LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Byron
Documents Biography Criticism
Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Countess of Cork to Lady Morgan, 3 April 1830
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
GO TO PAGE NUMBER:
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
Creative Commons License

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Produced by CATH
 
6, New Burlington Street,
April 3, 1836.
Dear Lady Morgan,

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 George the Fourth’s stocking. That was an offence merely, the crime was running away with a piece out of Lady Darlington’s leg. I have been ill with the tic, but am
414 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
better now, and just going out of town for the holidays. Your admirer, Lady Hatherton, has just returned from Paris. Are you coming to England—and when? I am more stupid than ever—only pick a little bit of dinner and drink a little drop of tea. I have neither vocals nor wit going on, chez moi. Don’t forget that I am ninety years old, and was, and am, and shall be to the end,

Your ever affectionate,
M. Cork and Orrery.