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Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Lady Morgan to Sydney Inwood-Jones, [26 June 1850]
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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I am leading a very gay life, for I think with so solitary a home as mine is, social excitement is almost necessary for me. I am, thank goodness, in better health than I have been for a long time. I will turn to mon livre des bénéfices and give you the cream of the day as it passed me, leaving the skim milk in oblivion.
512 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
First,
Lady Beauchamp’s grand majority rout (where I only staid half an hour) the heat and crowd was too much for me; but I had a “word and a blow,” with fifty of my particular friends—old Rogers in the thick of the fight. Next on my list, on the 24th a dinner at Wentworth Dilke’s; dinner excellent; company, the Earls of Carlisle and Granville, and all Her Majesty’s commissioners for the Exhibition, and many other eminent persons—a charming dinner. I must tell you of my visit to the Crystal Palace the other morning, where I have permission to go early, as I cannot encounter the crowd. It is impossible to convey an idea of the beauty of this miraculous building, as I saw it, in the bright sunshine and freshness of the morning, all silent and solitary! The fountains, flowers, statues and gold and silver draperies, and heaps of jewels, sparkling in the sun—a scene of magic, that one dreams of, but never till now was created. Whilst I was lost in wonder and admiration, and fixed in silent adoration of a beautiful statue, I heard a slight movement of feet, and sweet voices approaching me,—when lo! the whole royal party issued from an adjoining compartment; the Queen leaning on the arm of the King of the Belgians, in animated conversation,—Prince Albert looking both pleased and proud of this great and noble work. The children, with their governess, and the whole charming procession, preceded by our friend, Wentworth Dilke, chapeau bas! I never saw so happy a party—certainly, la Reine est la plus grande Reine du monde, as my dear Madame de Sevigné said of Le Roi, when he asked her to dance. The whole
LADY MORGAN AND CARDINAL WISEMAN.513
scene was a fairy tale in the Arabian Nights, and had for me a charm that I cannot explain; for there was before me, in that moment, all that was greatest and best, visible and invisible, and the sublime sun shining down his rays on this beautiful creation of man!

On my return from this palace of the genii, a charming Bohemian lady, Madame Noel, took me to a matinée, given for the benefit of the distressed Hungarians, for which I had passed tickets and subscribed; but it was a hot crowd with cold draughts. Fanny Kemble recited the divine Allegro and il Penseroso. It went to my very soul, where every line was impressed half a century back; but I returned tired and weary. Alas! I feel
“I am wearing away to the land of the leal.”
Still my spirits keep me afloat, and I am good for—
“A few gay soarings yet.”
Poor
Rogers! I sat an hour with him the other day; he is the ghost of his former ghost; he talked with compassion of Moore’s state, who is now bed ridden, and has lost his memory,—remembers nothing but some of his own early songs, which he sings as he lies, and which is heart-rending to hear by those who are around him.