Another letter from Dr. Jenner to Sir Charles; they did not often write to each other, but they knew that whilst they lived they each possessed a friend, and it is this consciousness of possession that makes us rich, not the act of “counting out our money,” like the king in the nursery rhyme.
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 nubibus. I say literally, 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
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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
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The next letter is from Lady Morgan to Lady Stanley. It gives a pleasant picture of herself in her new home (35, or as it is now numbered, 39, Kildare Street), and the skilful ease with which she took up her position as mistress of a house. Lady Morgan was very practical and prided herself upon her good housekeeping. She possessed a natural gift of being comfortable, and making her house so to herself and to all her friends.
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Vous voila aux abois ma chère dame!! You see I am not to be distanced; retreat as you will, I still pursue. When I am within a mile of you, you will not see me; when I write you will not answer; and still here I am at your feet, because 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 Lady Stanley, it is pure selfishness that ties me to you. 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!) are the only woman to whom I could ever lier myself for a week together. Devancer son sexe is as dangerous as devancer son siècle; it was no effort, no willing of mine that has given me a little the start of the major part of them; dear little souls! who, as Ninon says, “trouvent commode d’être jolie.” The principle was there; 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
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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
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Sir Charles Morgan’s step-mother had married, for her second husband, William Bingley, the animal biographer; here is a letter from him about his literary undertakings.
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 has not merely been at sixes and sevens, but at sixteens and seventeens. A certain flowery-named gentleman, as I conceive, has by no means fulfilled his engagements with me, which I intend very shortly to prove. I mean to call for a full investigation into my whole conduct relating to it, which I hope the trustees will not refuse to enter into. Lord Malmesbury was with me some time on the subject about three weeks ago, and I firmly believe is my friend; at all events, I shall not let the matter rest until I have a full arrangement of the business. My evidence on the subject is indisputable; and I have a letter promising a compensation in case of a failure in obtaining the
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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. Mrs. Bingley has been most lamentably unwell ever since our arrival. She has three times only been out of the house, nor do I at present see any immediate prospect of her recovery. It will indeed greatly rejoice me when she is again able to go abroad.
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 Biography has been published about three months; and Longman and Co.
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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, and it has been prepared chiefly for the purpose of affording a popular view of the Linnean system. I am very anxious for its success, although I have sold the copyright. It will be in one duodecimo volume, and it is my intention to follow it up with another on the subject of Botany and Mineralogy.
Mrs. Bingley unites with me in kindest remembrances to yourself and Lady Morgan.
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The next letter is from Emily Lady Cahir, Countess of Glengall; and relates to an enquiry Lady Morgan had made about a man whose adventures seemed to offer a type for the hero of the novel (O’Donnel), on which she was then engaged. Lady Cahir was herself the model for Lady Singleton, in the same story. One almost wonders that some of the fine ladies whom Lady Morgan produced in her works, etching them in aquafortis and colouring them to the life, did not assassinate her by way of return, especially as she invariably introduced a sketch of herself in one corner of all her pictures, taking up all the wisdom and common sense going, as well as being the most agreeable character in the story!
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 Mr. Shee your hero, has amused me considerably. The Evening Post inserted a long list of lies upon his subject, at which I laughed heartily at the time. You certainly could not have applied to a better person than myself for information with respect to him, as I know his birth, parentage and adventures, perfectly. He is of a low family. One of his sisters was bound to a milliner, at Kilkenny, and used to bring ribbons, gauzes, &c., to the Miss Bensfords, when their father was Bishop of Ossory. Another of his
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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 Wild Irish Girl. An Irish story, without religion or politics!
During the whole of the first year of her residence in Kildare Street, Lady Morgan was busy upon O’Donnel, a national tale, for which it may be remembered she gathered the materials on her visit to Dublin, before her marriage. It was published by Colburn,
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O’Donnel retains its freshness to the present day. Any one wishing to read a novel which shall produce that delightful feeling of dissipation which is supposed to make novel reading so dangerous (but which, alas, so few novels now-a-days succeed in inspiring), should read O’Donnel. The scope and design of the work are admirable. The Irish social questions of the day are very ably treated; and what was then more to the purpose, they were presented in an effective dramatic shape, so as to be intelligible to the most careless reader.
O’Donnel had a success exceeding that of The Wild Irish Girl. The Quarterly reviewed it as bitterly as it had reviewed Ida of Athens, being exceedingly indignant at the audacity of the social and political truths contained in it. The reader who remembers the incident of the white satin shoes will be amused at the
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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.
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