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 Mr.
Featherstone and the dear little ones are well and happy—I
shall pout a little to be sure—but a line from you will settle all
difference between us. I must, however, say, I think the girls both 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 Mr.
Featherstone’s friendship is still in my possession, and I
shall be satisfied. I saw Mrs. Praval very often when in
Dublin—as stiff as ever. I met also the
| PERIOD OF 1801. | 223 |
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 Lady Clonbrock, and its title, St. Clair, or First
Love. You will probably see it in the papers. I have already
disposed of every copy, except a few books I have kept for my own immediate
friends. My poor friend Dermody, the
poet, died last July, of a rapid decay, at five-and-twenty. We corresponded
constantly for two years previous to his death, which affected me and my father very sensibly. We have got his picture (done a
few hours before his death).
| 224 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
