Miss Owenson’s visit to Lady Abercorn has been mentioned. It was in her hospitable house that Miss Owenson received the riotous letter from Harrington. Lady Charleville refers to this visit, congratulating her young friend on “acquiring” the favour of Lord and Lady Abercorn’s protection. Lady Charleville’s good sense and strong affection for Miss Owenson, and her total freedom from the jealousy that old friends too often feel privileged to indulge, is very pleasant.
I am extremely sensible of the politeness of your inquiry
for my health, which remains nearly stationary,
| 384 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
I congratulate you very sincerely on your acquiring the favour of Lord and Lady Abercorn’s protection. It is not always that both parties accord to approve of the same person’s character and abilities, or indeed, to make due allowances for them. As I believe the noble lord to be, like many others, omnipotent in his own family, I am to suppose 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 than the last has done!!!!
I believe you will find Lady Costre settled in London, and very happy to do you service in her way.
I am grieved to find Mrs. Henry Tighe is very ill; I know how good she has been to you; and I think her taste should bias every creature who has a heart to feel for her, or soul to acknowledge her, as the first genius of her day
| OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. | 385 |
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 Miss Owenson, which, at the period of my second climacteric, would have been a suspicion of my honour and an insult to my gallantry. Think you, that because I approach my year of 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 mortuum—if you think so, you err, for my vanity has survived and could not be more highly gratified than by your acceptance of my labours.
The book, such as it is, is the true and unadulterated offspring of
Irish feelings, and as such too congenial to your own, not to excite your
attention and demand your indulgence. Our works differ, however, in a point the
widest in the world—yours much the most difficult—all the talent of
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
| 386 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
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 Prince of Wales, at once feeds my ambition and promotes my courage—so on I go—and heaven send me a good deliverance; there will be ten parts, one hundred portraits, thirty vignettes, all comprised in two volumes—eleven engravings, very superior, to those you see, will honour the next number; but I do not think anything can much exceed Bush and Curran in the last, except Durginan and Napper Tandy in the next part. You see, gentlemen must keep bad company on those occasions.
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 Lady B &c., can add to your pleasures, be sure you possess them.
| OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. | 387 |
The following letter is from “a sound divine,” and a dignitary of the Church, who was one of what her sister used to call “Sydney’s Army of Martyrs;” at that period a tolerably numerous train! It would be curious to speculate on the effect it might have produced on the orthodoxy of this ardent admirer, had his prayer been granted and Sydney Owenson had become an Archdeacon’s wife instead of Lady Morgan!
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 Glorvina.
The “white lies” recommended in this postscript are surprising in a divine; possibly, Sydney Owenson,
* A copy of some song, by P. Fitzgerald, Esq. |
| 388 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
Miss Owenson had begun to collect materials for another novel, upon an Indian subject. Her old friend—not now her lover, though some folks thought so—Sir Charles Ormsby, lent her a number of very valuable works of reference from which, as her custom was, she made extensive notes.
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.
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