Lady Morgan’s house was
the resort of all who were the best worth knowing in London society, and she had the art of
drawing out all the best faculties of those who came to her. She herself had become a name
connected with the past—a tradition of times, and manners, and events, which had been
historical. Her own conversation was to the last hour brilliant and fascinating as it ever
had been, not a shadow had fallen over the sparkling wit and grace of her stories and
bon mots. The sarcastic severity of
tongue, which had made her formidable to friends and foes in early life, softened greatly
during the later years of her life. She used to say, that it was only the young who were pitiless in their judgment of others, and when
she heard any one saying bitter things against another, she would say, “Ah
ma chère ne vous chargez pas des haines.” At the severest, her
sarcasm had been always light and airy—it shared the harmlessness of hard words, in
that “it broke no bones,”—it glanced off the object, and did
| 550 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
Perhaps no other woman ever received so much flattery, or had such brilliant and tangible success; both as a woman and an author, she seems to have had a larger portion of the good things of this life than generally falls to the lot of the daughters of Eve. Her prosperity was almost unclouded during her long life. The death of her husband, her sister, and her favourite niece, within a short period of each other, was her share of affliction, and she felt it deeply.
She was not afraid of death; but she disliked the idea of dying very
much. Often when looking round
| CONCLUSION. | 551 |
Lady Morgan was not a woman to be judged by ordinary
rules. She was the last type of a class long passed away; she belonged to another time and
mode of thought altogether; she was like the French women of the old regime to whom society
was the only condition in which they could exist, who would go to a ball or a hunting party
when in the last stage of mortal sickness; who would insist on being attired in full dress
on the day of their death, and who would not die except surrounded by their circle and
doing the honours of a salon to the last. Oddly enough, clergymen were very fond of her
society, and she used to tell, with great fun a whimsical incident, à propos to this. She had written a note to a
dignitary of the Church, a very old friend, addressing him as her “dear father
confessor,” saying, to pique his curiosity, “come to me—I want
to have a talk with you.” He was from home and the note went to his curate,
who took it au serieux, thinking his rector could
only be sent for professionally. He went to her house, and gravely said “that as
his rector was out of town, he came to see her ladyship, and if she had any thing upon
her mind, he would be happy to give her his best advice.” Of course he was
soon disabused of his mistake; but the drollest part of the story was the indignation of
her maid, who, when she was told what had passed, drew herself up
| 552 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
Lady Morgan kept her faculty of enjoyment to the last; she had as much pleasure in her books, music, and society, as in her youth. She loved the young, and was always charming with them. She said that, “living with the young kept her young.”
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