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Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Journal entries: May-June 1825
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
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Preface
Vol. I Contents.
Prefatory Address
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Vol. I Index
Vol. II Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter IV
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Vol. II Index
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Letters from Italy state that the tribunals of Austria have just condemned to death Count Confalonieri, the Marquis Pallavicini, M. Castiglioni, Colonel Moretti, and three young students. The crimes imputed to these individuals, who are held in the highest esti-
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mation in Italy, are not even looked on as faults there, as, according to the letters alluded to, they consist only in the explicit manifestation on their part of the aversion which all Italians entertain for the domination of Austria as their country. My poor Confalonieri! how little, when I knew him bright and brilliant in Italy, did he dream of this day of darkness in store for him! Even if his doom be commuted into carcere duro, it will be almost worse than death.

May 4.—Received the affecting news of Dénon’s death, he was only ill fifteen hours. He was nearly eighty.

Lord Archibald Hamilton is dead. I first met him chez the Duchess of Sussex, 1811. He was then rather a ci-devant, but an epitome of rank and fashion. He was much in love with the sister of the Duchess of Sussex. His mind was enlightened, his spirit independent, and he was full of integrity. He was a man of kindly temperament, and he will be much missed, especially in Scotland.

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—General Pepe, the Neapolitan chief, and all the young revolutionary leaders of Piedmont and Lombardy,—the eldest but twenty-
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nine,—with me every day, and talking of erecting a statue to me when Italy shall be free—hélas!
Sir Robert Wilson called on me; mild and interesting-looking; speaking well, but with gravity; must have been, and indeed is still, very handsome. General Pepe most affected of all the Italians I have seen by the disasters of Naples. Lady Caroline Lamb called,—quite comical, talking religion, and offering me half-a-dozen of her Pages. Went to Miss White’s assembly; found her in the midst of a brilliant crowd, dying of the dropsy. Many persons presented to me of notoriety, Washington Irving, author of The Sketch Book; the Magnus Apollo of the bas bleusHallam, author of The Middle Ages. Moore (Anacreon) called to-day; said “Murray raves of you, not as an author only, entendez-vous, but as a woman.” When I told this to Colburn, he looked aghast. I said to him, “Colburn, I observed to Mr. Moore, that I hoped my conquest would get me a good price for my next book.” “Did you say that?” exclaimed Colburn, in a pathetic tone. His fear of his author, is like the Irish Quaker’s complaint, of “somebody having taken his drumstick from him.”

Went to St. James’s Palace to see Mrs. Boscawen, the Queen’s maid-of-honour. [The Mrs. Boscawen referred to was Anne, daughter of General the Honourable George Boscawen, and grand-daughter of Hugh, first Viscount Falmouth. She was born in 1744, and died in 1831.] Found her niched in the old court garret with a most fantastical little balcony, and terrace full of plants, flowers, and foreign birds. She was de-
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lighted to see me; talked of my books, and offered me a bouquet in return for all the charming things she had read of mine;—full of old court news, and of the
King’s going to throw down her apartments;—could talk of nothing else, and of her waylaying the King on his departure for Ireland. Spoke of nursing him in his youth;—knew Mrs. Delany;—told me she had a great desire to go to Lady Pepy’s blue-stocking parties. Her companion is Miss Tickell, descendant of the poet. Collation at St. James’s, with Mrs. Boscawen;—went through the palace. I met Mrs. Boscawen a fortnight after;—took up the account of the rooms; she called Lady Cork “her fellow-servant.” Miss Porter, mild and unaffected; Mr. Place, the Templar, worth all the rest;—Holland House, the school of political corruption, spoilt all the young men;—Miss Benger, tall, thin.

At Miss White’s dinner;—Porson (not the author of the Parody) and Milman were there;—W. Spencer reminded me he knew me at Lisburne;—Mrs. Somerville, a celebrated mathematician, young and prettyish;—Mrs. Marcett, the political economist, getting hold of W. Spencer and preaching Christianity to him, wishing him to go to church at Geneva, that he might be converted through the pretty women;—General Church there, it is well I had not Pepe with me!

Ugo Foscolo dined with us at Mrs. Brown’s;—full of paradoxes,—hated Italian music,—cried over my Irish song;—his account of his novel Jacopo Ortis, all time;—was six times more in love than he described;—defended England’s conduct to Italy;—cried down the Whigs for originating the present system. He
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despised the society du bon ton of London;—it only gave him the trouble of writing apologies.

Went with Lady Caroline to Miss White’s.

London, Bury Street, St James.—June 15.—Yesterday’s campaign we had thousands of Italians who came to pay their devoirs, amongst others, Castiglione, as handsome as ever;—the Marquis de Prie, a very elegant young man. At seven o’clock we set off to our dinner-party at the Macneil’s. The company were, the Hon. Charles Brownlow, M.P., who made the famous Protestant speech a little while ago; Mr. and Mrs. Horace Twiss, the nephew to John Kemble; Mr. Douglas Kinnaird, brother to Lord Dunsaney; Mr. Edwards, son of Lord Kensington, and Miss Alexander, daughter of the Bishop of Meath. A few people came in the evening; we left at past eleven o’clock, and set off for Lord Listowel’s Kensington Gore, which we did not reach till near twelve. Their company had left, and they were all dressed themselves to go to a ball; we staid a little time, and then went on to Lydia White’s, and although it was long past twelve, we found the invalid lying on her couch in the midst of her party; Sidney Smith, of the Edinburgh, and the wit, par excellence. What a difference in the political thermometer? our dinner red-hot orange, and our soirée of the coolest green, where it was not blue!

June 17.—To-day, dinner at Lady Cork’s; there never was anything to equal the splendour of her entertainments and her rooms. In the evening we went on to Lydia White’s, thence to Mrs. Burton’s.

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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 King was in the house at the time, and he held a levee the next morning.

I saw a warming pan at Strawberry Hill, the other day, which had belonged to Charles II.; there is on it the following motto, “Sarve God and live for ever;”—the date 1660—the period when his love for Barbara Palmer, afterwards Duchess of Cleveland, was in its first bloom.