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Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Horace Smith to Sir Thomas Charles Morgan, 30 December 1842
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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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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Brambletye House, Brighton,
December 30th, 1842.
My dear Sir Charles,

(Which, of course, includes Lady Morgan, you two being one) the same to you, and many of them (I mean happy returns, &c., &c.) Right glad am I to hear that Lady Morgan has thrown off her coughs and colds. We are as dull here as you can be in London, with nothing half so good to enliven us as Lady Morgan’s
472 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
improvement on Webster’s Cracked Rib. Your riddles are excellent, and so is your doggrel, which I must leave Eliza to answer. We must borrow
Borrow’s book, which seems to be the best thing recently published.

As to my Adam Brown, I know nothing about him, except that Colburn seems rather ashamed to bring him out. I don’t mean to write any more, being quite worn out; so I resign Adam to his fate without any compunctious visitings of nature. I have had as much success as I deserved, and much more than I expected, and more money too, which was ever my sole inspiration.

Make sugar of paper! then there is a hope that poor authors may make plums, and critics become candied, and writers of tragedies may be more successful in the writing mood, and the worst productions be constantly in the mouths of the public, and all the evils of literature be twined into bonbons! I always said and felt that to restore the taste for tragedy, she must be taken from the stilts, and brought down to common life and common language. Everything is a round robin, rudeness, simplicity, perfection, decay, simplicity, rudeness. You must have novelty, and after you have reached perfection, you can only innovate by inferiority.

Never mind, it’s a very pretty world, and I am perfectly well contented with it, especially now that my wife is better, and my three girls at home, and all of us as cozy as possible, trying which can talk the most nonsense, and laugh the loudest at a bad joke.

ALBERT GATE CONCEDED—1842. 473

Our united regards and wishes for lots of happy new years are wafted to you and Lady Morgan from the family amanuensis.

Yours very faithfully,
Horatio Smith.

PS.—Should this papyro-saccharine process go on, what capital kisses will be made from Little’s poems and sugar of lead from my works! You will see in the Magazine a poem of mine which will remind you of the fellow’s recantation for calling another a swindler. “I called you a swindler, it is true; you’re an honest man, I’m a liar.”