which the grand Turk’s people eat their rice
with.
Forgive, dear human heart. I have often longed to see you—that wish is at
last gratified. In 1822, I passed the Simplon, two days after you had
passed, and was much mortified at having missed seeing one who had charmed
me so often.
Again, we return to the diary:—
December 24.—We returned to Ireland the middle of
October, after our most delightful, gratifying, and interesting visit to the
Continent, but I had not the heart to resume the thread of my chronicles till
this day, and now only because the year is winding up, and I am going away for
a time. During my charming June and July in London, I kept a very rough outline
of what I was about, and whom I saw (and
Contrary to our intentions, we accepted an invitation
from afraid of asking me to their
superb castle, lest I should be ennuyée with their
society, and doing the honours by me as if I were a little queen! Talking with
Why, then,
to tell the truth, it was your Ladyship.
” “I? Why, I have
talked so little to them since they grew up.” “You have talked
enough, and written more than enough to make them what they are!
”
It is
We returned to town on Saturday, 21st, and dined with
Listen to a foolish
woman’s prophecy.
”
Mr. Littleton. “But do you not think he will
be worth having?”
“Yes; if you can catch him and keep him, but he has an Irish physical talent
none of you can cope with, subtlety. The eel is a lump
of lead compared with that end
is—Nothing but the honour; they are all rich
men.
”
Christmas Eve.—Eating, drinking, flirting, and
reading. I must register an odd thought. The Irish destiny is between Bedlam
and a jail; but I won’t pursue it. So ends my journal of 1833. How much I
have felt, suffered, enjoyed, seen, and heard in that year!!
The diary for 1834 begins early in January.
Portran, January 5th.—Here we are with our friend the honourable,
uncompromising M.P. for Dublin, à propos
Kildare Street, January 9th.—Came into town to dine at
After this came other dinners and parties, too numerous to specify.
February 14th.—I had a
little musical soirée last night. The last time my
three girls may, perhaps, ever sing together, for
February 17th.—I am so busy
with other people’s affairs,
February 21st.—I am like
drawing patterns
for ruffles; I shall never have materials to make up,
” for here
are two fine receipts just as I have given up giving dinners! The reason I am
up to my eyes in fuss, is that I am so occupied with ce chapitre là
Poor
I have had to begin my BelgiumBéguine.
The feebleness of present men and present times is fully illustrated by the fuss and agitation in which Lords and Commons are thrown by discovering men to be rogues whom nobody ever suspected of being honest.
February 28.—Just had a visit from old, queer,
ma
foifloorer to
May 24.—Half an hour back, writing hard at my
Béguine
“I am come,
” said he, “to
tell you—that the news has arrived of—in short—
”
Alas! our last, best tie to France is broken; only aged
76; he would have had some bright years yet before him but for that one false step—the restoration of the Bourbons;
his death-blow came from that.
June 20.—Malahide Castle; busy all day writing my
Béguineatélierdelabréeartiste in her studio, I was struck by
its dreariness and picturesque desolation.
My dearest
I have received a letter about the copyright of my
ballad of Kate Kearney
The
I cannot conceive it possible that the change in the
Government can in any manner affect
I have not an accurate recollection of the state in
which the correspondence with the Treasury on this subject was left to me. When
the new Government is organised, I advise
What do you mean by abusing us miserable servants out of
place? When I was in the service of His Majesty, you never asked me for any of
the good things from his table.
I never could make out what was meant by the
often-repeated charge of the Irish Government forgetting its friends. A
You are very partial, but not unjust to
Towards the close of 1834, Princess, or the BéguineThe Béguineennui of des gens peu amusables
At the beginning of 1835,
January 8.—This place is the grand asylum of
mediocrity—the Paradise of old women—the Olympus of old
men—the resort of the refuse of all societies: viz., the dull, the old,
sickly, or tiresome; and yet it has its aristocracy!
Well, with all this, we have found a few with whom it is
pleasant to live, and with them we live a great deal. The dear, old, agreeable,
and cordial She, unique in her way, has lived thirty
years in Italy—a divine musician, and full of genius; her son
devoué cavalier
January 10.—I had no
reason to expect it; I live upon equal terms with
”
And so he is. This is so Irish, and so much an affair of
temperament, that there is no arguing about it.
Last night we had some charming music at the
force her to step out of the track
in which her position has placed her, as a great lady, reared in the
A letter from
I have had some correspondence with the Treasury on your subject, and was in hopes to have induced them to have made a more desirable arrangement, They adhere, however, to that of their predecessors, and when I return to London, which I do this day, you shall hear from me officially; the exact amount of the retiring pension not having been as yet communicated. The division shall be expedited without delay.
I hope
I am going to see
On leaving Cheltenham, delicious lodgings—just after my own heart; an old house, built a
hundred years ago—a balcony, a verandah. I had great difficulty in getting
” They entered on their new
quarters on the 1st of March, and she already began to contemplate writing a history of
Pimlico. The diary continues:—
This pretty district, the principality of his highness
the class and order to which he belonged! I told him the
Irish story of the Baymishes of Cork, which set them all
in fits of laughter, and even the servants were obliged to rush out of the room
to hide their faces: so much for the class and order to which I belong.
March 2.—Received, to-day, a most gracious and Béguine
Last night I met History of IrelandTell him he must, as an historian, rectify an error in the
” He praises I cannot—dare not—give you a
written permission, but I will go with you to the prison myself.
”
They went together, at night. When they came to the door of the miserable room,
I cannot leave you alone
with the prisoner, but I will send away the jailor and leave the door open,
and watch before it myself. I shall hear
nothing.
” I have been bored to death,
” he said,
“by friends of
Last night, after our dinner at ou par examplemalgri
moi!bonhomie
Then up comes Satan
MontgomeryCaleb
Williams
Dinner at
After our pleasant dinner went on to another congress at
Portland place, where we met all the arts and sciences, and where we spent the
night on the stairs, tic is Russia, and the necessity of combining against
her; but he is a clever creature!
Dined yesterday at wit titrébon enfant
Yesterday, had a long visit and sofa conversation with
à tors et à
traversvaletaille d’anti chambreat the outburst of the
Revolution of ’88, there were a good many people in France with
common sense. The Emperor used to say to me that the French were
essentially a monarchical people, and we used to deny this; but everything
he ever said has come out true since.
”
April 3.—My journal is gone to the dogs,
je n’en
peut pluset sans vanitéà
la Sevignéaigrette of sapphires and diamonds! Voila! The party at the Edinburgh ReviewQuarterlyMiddle Ages
was a friend of
It was no common pleasure to receive a letter from you, and I beg you to believe that I know how to value such a favour, given in the midst of all your bustle and gaiety.
I heard with pleasure of your triumphs at Cheltenham; but I knew you would not settle there. It is very well for a few weeks; but I see that dear London will get possession of you at last. It is a dismal thought that you are to leave us, and you are really too sceptical as to the number of those who will feel your absence from Dublin a serious loss.
Of course you have heard of past remedy when
Sad, most sad has been her history! Those who love her,
ought to rejoice when she is at peace; a lofty mind, ever soaring above the
realities of life, essentially poetical, and never
otherwise; ardent, sentient, enthusiastic, and all this contained in a
frame of the most fragile delicacy. What chance had she here in Dublin, and
with an utter disrelish for the kind of society that was attainable? When she
was in the county of Wicklow last August, her anxiety to remain there was like
the thirst of fever. Poor thing, I wish I had never known her.
If you have heard that we are to have drawing-rooms in
the daytime, as in London, I am sure you have laughed at
the idea of it. Our whole turn out! our equipages, our poverty, alas! need the
friendly cloak of night.
May.—The other night at
mon petit
coinsur la
sellettespirituel and observing. He inspires one with views and opinions
similar to his own, and we agree upon most things. I told him I had received a
letter from our mutual good friend,
July 21.—Last days in London.
With a heavy heart, as with a presentiment of the misery
that awaited me. Even before leaving London, at seven in the morning, my
dearest
No medical aid nearer than St. Alban’s, four miles off; thither I sent. What an interval! His extremities cold; his hands blue; congestion coming on; I, helpless, hopeless, watching all this!
The arrival of surgeon
I discovered I was in the neighbourhood of Royal
Porters! and making my dreary position known to Colonel and
I filled the little Sunday parlour with flowers, and
heard the whole history of Mrs. Black Bull, the hostess, and of her son, the
butcher; and in the evening, when
Wayworn travellers stopping and economizing a few
halfpence in the matter of refreshment—and the poor weary women—and
the pleasure I felt in turning a pint of small beer into a pint of good ale,
which was thought so noble on my part—and the joke cracked by
The great skill and vigilance of Dr.
July 25.—While seated on the stone bench of the
Black Bull, the rector approached me with a look of curiosity and doubt, and
said he had heard of
August 1.—Dublin.—After an anxious and fatiguing journey, and having been on
the point of losing all that was most dear to me, and necessary to the future
remnant of my life—my husband, after having witnessed the distress of my
sweet
August 9.—à
l’ordinairethree of those conditional promises in one day, and got through two
of them.
As the great man (who turned out to be old
en famille
After dinner, he sighed and said, “I walked
through the streets of Dublin all day, and not a human being knew me. I
suppose they will, before the week is over.
” He exclaimed
bitterly against writing-women, even against the beautiful In short,
”
said he, “a writing-woman is one unsexed;
” but sud-except her,
” (me) whom, in all his works, he had
passed over in silence.
August 12.—In the midst of all my workmen,
philosophers from the British Association have made incursions—tale quale
August 14.—My soireétiresome! Fifty philosophers passed through my little
salon last night.
My sister,
That whoever wished to see the illustrious bard, &c.,
&c., might do so at the theatre on such an evening!
”
August 16.—The theatre was crammed last night. The Great Unknown, and The Gentleman
in Search of a Religion, and—popularity,
was called forth by the galleries, with “Come out here, little
”
Sunday,
Wednesday last we lighted on Fausten tiers
September 8.—What times! what a country is
Ireland! The
September 9.—So the Lords have rejected even the
moderate amendments of the Church Bill; and wretched Ireland, or rather the
independence of England, and her efforts for Ireland, are baffled in all their
expectations; not a grievance removed, not an abuse abolished, not a step taken
for the improvement of education or the peace of the country—the
“Church Establishment,” the filthy corporations, the Orange powers,
sheriffs, magistrates, jury, placemen, and even habitués
Since my return I have been given up to my usual
domestic duties.
A more blameless life was never led; some great occasion would soon rouse him; he is always ready to meet an event with energy, he has no external world; his world is within, and were it not for his fidgetty wife, he would never look out of it. He is inherently shy, timid, proud, anti-social, and neither acts nor writes in reference to society or its opinions, but always to its interests. He does this on a principle in his nature, a love of liberty and of ease in his own person, and desiring the same for his species.
September 18.—We are going to-day to Portran (the
Two hard-headed English lawyers,
Whilst here,
October 2.—A charming note from des petites demoiselles
October 6.—Dinner at
October 11.—Just heard of the deaths of SandovalMetropolitan
January 1836.—What a melancholy winding-up of the
year 1835, and commencement of the year 1836. I went ill to Malahide Castle for
Christmas-day—tried to bully a sore throat and head-ache, but finally
knocked down and took to my bed, which I only left at the end of eight days, to
be wrapped in hot blankets and conveyed to my own bed in Kildare Street. The
united skill and hourly attendance of my dear husband and good
January 20.—The Registration Society is going on
famously, all the young liberals of the highest rank
January 30.—I have met with a loss that breaks my
heart; I have lost the locket with
February 1.—The Tories, at last, have placed
February 5.—Read last night Life of Cuvier
March 20.—Death of my old friend Topography of Troy
April 1.—Busy to-day with my Woman and her
Master
April 2.—I have been reading Letters on England
A letter to-day from Book of the
Boudoir
Your old friend departed this life a few
days ago; he is buried in my garden, and his merits well deserve an
epitaph from your pen. He committed but one crime, and only made a
bit of an assault on chez moi
A charming note from
How am I to thank you enough for your most
amiable letter, which has just come to divert the not-unoccupied
repose of my holidays?
And so far, not inappropriately, as I am the guest of the
tithes attend me to the
silent shade.”
I am showing symptoms of bolting from the stout turnpike,
where I ought to travel into pleasant pas-
I cannot but be glad that
April 11.—Working all day and all night; spirits
at a low ebb.
April 13.—Another, too, gone! Poor
April 18.—I am getting down my old harp, which I
had exiled to a lumber-room, and will have it put in order. I will then get up
a song or two.
April 24.—Unable to use my eyes, in any way, since
the 19th. I write these few lines unknown to All in the WrongTimour the Tartar
May 20, London.—Arrived in
London quite safely, and we settled in pleasant lodgings in Stafford Row,
Buckingham Gate.
Poor the celebrated
May 22.—We are charmingly lodged, and in a quarter
I like above all others. Yesterday, dined with some of my literary friends at
reel with
the grave editor, “to my girls playing,” and
then we walked home, and sauntered till midnight, and by moonlight, under the
trees of my pretty Grosvenor Place; how pleased I am with it, what true delight
to live with trees!
May 27.—Got a cheerful letter from my beloved
Woman and her
Master
I have made acquaintance with the Quarterly
Ambition, and vanity, and social tastes, have led me
much into that chaos of folly and insincerity called the world; but domestic
life is my vocation—unfortunately, my high organisation, and my
husband’s character of mind, our love of art, and all that is best worth
knowing, renders la vie domestiquenow,” (the tiresome Liberals would change everything.)
Tenierscake for his breakfast, à la Turque
The year 1837 was marked by a handsome recognition of
” (it was his usual
alliterative for the tribe of men who came about his wife). She said nothing, but handed
him the letter and enclosures, which were as follows. Nothing could be more gracious or
more gracefully done. The announcement from
I thought the enclosed note came very à propos
Enclosed, was the note, as follows:—
I have settled that
May 8.—The very first intimation I received of my pension!
There is a break in the diary for five or six months. Among
I have derived great satisfaction from your letters; I
am very glad to find that what has been done is agreeable to your feelings, and
I can assure you that I have had much pleasure in doing that which may in some
degree alleviate the pressure of the infirmity under which, I very deeply
lament to hear that you are suffering. It is also a gratifying reflection that
no doubt can exist but that your talents and exertions afford ample grounds for
the advice which I have humbly given to
In the absence of a diary for this summer, the following extracts from a letter may be given:—
“I must tell you I am perfectly enamoured of my
present residence, and am determined on writing a Pimlico; it ought to be a most interesting bit of
topography, and I am urged to it by naïveté of his mother in her dramatic
characters. such property! I spent two hours with her, yesterday, in
her house in Tilney Street, tête-à-tête—the house, observe, of causerie!‘Won’t you give me a kiss before you
go?’
and then whispered in his ear, ‘you have forgotten
to wish mamma good night.’
What a charming trait; it is a pity to
make a queen of this creature, with these warm affections!
Tilney House is full of reminiscences of its celebrated
but, I suspect, unhappy rouéswithout Hope at the bottom! The most precious were a number of their
own portraits, set in all sorts of sizes and costumes, and oh what costumes! Toupées, chinons, flottans, tippy-bobby hats,
balloon handkerchiefs, and relics of all the atrocious bad taste of succeeding
years, from the days of
There were two lockets of very curious description,
minutely small portraits of the Prince and the lady; they were each covered
with a crystal, and this crystal was a diamond cut in two! They were less than
the
On the death of
The correspondence of the auto-da-fé
Les Liaisons Dangereuxone such woman; but refused to name her. The next moment every one
present confessed they had known one such woman, also; but refused to denounce
their fair friend. Curiosity became vehement, and ‘
I saw the lust picture of poor
Mrs. Heureux pays! où
l’on ne peut trouver qu’une seule
Presidente!
We had a very amusing, and to me, very interesting
dinner at ‘The
I said.
‘and,’
added he, with emotion,
‘this was—
After a pause, I said, ‘It is a
great likeness, as I last saw her.’
‘Where was
that?’
‘In Dublin.’
‘On the
stage?’
‘Yes, in the
After a pause, he said, “Country
Girl
I said I could not express how much I
honoured his sincere feelings to the most attentive of mothers, whose fault
was, that she loved not wisely, but too well. Chantrey’s
We found en groupeJean de
Bolognework of
art, I had almost said of nature; but no time to write more. I have to
dress the carriage, and
In the autumn of 1837,
Dublin had long become distasteful to
The following extracts from
“Oh Ireland, to you I have long bid a last and a painful adieu.”
You have always slighted, and often persecuted me, yet I
worked in your cause, humbly, but earnestly. Catholic Emancipation is carried!
It was an indispensable act—of what results, you fickle Irish will prove
in the end. To predicate would be presumptuous, even in those who know you
best. Creatures of temper and temperament, true Celts, as
I shall meet in England the effects of the glorious Reform, after seven years’ experiments; that is the event that opens the free port of constitutional liberty, so long struggled for by the Saxon in England.
We bid our last adieu to Ireland, October 20, 1837,
accompanied by my niece
October 28.—Received the intelligence of poor
December 23.—aplomb was truly wonderful; her
voice clear and sonorous—whoever “taught the young girl to read,” did every justice to the
development of her vocal organ, and her small person seemed to dilate under the
pressure of her conscious greatness; for the Queen of England is, at this
moment, certainly the greatest sovereign in the world, because she is the chief
of a free people—what charmed me most, however, was her inexpressibly
girlish laugh. When the House of Commons rushed in with all their rude, rough,
schoolboy boisterousness, cortège had moved off, and we paused at the head of the stairs
whilst my husband was looking for our carriages, dear
Our lodging in Pimlico, 6a,
Stafford Row, is opposite a wing of Buckingham Palace, and commands a view of
its gardens. What an historical, what a charming
I have finally given up all hopes of getting
“like the poor cat in the adage.” It happened thus:—I
have been in the habit of popping, at all hours, into the house, which I
considered all but my own, and the other day I found a fine embroidered
pocket-handkerchief on the table and a tiny pair of gloves. I saw at once that
the gloves had earned it, and that the handkerchief would never be flung at my
feet, and that there was a tenant who was resolved not to quit, and whose
lease, perchance, would not be renewable for ever; and so we have given up, and
are again on the search for a house.
December 25, 1837.—My birthday. London, 6,
Stafford Row, opposite the King of Buckingham’s house. I open this new
journal at the close of the year 1837, a year to me full of events of good and
ill together, to commemorate most gratefully my partial restoration to sight,
so far as to enable me to write an hour a day without pain or annoyance, and I
trust to recommence a work undertaken in the sincere spirit of philanthropy and
the inextinguishable desire to do good—Woman and her
MasterWoman and her Master
December 26.—I am really beginning my regeneration
and new life as a denizen of London. Everybody congratulating us: old friends
are true, new ones all agreeable.
The first entry in the journal for 1838, refers to a work which
caused a great scandal and excitement at the time, though now it has fallen into the heap
of things forgotten—The
Diary of the Court and Times of George IV
January 3.—The murder is out! There is the DiaryNew Atlantis
January 8.—For the last month nothing has been
thought of or talked of but the Diary
January 9.—I am just returned with locale I had a curious account from
At the bottom of William Street, bounding the park, is a
little bridge over the great sewer of this quarter, behind which stands the
hideous gate of the beautiful Hyde Park. The tops of two poplar trees are all
we can see of it. This bridge was the spot where the Knights of St. John of
Jerusalem used to assemble on a certain day in October to give convoy to the
monks of Westminster Abbey, on their return from their quest for provisions,
&c., for the convent, and to conduct them through the perilous jungles of
what is now Piccadilly, through which they were obliged to pass on their way to
the Abbey, according to an ancient tenure. Next to this gate stands the Cannon
Brewery,
I saw She shall have it, but it will not grow in so confined a
place.
”
To the diaries again:
January 11.—The fatal and almost pathetic
conflagration of the Royal Exchange and its neighbourhood has swallowed up the
discussions on all minor subjects. A note from my poor dear
What a sight I came in for last night, my
dear Little Mamma. The burning down of the Royal Exchange!! I write
you a few lines this morning to put your mind at ease respecting
me. Being so close to it, we were, as you may suppose, kept in a
state of great excitement and alarm. It was splendidly awful to see
the beautiful dome all in a blaze, and tumbling piece by piece into
the flames below, and the bells chiming their last in the midst of
the fire, and strange to say, the last tune they chimed was at
twelve o’clock, and that tune was “
January 14.—coup de patte
I was very much disconcerted on having pointed out to me
a day or two ago, a passage in the diary about
On enquiring how it was that the passage came to be
overlooked by
With my best compliments and apologies to
PS. I had not either the least knowledge that such a
person as Literary
Gazette
I beg to thank you myself for volunteering in a letter
to refers in a very bad spirit to
” I never in my life interfered with the
printed expression of an opinion relative to myself, personal or literary; of
this you are well aware, and whether you repeat through future editions, or
suppress in the next, a passage which you say ought never to have appeared, I
leave to your own taste, feeling, and discretion. On your confession that
“unfortunately the work was never properly examined by you, and
was hastily published,
” &c., I beg to re-on inquiring how it was
” That note, like all the other apologetical
notes in the book, only proves that the author was fully cognisant of the
malice and impropriety of the text. In return for the many kind expressions in
your letter with respect to myself, I beg to reiterate an advice so often
given: in a literary, as well as in a social sense, confine your dealings to
honest men and women; when you did so, you were among the first of European
publishers. that the passage came to be overlooked by the reviser, I
am told that it was thought that the note at the foot of the page was
considered as a perfect refutation of the unjust and ill-natured
remarks.
On the 17th of January, 1838, we, viz., my beloved
husband and myself, accompanied by our dear niece, very dear house, No. 11, William
Street. Belgrave Square is the only place of any note, i.e., of gentility near us. I take great interest in this new and
pretty quartierplombière
March 5.—
March 11, William Street.—I
see it is quite absurd to attempt keeping a diary here within the sound of
workmen and mills; I give it up. I have been so busy, with my good Woman and her
Master
Athenæum
May 14.—My first shaking of the Albert Gate! What
a charming quartier!Pontifex
maximusThat smoke will serve us yet,
” I said;
“it will ruin the Apsley House picture gallery, if the Cannon
Brewery be not removed, the Duke must know of
it.
” “I will buy out the Cannon Brewery,
”
said
May 29.—Last night we were at Modistessmall, but pretty black, lace
or silk, and all caps or fraisesblack, ditto gloves and fichus, loose
sleeves and large, from shoulder to elbow. The
Yesterday we were at Chanoiness Talbot
London looks like the last scene in a pantomime, all
transformed for the Coronation. Every house, from Hyde Park Corner to the
Abbey, cased up with wooden platforms, canopied balconies. The déjeuner
August 26.—Here is a letter which I have just sent
to
tête-à-têtes
him on the other side of the way, will be as an
“hyperion” to two “satyrs.”
Well! we have got our answer; but we are not beaten.
A letter from Athenæum
I am much obliged to you for sending me the Athenæum
Your remarks on the report in general are very good. I
have been arrested by various persons, with—“
” Have you seen a very moderate and sensible article on your Railway
Report in the Athenæum
&c.
party. His personal interests, I imagine, ought to lead him to
favour the Kilkenny and the Great Central Irish, &c., that our plan
condemns; therefore, his opinions should carry weight. The journalists ought
also to use a little of the pressure from without on the government and on
parliament for this object.
Dear
December 23.—We went last night to a literary soirée given by Messrs. en gracieuxCinq Marsdu plus
beau noir. He said “soirée for him, very pleasant. He
said, in answer to my observation on the bright,
” This was too pleasant. The one an
Englishman, and the other an Italian.
” It was
the les singes tigresdoctrinairesles singes
Anglais
The reader, who has had so many letters from
” He tried the patience of his august brother as no one,
except his wife, parvenu to the backbone; and his vulgarity was
ingrained. The Admiral,
At first, there was an affectation of incognito observed; but
They passed a few months in the midst of all the social gaieties and
splendours that American society could bestow. On the 18th of May news came that the
He had had his whim out in marrying
I regret very much that I cannot have the pleasure of
passing this evening with you; the news of the death of my uncle,
In the course of the same season,
You will be less surprised to know of my arrival in
Europe than I am to find myself here. I never supposed that I had preserved
sufficient energy or moral courage to put into effect my inclination to absent
myself from the République par
excellenceEtats Unisune personne
distinguée
en petit comité
Have you no agreeable work to promise us?
The poor
I wonder that you did not select Paris in preference to
London, for a permanent séjour
I hope that
Adieu, my dear
It was during this year that Woman and her Masternever been subordinated, but have, on
the contrary, been always the depositories of the vital and leading idea of the time; that the spiritual life in women has always been more pure and
vigorous than in men; Woman and her MasterRights of Woman tone, in which the question is generally discussed;
on the contrary, nothing can be more pretty and persuasive; no man in the world could find
in his heart to interrupt the pleasant flow of narrative and assertion by a question, much
less by a contradiction. There are some true observations; the work evinces a great deal of
laborious and industrious reading, and the style is not so much disfigured by a mixture of
languages, as is usually the case. It is evident, from the beginning, that her ladyship is
riding her “hobby,” which, well bred and well broken, obeys her hand, shows the
smoothest action and carries her along like a Pegasus. The work was never completed; her
eyesight failed; and, when restored, was still precarious; but she had collected an ample
store of materials to finish her tusk, had her health and eye-
We return to the diary, in which there is a brief reference to this book.
June 9, 1840.—The first time I have written in
this journal during the year 1840. En
attendantWoman and her Master
Just read the account of the funeral of
The following note from
I am going to be very troublesome, but I am quite sure
you will be kind and indulgent. The case is this:—The my
business to obtain a sufficient number of peers to form the committee; numbers
of whom, as you know are gone out of town, and I have a thousand fears, lest we
should aged one like myself, must of course find it a
difficult task, without the aid of kind friends. The purport, therefore, of
this application, my dear Madam, is to request you would do me the favour to
ask any peers, who are friends of yours (and very many,
I know, are on your list), to be at the House of Lords to-morrow, rather before
three o’clock, as that is the hour which the Lord Chancellor has fixed to
give the final judgment. If you can, without inconvenience, do me this favour,
I need not say what an essential service you would render me, and my servant
shall call at your house to-morrow morning, at any hour you may kindly appoint,
in case you may write any notes for him to convey; and, perhaps, you would be
so good as to give him the directions to each. I am quite distressed to give
you such trouble, but will not detain you with more of this.
Remaining with best compliments to
PS.—I would have called
to petition you in person, but my carriage has been in a distant quarter
all the day, and I could not leave the house.
I shall hope to call very soon, after the present fatigue is over.
The judgment was given in
The next letter will interest readers who knew the fine though
undeveloped genius of
I felt very much flattered by your warm praises of Thomas à
BeckettBeckettEthelstanamari aliquid
Dear
With best respects to him and your ladyship, I remain what all the world is towards you, and to what I need not say besides,
Paul Pry
I wish I could come and see whether you are better. I
hope you are. Are you?
So here I am still, seeing everybody out. None of your
acquaintances here, I believe, but faites vous en une idée!carriage-children to wake them; the theatre is closed, because, as
nobody went to it when the town was full, it would be very stupid indeed of
them to expect people to go to it now that the town is empty. The only happy
person in the place I believe to be A
proposour tragedy
will be in the Miscellany
When I come to town I hope to find some or all of your
charming nieces with you. Has some lucky Irishman caught two or three years younger and thirty thousand pounds
richer!
That being all, with kind regards to
In the course of our delightful and prosperous tour in
this region of plenty and bonhomieheart of Germany, as a retreat from bustle of all
sorts, I have been living in a continual fuss and movement, and, except to my
family, to tell them I am “alive and kicking,” I have never put pen
to paper since I left London. I requested up to my
bent, by the manner of our reception everywhere. The kindness of the
Madame la Chanoinesse Talbotfêtevieux chateauxla grande maitressespirituelle
Last night we were at the most original entertainment
ever given since the days of chapeau basfête
With kind respects to
In the autumn,
Even in the lighter sphere of fiction, the public mind had somewhat
changed, as O’DonnelThe Dowager
In this once popular novel,
Here is her note:—
You are very kind to like my new book. Till you praised
it, I was in despair. It sells, and I was convinced of its utter worthlessness;
for surely nothing can equal the degradation of the public taste in such
matters! The subject and title were of avoid hooking “mannerisms the Dowager may resemble her; but
not in essentials. She was better or worse. I never heard of her troubling herself about her opposite
neighbours, except so far as by sending her dog to walk in their gardens, when
under a course of Epsom salts.
I am grieved (à
propos
My French books will disappoint you. Paris has been a
land of Canaan to me, and the milk and honey will necessarily find their way to
my pen, and prevent the possibility of adding shades to the picture. I love
them all so well as to see everything en couleur de
rose
The English (except you, who are frank and generous, but then you are not English) are not half so good to me; and I therefore permit myself to see them as nature made them and art has spoiled them.
My daughter is going to Brighton in the course of the week, and will throw herself at your feet. I hope she will send me better news of you.
Sincere regards to yourself and
In 1842, the MetropolitanNew MonthlyAthenæumThe Memoir
of the Macaw of a Lady of Quality
April 12, 1842.—Talk to me of your gardens! I have at this moment, perfuming my rooms, twelve
hyacinths, mignionette, sweet briar, and verbenas; fellow me that in your garden!
My right eye is very weak and painful, causing me Athey.au courantlights, and wanted to extinguish them; but I
would rather give up my rouge than my lamps,
et c’est de beaucoup
dire
I can do nothing for your young friend,
Well, I am working at my Gate;
the Cannon Brewery is blown down, and the Counter
intrigue blown up. We have got the public benefit.
April 17.—Hurrah! have got my Gate, just as we got
Catholic Emancipation, by worrying for it!
It was said of somebody that he could be eloquent on a broom-stick.
Among incitements so numerous that it would weary you to mention them, there are two obstacles, a late dinner, to which I am engaged, and uncertain health. I had last week an attack of gout, which is receding from me (as a bailiff from the house of an half-pay captain) dissatisfied and terrified by the powers of colchicum; but I swear by that beautiful name we both bear, that I will come if it is possible.
(Which, of course, includes improvement on
Cracked
Rib. Your riddles are excellent, and so is your doggrel, which I must
leave
As to my
Make sugar of paper! then there is a hope that poor
authors may make plums, and critics become candied, and writers of tragedies may be more successful
in the writing mood, and the worst productions be
constantly in the mouths of the public, and all the evils of literature be
twined into bonbons! I always said and felt that to
restore the taste for tragedy, she must be taken from the stilts, and brought
down to common life and common language. Everything is a round robin, rudeness,
simplicity, perfection, decay, simplicity, rudeness. You must have novelty, and
after you have reached perfection, you can only innovate by inferiority.
Never mind, it’s a very pretty world, and I am perfectly well contented with it, especially now that my wife is better, and my three girls at home, and all of us as cozy as possible, trying which can talk the most nonsense, and laugh the loudest at a bad joke.
Our united regards and wishes for lots of happy new
years are wafted to you and
PS.—Should this papyro-saccharine process go
on, what capital kisses will be made from lead from my works! You will see in the recantation for
calling another a swindler. “I called you a swindler, it is true;
you’re an honest man, I’m a liar.”
The diary resumed:—
11, William Street, January 1st, 1843.—I enter
on my third year’s illness, which has interfered with my enjoyment of
life, my worldly interests (for I cannot write without pain and palpitation),
and all my social pleasures. My dear family are all far away, and I am deprived
of my liberty at home and abroad, still, two of the great blessings are left
me, the society of my most dear and true friend, my husband, in full health and
spirits, and my own consciousness that I never lost an occasion of working or
rendering a service during my long life, to the best of my ability; my sight
has wonderfully recovered since my other attack.
January 28.—“Charming well again!” and
in my pretty drawing-room. An old friend dropped in to-day, and found à
gorge deployéNew MonthlyMemoirs of Margery
Dawfadaise
The following notes are from
February 6th, 1843.—Your uncle has
made a very perfect recovery from a very alarming illness, but is still rather more
“pale, mild, and interesting” than, in my
unromanticism, I am desirous to see him! au
resteDarby
and Joan, on the broad seas of society; but with all the caution and inland steering of old and shipwrecked mariners. We did our
habituésDeath and the
LadyYellow Poet, I must tell you that he is the slave and
blackmoor of another lady, who is now the receiver of all his pretty iced butter
parties, que vous connaissez si
bien
Diary again:
June.—Is it possible that I am again restored to
health and sight. My dear
Soirées, operas, concerts, à discretionà
l’indiscretion!
My life may be deemed a frivolity for one of my age, but no, it is a philosophy, a profound and just philosophy, founded upon the wisdom of the principle, to do and enjoy all the good I can, while I submit to the penalty of that mystery called life.
Some of the “young Englanders” have just
been here; they might as well have been New Zealanders, for any advance they
make in the art of thinking. But they are good boys, of the school of Universal Spelling Book
Their plumb is a green-gage, poor
dears! I knew the firstlings of this school of good boys, some thirty years
I had fully intended, my dear madam, to have been of your party to-night; but I went to the Thames Tunnel, and have destroyed myself by walking under the river, and descending and ascending one hundred and twenty steps; there was a suffocating heat and a want of ventilation for which I was not prepared. I am astonished the Thames submits to the insult; one day or another it will come down upon the subaqueous intruders with all the force of a basin of water flung from the seventh story of a house in Edinburgh.
PS.—
June 30th.—One of the most
wretched days of my life—bad letter from Ireland.
My dear, dear my hereafter in this world—gentle, spiritual,
intellectual, full of the finest affections—unselfish beyond all
comparison! My beloved Oh,
” This dreadful idea consoled
me. How strange—my present loss appeared less; my beloved husband took me
off to Richmond, and I came back in better spirits, and again full of
hope—and I were to go?
In Richmond Park we sat under an old tree, within view
of the Mount where
The sorrow felt by
It was the second great sorrow of her life. The death of her father, a
few months after her marriage, was her first grief; the death of her husband was a far
heavier affliction. As years went on, she felt his loss more
It was not in
The death of He was,
” says one who knew him
well, “a man of a refined and philosophic mind, of varied accomplishments—a
scholar and a gentleman in the largest sense of those comprehensive words.
”
It is long before there is any further entry in
Oh, my husband! I cannot endure this—I was quite unprepared for this. So ends my life.
November, 1843.—
The winter fire kindles alone for me now. The chair, the
table, the lamp, the very books and paper-cutter, all these are here, this November—gloomy, wretched November!! How I
used to long for November—social, home-girt November; now I spend it in
wandering through this deserted house. Is it possible? “
” When I first transcribed that mono-
The next entry in her journal is many months later; but it is given here not to break the thread of the subject:—
April, 1844.—Time applied to grief is a worldly
common place—time has its due influence over visible grief, that which is
expressed by visible emotions—it softens sighs and dries tears! but
le fondwas, part of yourself, remains
for ever. This melancholy Sunday morning, April! The first word written in this
once gay record of pleasant sensations!
There is a long blank, and then the following entry, headed—
In the most awful moment of my life, I was not without
aid and solace; my sister was with me, my brother-in-law, and my niece
constitutional cheerfulness much more rapidly than I
should otherwise have done. My return to my own lonely house was woeful. The
night I arrived, my servant Battle of
Waterloo. He was an old soldier of the 18th, and fought there.
July 28.—Everybody makes a point of having me out,
and I am beginning to be familiarised with my terrible loss. I go in and out of
drawing-rooms, and “sit at good men’s tables,” and submit to
the influence of the laughing-gas of society. I was
told, only the other day, “I was so brilliant at
somebody’s dinner;” all this is very contemptible, but it is
inevitable.
I could read now, if I had
sight—once, and so lately, I never missed my eyes!
One thing cheers me—my beloved mine—the all that is left me now.
London is the best place in the world for the happy and the unhappy, there is a floating capital of sympathy for every human good or evil; I am nobody, and yet what kindness I am daily receiving!
If I were not incapacitated by a weak sight and a heavy
heart, and above all, by the eternal “qui
bono?salon. Poor, dear, kind
Lady Morgan
July, 1844.—Another gone—poor first poet of the age was voted the vulgarest of
coup de
grâceunapproachable
extreme fastidiousness of the possessor of the star.
Next morning he went about asking every one if they could “take him into
town with a wee bit of a portmanteau?”
My kind old friend, Life
of Eldonapparent, is never officious. He is above his subject—a
narrow-minded, timid, and unenlightened man.
In the autumn
You have long since heard of my melancholy illness—utterly alone, and in a foreign
hotel; and I really believe that if
The health of
If you could recover your sleep without opiates you would soon be quite well. Mesmerism
does this. I am going to
solely on your account (for you know my organ of anti-humbugism). I shall be
able to tell you more to-morrow on this head.
Monday.—Now, here is a full and true account. “Well,
my dear, our party consisted of the all believers,—and two sceptics,
My Father’s Marble HallYou mean I am a thief, that is very wicked of you,
” and
away she went, and sat in a niche under the side-board, in great dudgeon and dignity.
As to the organ of imitation, it was to the life; she personified
She was then de-mesmerised, and was again modest and childlike, and said she hoped she
had not done anything rude, or sang an improper song; “
I hope I shall soon be
married.
” The two sceptics decided it was acting equal to that lady is a
sceptic”
Act third.
I now tell you all
” I saw, but as to my faith, it rests much where
my ignorant interests left it some years ago. That the powers of magnetism and
electricity are great, and may be beneficially applied in medical practice, I believe
there is no doubt, and that they Philosophy of Lifethis truth all my convictions subscribe;
and now, dear
The next entry in the journal is a sad one. The sorrow she had feared had fallen upon her.
Sunday, April 27.—The re-opening of my Doomsday Book, after a struggle of nearly two years;
submitting to the grave law of necessity by which all known things are
governed, I have endeavoured to make head against that prostrating melancholy
which poisons and embitters life, but does not destroy it, and to live in that
world I could not leave by any voluntary act (for mine is not a suicidal
temperament). Now I am again crushed by the last of the two greatest calamities
that could befal me in this life. My noble-minded and affectionate sister, my
first friend and earliest companion, with whom I had struggled through a
precarious youth. My beloved Doomsday Book to note
this; but I cannot go on, three of the dearest and the best in two years; it is too terrible.
April 29.—All is now over in Dublin, and the with time to weep. Oh! I cannot weep, and have
none to weep with, for I am alone. All my old friends and new acquaintances
have been to my door to offer their sympathy, but I am beyond the reach, the reach of solace now, I almost think this last blow
has struck most home.
So I reel on! the world is my gin or opium, I take it
for a few hours per diem, excitement, intoxication, absence! I return to my
desolate home, “and awaken to all the horrors of sobriety.
”
My impressionableness of spirits, my debility of body, my sight dim from
nervousness, my heart palpitating at the least movement; and yet I am accounted
the “agreeable rattle of the great ladies’ coterie,
”
and I talk pas malpark so near me, of
which my beloved It is ours more than the queen’s, we use it daily and enjoy
it nightly!
”—that park that I worked so hard to get an
entrance into, I never walk in, it seems to me covered with black crape.
In the year 1846 Wild Irish Girl
I have received a copy of the Wild Irish Girl
We return to the diary:—
November 4.—I am thankful to say that all my
roamings are over for this year, and that I am safe at home in dear William
Street, in sight of all that is best. I got so ill at Worthing I was obliged to
leave the Duchess and her family party which, by-the-bye, like most family
parties (except it is one’s own), was dull. There was one member of this
party with whom I got on well, and who talks soundly upon all high class subjects, but he talks like a ghost, only when
spoken to; and as no one ventured to draw him out but myself, I had him all to
myself. He appears cold and self-reliant, stands apart from all contact with
his species. Apparently he was never in love, and his family (who know him
best) say never will marry. When I left this ducal ménagemorgue, I started off for my dearest attack of rheumatism, that I found
out their cottage was damp and low, and I suspect
disagrees with them, but they will not allow it. I was obliged to send to my
good friend
December 14.—I dare not trust myself to chronicle
my feelings as to passing years more! To forget is my philosophy, to hope would
be my insanity, to endure (and that I can) is my system; but it is only a
system, from which the dreary impulses of my state and condition revolt but too
often. Still I am grateful for the good I yet enjoy—to be so is my
religion.
Nothing is left me to love; but, also, nothing to fear.
December 25.—I am endeavouring to make head
against the sad associations of this month, and to give evidence of my cheerful
philosophy if not of my happiness. And so I end this old year quietly, somewhat
anxiously, but with increasing social popularity.
January, 1847.—Another year! I cannot say I hailed
it with a welcome or with a hope; but I endeavour to cheer it in, and gave a
dinner for my most dear husband’s family and friends, a large musical
party in the evening—all the neighbours I could collect.
All my servants laid up with influenza.
I sent these rhymes, with a winter bouquet, to a friend:—
Spring flowers, With spring showers, Like Love’s promise, Pass, fleet away. While winter weaves His ivy leaves, For deathless wreaths For friendship’s day.
August.—Death of the soirées, talking of old times. He was the lineal
descendant of the supreme kings of Ireland. I saw the old crown of Irish gold
at a jeweller’s, in Dublin, when I was a little girl.
I am very very sorry to be deprived so long of any
enjoyment from your society, which I always cared for and valued when there
seemed to be more of the same stamp current than in our latter days! Is it that
as age advances we think complacently on those scenes we passed under the blaze
of a meridian day with capabilities now blunted, and which neither can impart
or receive pleasure with the same gusto as heretofore? Be that as it may, my
dear
April 15.—I look into my old journals and find
that my first lesson in salad making was given me by O’Donnel
” Ever after, he only bowed to me when we met
at court, never spoke to me. O’Donnel
A note from
Let me jump over all propriety—it is the only
thing I can now jump over, but early practice and long, has kept me vigorous in
that particular—let me jump over it, the tiresome obstacle, and address
you at once as dear
What can I offer in excuse, what say for myself that Mais avec des circonstances
extenuantes
December 12.—What a villegiaturaen
passanten grand seigneurmost 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.
Then from Deepdene I went to Llanover Court,
Monmouthshire (Lodge Peerage, and then back
to town, where my dear
December 22.—I am actually off for Brighton! on a
visit to my kind old friend clever
January 12, 1848.—Went to little balcony. All the muses
assisted at this literary nuptials—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 rouéyes,
really and literally, Punchnational 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
February 12.—I have been very ill indeed for a
month, and my poor 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 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 chambresoirée 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,
” 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!
The diary of the year 1849 begins thus:—
My first entry this year is to record a loss. Another
old friend is gone,—
The escape was entirely successful; but on
A letter from
I was most agreeably surprised by your letter of the
17th February. I had heard and believed that you were living in Dublin. You may
be quite convinced that I consider it a bonne
fortune pour moipar le
grâce de Dieuje
l’espère dans son interêtnommée la
Républiquequand mêmele prestige du
nomuniversal suffrage once more
if it insists upon their President of France becoming a monarch. I am
disinterested personally. It is not my desire ever to return to France.
My dear princely income,”
which convinces me that you are ignorant of the paucity of my means. I have all
my life had poverty to contend with, pecuniary difficulties to torture and
mortify me; and but for my industry, and energy, and my determination to
I shall have much to tell you. Les Mémoires d’ outre tombetravestie en République! ni l’un ni
l’autre, ne gagnera par le trocDieu permettant
May.—The death of my husband’s and my own
dear old friend,
Death of Taudis, in
Grosvenor Place! How many bright and brilliant women who were with us that
evening are gone now!
December 30.—Confined to my room; my maid reading
to me ShirleyJane Eyre
In the early part of 1850 there was rather a lively discussion
about abolishing the office of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. It excited more vehemence and
party spirit than the question was intrinsically worth. English people were inclined to
think, that one real queen was enough for the United Kingdom and the colonies besides; but
the Irish clung tenaciously to having a viceroy of their own to preside over the
festivities of the Castle, and to give a “court circle” to their capital, and
they saw in the reported measure, only one insult more from England.
Yours is a sharp pen, and I hope it will never be directed against me, of which, indeed, I have no fears whatever. What you say of old viceroys is, I fear, true enough. Yet, in those times it was impossible to dispense with them—the necessity ought now to be at an end; though I am not master enough of the state of Ireland to pronounce absolutely against their continuance. But you can make any case a good one with wit or raillery.
The following pleasant note from coup de pattePunch
I was very sorry that I had promised my friend—and
all the world’s friend—Punchdoes blunder, he does it with a courageous
stupidity. The editor is one of the best hearted of men, and will, I know, be
annoyed when brought face to face with the absurdity.
Another note from
The devil—the devil take him—brings me your
hospitable summons for last night—here in the wilderness this morning!
Next time, pray do remember—Putney!
This year was also enlivened by a controversy between pièce de
circonstancethat the sacrilegious curiosity of the
French broke through all obstacles to their seeing the chair of St. Peter. They
actually removed its superb casket, and discovered the relic. Upon its mouldering and
dusty surface were traced carvings, which bore the appearance of letters. The chair was
quickly brought into a better light, the dust and cobwebs removed, and the inscription
(for inscription it was) faithfully copied. The writing is in Arabic characters, and is
the well-known confession of the Mahometan faith: “
” There is but
one Cod, and Mahomet is his Prophet.” It is supposed that this chair had
been,
This statement
Whether all-hail hereafter.’
It is a singular fact that I never saw this able attack of your Eminence on my work until
lately; and so the thunders of the Vatican rolled over me
innoxious. I heard, indeed, that a very learned diatribe had been written against my
description of St. Peter’s chair; but I carelessly dismissed the subject with the
observation of a French wit—
At any rate, the present occasion was too appropriate to resist; an Irishman could as
soon have refrained from hitting a head at Donnybrook Fair, as Lady Letter to Cardinal Wiseman, in answer to
his remarks on Lady Morgan’s statements regarding St.
Peter’s Chairil faisait le
fraisPunchbeaux
jours
December 25.—Christmas day—my birthday; another and
another still succeeds.
December 27.—Lots of notes and notices of my La petite vielle femme
vit encore
I am leading a very gay life, for I think with so
solitary a home as mine is, social excitement is almost necessary for me. I am,
thank goodness, in better health than I have been for a long time. I will turn
to mon livre des bénéficesNext on my list, on the 24th a dinner at chapeau
bas!la Reine est la plus grande Reine du
mondeLe Roiin that moment, all that was greatest and best, visible and invisible, and the sublime sun shining down
his rays on this beautiful creation of man!
On my return from this palace of the genii, a charming
Bohemian lady, matinée
Still my spirits keep me afloat, and I am good for—
Poor
I do not often bore you with letters, because I know it
troubles you to read and answer them; but I cannot resist my inclination to
write and ask you a question or two about poor TimesDarien
when the groom returned with the sad list containing poor
I cannot tell you how deeply I was shocked. What I want
you to tell me is, whether he has left a wife and children (as well as talented
brothers), and whether there was any occasion for him to
cross the sea? The Times
A proposforgotten she was ever a French
woman. The little daughter will be one of the richest heiresses in England, and
I dare say we shall live to see her marry a duke.
Do not take the trouble of answering me yourself; let
one of your servants be your amanuensis, I have no doubt they all write quite
as well as our Hampshire squires. My children are out with the Hambledon
hounds, or they would place themselves at your feet, as well, dear
The diary resumes with the notice of
February 28.—On coming down, an hour back, to the
drawing-room, The
TimesNews
Letter
March.—I have written to
The question of raising a monument to
consult the genius of the
place in all,
” is an old maxim of taste, and to have some regard to financial means,
is an indispensable restraint upon national enthusiasm in Ireland.
lived to see so
many “emerald crowns” national monuments,
tributary cenotaphs, and other such offerings decreed to national merit by
Irish gratitude through vocal acclamation and on paper, which “no
storied urn or ani-
” ever
afterwards realised, that she now ventures to suggest the necessity of first
consulting the funds collected for a consummation so devoutly to be wished,
before any decision is made as to the quality of the testimonial.
Charlemont House, where all that was ever done
“wisest and best,” was debated and
carried into effect by that illustrious Irishman under whose banner Ireland was
first led forth against a foreign invader, and taught to resist domestic
despotism, the father of the always patriotic nobleman who is about to honour
the meeting by his presence.
This letter received a lively response. It was copied into all the Dublin papers; and a meeting was called at Charlemont House. It was suggested that the site of the proposed statue should be Leinster Lawn, facing Merrion Square.
In looking over some letters the other day, of the year
’46, I found a note of dear even the most
trifling memorandum becomes, when collecting materials for the life of
an illustrious person. I do not like to part with the autograph; though, if I
had strength or sight, I am sure I should find many of his little notes written
in “Auld Lang Syne,” when he lived in the same gay circle in
Dublin, and afterwards met in England, France and Italy. He was a good deal
with us in Florence.
I assure you, my dear and from
yourself that you are so well circumstanced, in a worldly point of
view; and the Memoirsmost desirable to you.
My house is small, but I can offer you a tidy little bedroom, though rather loftily situated.
helpless, he was in good force and spirits, and narrated with his usual precision and
accuracy.
October 1.—Returned to town from my country
excursions. I had just come off my journey and was lying stretched on the sofa
in the drawing-room, very dead and shattered, when I heard a voice, sharp and
Yankee, bullying my maid in the hall, for a free admit-en
longue et en large
My house is greatly improved—looks beautiful in
its fresh green paint, but I am more inclined to my inclined plane, a sofa at
home, than to gaieties; I am so completely “used up,” or, as
—for I am made to talk my life
away at these charming country houses. Je suis affamée pour
le silence
October 5.—Dined at
November 3.—I have missed my beautiful Irish seal
with my Irish harp on it; I am astonished and do not know what to think. I have
had it thirty years. It has been taken off my bunch of seals, which lies on my
Pompadour.
November 4.—My whole nervous system has been
upset, by the discovery that I have had a Felon living in my house for the last
three weeks.
November 18.—The funeral baked meats,
” but a very recherché
In the last days of November I was struck by the most
serious illness I have ever had, but I have been carried through by skill,
care, and affection.
August, 1853.—Went to Bognor for my villegiatura
Fiction has nothing more pathetic than that great
melodramatic tragedy now performing on the shores of Ireland,—The Celtic Exodus. The Jews left a foreign
country—a “house of bondage;” but the Celtic exodus is the
departure of the Irish emigrants from the land of their love—their
inheritance—and their traditions—of their passions and their
prejudices; with all the details of wild grief and heartrending
incidents—their ignorance of the strangers they are going to
seek—their tenderness for the objects they are leaving behind. Their
departure exceeds in deep pathos all the poetical tragedy that has ever been
presented on the stage, or national novelists have ever depicted in their
volumes.
Left Bognor. Returned to London in September. A long night of blindness and suffering, from the first week in September to the month of March following, when the dawn of light, health, and comfort once more broke upon me.
The entries in the journal and the letters grow scantier as we
proceed.
Poor
July.—
During our delightful residence on the Lake of Como, the
Villa Fontana was frequented by some of the most illustrious men in Lombardy.
canzone
The poor travaux forcés
September 2.—Moore Park. A sort of hospital for
odds and ends. Since I arrived here, a month this day, I have been charmed with
everything, en gros et en détail. I have an
obituary already. mélange of meanness and munificence in his
dealings. There was a desperate vengeance that had more of the jealousy of love
than the resentment of business in his attempt to destroy my fame and fortune
when I went to Messrs. France
Another death!—
I am getting up memorials for a history of Moore
November.—In the beginning of September I went to
Llanover on a visit to
I went thence to Stamford Hall, Leicestershire, to pay
one more visit to my dear and venerable friend, the
I arrived there very ill, with a severe attack of bronchitis. Nothing could exceed their kindness. I left Stamford Hall and my dear friends with the intention of proceeding to Combermere Abbey.
at home. And so ends my vittegiatura
How kindly you have written to me. Malahide was indeed
full to me of pleasant, though mixed, memories, and I am sure you will not
think the vivid historian of its storied site was omitted from them. It
appeared to me a great change from former times, when we rollicked on oysters,
and barristers sang treasonable songs. Now, we talked of archaeology, and
looked at old porcelain. The portrait-gallery has received additions. I thought
Dublin smiled very graciously on my levee and drawing-room, and my health has
not, as yet, at all repined at my splendid captivity in the Castle, and we are
to have Grecian theatricals, and an amateur opera, got up by
Your imperial city is full of a more serious drama. I am sure you are too good a friend to the humanities of every kind not to be a sincere well-wisher to peace.
Now, dear lady, I must leave you, for—the Lord Mayor!
yours! You, probably, scarcely remember a
girl with (what in Irish we call) a Cathath head, and a very nimble foot at
crossing a ford and dancing an Irish jig, or taking a game of romps out of
“she can never forget days so happy and so careless, and which
furnished forth the details of the Wild Irish GirlshanaosBurke’s
PeerageTime immemorial your grandfather Longford? had it
not an Irish name? and what name? Is the old chapel
standing? or the original bother you no
more with my antiquarian questions, but in conclusion Irish Harp, you
will meet with “
Accept my best thanks for your kind letter, to which various engagements have prevented my giving an earlier reply.
Believe me, it is our house which should be proud of a
kinswoman who, having fought her way to fame, as you have, is willing to
remember her friends of “long ago,” even to the romps with
“Herald at
Arms, that we were descended from the next
brother of the first baronet, and not from the
first baronet himself, to whose male issue that patent
limited the title. This was a great trouble to us at Longford, and a surprise
Irish to laugh at this trifle being deemed a grievance; but here, by
the shores of the Atlantic, where little questions of precedence still at times
arise, it was unpleasant, to say the least, to be obliged to make way for those
who ought, as they used, to follow us.
My left to me three sons and
three daughters.
Now for the Longford estates. Longeuth, I believe, is
the Irish for it. When this latter passed into Longford, I am unable to
discover; but am disposed to think that the first condition of the country they were least valuable; many an ancient family has
been pressed out of home and fortune. One family (some of the members of which you
must have known) the inhabitants, on which you would come and visit us; you
would find the chapel as in your youth, and beside it, the home of Friar nymph, with golden hair.
Time has eaten away the trunks of the Longford pearmain,
the original
If ever I have the opportunity, the “Irish Harp” may rely upon a call; but as I seldom leave home, I will, for this once act, if you will permit me, by deputy. Should my son and his bride be in London in June, as is probable, I promise he shall pay his respects to you, and I trust you may esteem him worthy of the ancient stock. Grateful of your kind recollection of me and mine,
Early in February had appeared a volume of Table TalkAthenæum
I take the liberty of addressing you on the subject of
our common correspondence with the
There never was anything more false than that my dear
old friend,
Long after who lived with
her mother until her marriage, which, by-the-way, was a run-a-way one.
Old
I could have given the
Would that I were near you, dearest
The AthenæumTable Talk
On that occasion the reconciliation took place, and I then saw my three sisters for the first time; my mother must have been about sixty, and she always called them “the ladies.”
These are not important events to bring before the
public; and was a talker. I have many letters, or had,
and now possess his proposal of marriage to me at thirteen, with my impertinent caricature of him, and old
Excuse an abrupt conclusion to this family gossip, dear
An interesting notice of
I overheard two gentlemen in the United Service Club
yesterday talking of your matinée. One said, he had
often seen the The Night before Larry was Stretched
A letter to
Your last letter was so beautifully written, that it put me quite out,
and I could not read it! It is too bad, after devoting the best part of my life to deciphering your dear old hieroglyphics, to
be at this time of day treated to a common place, plain hand writing, that any one can read. Well, let it pass; and now for my
news. The inauguration of mob of, I should
think, six thousand persons, perfectly well disposed, and, I must say, far more civil and courteous than an English mob, for
passed through
it (being separated from our gentlemen) without the slightest annoyance or pressure. We were at last discovered by
heart as
well as his head, which you know always goes a great way with us in Ireland.
But the speaker of the day, out and out for eloquence
and extraordinary oratorical powers (such as I never
heard, and could only imagine Irish eloquence. The immense
flow of words of the best
language, gave one the idea that his imagination was overflowing. It was extraordinary. I think, with all
this, he would have no success in our English house of parliament; and that men
would go to sleep on the benches with the word “bosh” on their lips, and they would not be altogether wrong.
The Lord Mayor said his petit
motshop in Grafton Street. He
created a deal of merriment amongst the mob, who encouraged him with sundry
“Don’t be frightened, my boy,” and “spake out like a
man.” When all this was over, and the statue uncovered, I could not help
thinking that it was the least inspiring object I ever saw. It is almost grotesque, and might be any one else than little
fête of fêtes, from
which we did not get home till five o’clock this morning, of which I
shall tell you in my next.
Odd Volume
Having heard that you were ill I enquired, not at your
house, but of your friends, and was told that
Believe me to be with most sincere wishes for your
immediate restoration to health, your devoted servant in spirit; in flesh I
cannot be any person’s servant,—at least I should be a very
unprofitable one, being only fit for “Worms, brave
” They, indeed, with respect
to me, are like the young Irishman who proposed for a lady of fortune; and
being asked what his fortune was, answered, that he has no actual one, but had
great expectations—from the lady.
PS.—As to your “turning to stone” if you ever do, it
will be a pumice stone, covered with magic words.
Later in this year,
December 25, 1858, was one cheer
more;” but this Christmas-day proved to be the very last.
The first entry in her diaries for 1859 relates to the Odd Volume
January 1.—This day my Odd Volumel’enfant de ma vieillesseesquisse
A letter to
Be all that constitutes a merry Christmas and happy new
year laid at your feet for your gracious acceptance, if you please to accept
such “tag rag, and bob tail,” the rubbish of times old and
monastic. I only wish I could lay myself on a sofa beside you. That charming
comméragelast year, three have already gone before me! I am getting so blind I
must stop.
Well; my life-wearing task is done—my book, I
believe, ready for publication; but why not published I know not, its title is
impertinently changed by chemin faisantleft and
abandoned by my velvet friends,
” to a degree unexampled in the
history of human vicissitudes. London is a desert,
and I am literally left “the last woman,” looking out in vain
for the last man! At last he turns up! It is the de cœur et
de corps
On the 17th of March, St. Patrick’s Day, fête,
This letter, dictated by her, and addressed to
Your letters are always to me fresher than flowers,
without their fading so soon. I am still confined to detectives (yourself and nosebag” (recommended by muzzled in green satin to-day,
“by order of
Although she was now very ill, neither
”
She saw and spoke to an old friend who came to see her in the afternoon. She then lay
still, speaking occasionally, and with increased difficulty, but with gratitude, for the
attention shown to her to the last by those she most loved and valued.
She met her end patiently and with perfect simplicity. She died on the evening of the 16th of April, 1859.
She was interred in the Brompton cemetery, where a tomb, executed by
Lady Morgan’sbon motsyoung who were pitiless in their judgment of others, and when
she heard any one saying bitter things against another, she would say, “she owed to her organisation, but the other was a virtue of her own
rearing.
”
Perhaps no other woman ever received so much flattery, or had such brilliant and tangible success; both as a woman and an author, she seems to have had a larger portion of the good things of this life than generally falls to the lot of the daughters of Eve. Her prosperity was almost unclouded during her long life. The death of her husband, her sister, and her favourite niece, within a short period of each other, was her share of affliction, and she felt it deeply.
She was not afraid of death; but she disliked the idea of dying very
much. Often when looking round I shall be very sorry to leave all these things and the friends who have been
so kind to me—the world has been a good world to me.
”
à proposdear father
confessor,
” saying, to pique his curiosity, “come to me—I want
to have a talk with you.
” He was from home and the note went to his curate,
who took it au serieuxthat as
his rector was out of town, he came to see her ladyship, and if she had any thing upon
her mind, he would be happy to give her his best advice.
” Of course he was
soon disabused of his mistake; but the drollest part of the story was the indignation of
her maid, who, when she was told what had passed, drew herself up As if your ladyship had wished to confess, you would open your
mind to a
” curate!
living with the young
kept her young.
”