I""""""""""""""^ m^^ SHELF...rf. i^.t^.Q.^Jj, Xj %^ The 5^Dsa:oN=faBRARY Society. OrGANJ^d")792. TSSfe^PORATED 1794- _iSV BOYLSTONCEI.ACE. Added To be returned in Ji^e w^^sr-xA fine^f oge^pnt will be incurred for eacli^-d'ay this volume J^--^tained beyond that time. ' , — ^* 03^ /,?. SOME FAIR HIBERNIANS [Frontispiece. SOME FAIR HIBERNIANS BEING SUPPLEMENTARY VOLUME TO "SOME CELEBRATED IRISH BEAUTIES OF THE LAST CENTURY" .0-3 FRANCES A. GERARD AUTHOR OF SOME CELEBRATED IRISH BEAUTIES OF THE LAST CENTURY, "ANGELICA KAUFFMAN : A BIOGRAPHY," ETC. LONDON WARD & DOWNEY LIMITED 12 YORK BUILDINGS ADELPHI W.C. 1897 BOSTON COLLEGE LIBKAR^ gfllSTKUT UILL^ M4§^ 4^590 PREF A CE Saying good-bye to friends is always sad, and as I part from my Irish beauties a feeling of regret comes over me. Tliey have been my constant companions for many months ; they have been tiresome at times — what woman is not ? On the other hand, they have cheered many a dull day, and have lightened in some degree the hours of sorrow. So much for myself. The more important issue is now at hand — the verdict of my readers. They have been kind before, and I trust that to them the record of these lives may again give pleasure. Some are well known, others presented for the first time ; all possess the interest that under- lies human life. As we look at the portraits of these beautiful women, they seem to say, " We were once like you — we, too, dwelt in Arcadia." In connection with this subject, I would wish to b vi Preface make honourable mention of several Irishwomen whose claims as regards personal beauty were equal to, if not greater, than those presented in this volume. Happily, for themselves, they had no story to tell — that is, so far as is known. The first place in this category must be accorded to a Mrs Dillon, who has been introduced to me by no less a person than Mr Gladstone. " I have not found in the book," he writes,^ "any notice of Mrs Dillon, nor indeed of anyone in her position. In case you should not have touched it, I will mention the slight story as I have heard it. Mrs Dillon was the mistress of a haberdasher's shop in a fashionable street of Dublin. One day, without any notice, the beautiful Duchess of Rutland,'"^ in a grand equipage, drove up to the door ; she went into the shop, gazed hard at Mrs Dillon, who was behind the counter, and cried, ' Yes, you are the most beautiful woman in the three kingdoms ! ' and thereupon quitted the shop." I have given this story in Mr Gladstone's own words, and I fancy my readers will think I have ' Alluding to the preceding volume, Some Celebrated Irish Beauties. - The Duchess was " the beautiful Isabella," daughter to the Duke of Beaufort, The Duke of Rutland was Viceroy in Ireland, 1784. Preface vii done right. It is a. model of what a short story should' be. I must add that the Duchess of Rut- land's visit proceeded from conjugal jealousy, excited by the Duke of Rutland's praises of the fair haber- dasher's loveliness. This, however, does not suggest any imputation against Mrs Dillon's conduct, which was above any suspicion of the kind. Another celebrated beauty was Lady Elizabeth Stratford, daughter to John/ last Earl of Aldborough. She married Admiral Delap Haliday, eldest son of John Delap Haliday of the Leasowes and Lady Jane Tollemache, second daughter and co-heir of Lionel, third Earl of Dysart. One of her descendants, Mr Tollemache, has a lovely portrait of her by Romney, of which the engraving is in the possession of the Miss Vernon Harcourts, grandchildren to Lady Emily Stratford. Those who can carry their memory back to the early forties will recall the commotion caused by the marriage of the Prince of Capua to Miss Smith of Beltrae. This L-ish beauty hailed from Westmeath, and, judging from her portraits, must have been ' Lady Aldborough was a well-known character in the early part of this century. viii Preface exceptionally lovely. She had, however, somewhat of a chequered life, her husband's royal relatives re- fusing to accept her as a royalty. Although they could not succeed in setting aside her marriage, they relegated her to the quasi-royal position of a morganatic wife, and she was allowed no share in her consort's official dignit}^ There is something pathetic in the manner in which, in most of her portraits, the poor princess puts forward her left hand with the wedding-ring on the third finger. Her sister was likewise a beauty. She married Lord Dinorben, and was well known in London society. - Coming down to our own time, one could name a host of lovely Irishwomen — some of whom may well deserve the attention of future chroniclers. In conclusion, I have the pleasant duty of offer- ing my cordial thanks to those who have kindly helped me with portraits, family letters and other information. FRANCES A. GERARD. CONTENTS Dorothea Jordan ....... i Lady Anne and Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick . . -44 Mary Birmingham, Countess of Leitrim ; Anne Birmingham, Countess of Charlemont ..... 59 Sarah Curran ........ 87 Melesina Chenevix Trench . • . . . . .111 Marguerite Power, Countess of Blessington . . .141 Sydney Owenson, Lady Morgan ; and Olivia Owenson, Lady Clarke ........ 177 Caroline Elizabeth Sheridan, Mrs Norton, afterwards Lady Stirling-Maxwell of Keir ..... 218 Eliza O'Neill, Lady Wrixon Becher . . . .243 Marie Dolores Gilbert, Lola Montez .... 254 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Dorothea Jordan as " Hippolita " Dorothea Jordan as "The Romp" Dorothea Jordan as "Rosalind" Dorothea Jordan as "Nell" in "The Devil to Pay Lady Anne Fitzpatrick Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick (as a Child) Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick . Anne, Countess of Charlemont Last Sitting of Irish House of Commons An Irish Volunteer Earl of Charlemont Volunteers in College Green Sarah Curran .... Robert Emmet on his Trial Mrs Chenevix Trench . Countess of Blessington Lady Morgan .... Lady Clarke .... Honourable Caroline Norton Honourable Caroline Norton Miss O'Neill .... Lola Montez .... Frontispiece Pas^e ID 19 Facing Facing Facing 177 191 218 237 243 254 SOME FAIR HIBERNIANS ERRATA. Page 43. For Fr^seli, read Fuseli. ,, 60. ., Gormon, read de Gernon. ,, 65. Footnote should be on pagje 66. ,, 72. For Mademoiselle read Mdlle. de Thun. ,, log. „ Boreas, read Brocas. „ 176. „ Borall, read Boxall, R.A. „ 177. ,, Lady Clarke died 1859, read 184.5. ,, 184. ,, idea, read statement. ,. 185. ,, Dacres, read Davies (Lady Clementina.) ,, 190. „ Shiel, read Shell. ,, 192. ., peroration, read aspiration. „ 200. , Careene, read Careme. „ 214. ,, Denan, read Denon. ,, 218. ,. manner, read superiority. .. 274. ,, Chevenix, read Chenevix. The history of Wilkinson, who was the son of the chaplain of the Sav.-.y Chape], IS not without interest. " He had worked his way from the ranks of the hangers-on about thestage door, and through some gifts of mimicry and a vast aeal of impudence had become a favourite with the Galleries. He had made Inmself useful in a small way to men like Foote and Garrick, and when he found nis Hold on them failing, made it strong again by the inconvenience and awkward- ness they felt would ensue from the enmity of such a creature. As an instance ot this, there is the scene in his memoirs where he describes how he took off I'oote in reluctant obedience to the call of the audience, the actor himself beino- present. In his managerial life he was good-humoured and popular, and as bombastic as Mr Crummies himself." SOME FAIR HIBERNIANS DOROTHEA JORDAN (1762-1816) When tliat pleasant and, to a certain extent, trutliful chronicler, Tate Wilkinson,^ made his first venture on the Dublin stage in 1758, he played Othello to the Desdemona of a certain Miss Grace Phillips, one of three sisters who were all in the profession. These young ladies, who never rose above mediocrity, came of a genteel family, being daughters to a Welsh clergyman in the enjoyment of a small living near Chester. The dulness of the family circle, or the Sunday ministrations of their excellent father proved too much for the youthful spirits of the Misses Phillips. They wanted to try their wings away from the paternal preachings, and one by one they took flight from the dull vicarage house, and found their way to the stage. Miss Grace Phillips was lively and pretty, and although she made a somewhat unsatisfactory Desdemona, she was very well suited in light comedy parts, and was extremely popular with her audience, having her choice of admirers. Amongst these was Lieutenant, after- 1 The history of Wilkinson, who was the son of the chajalain of the Savoy Chapel, is not without interest. " He had worked his way from the ranks of the hangers-on about the stage door, and through some gifts of mimicry and a vast deal of impudence had become a favourite with the Galleries. He had made himself useful in a small way to men like Foote and Garrick, and when lie found his hold on them failing, made it strong again by the inconvenience and awkward- ness they felt would ensue from the enmity of such a creature. As an instance of this, there is the scene in his memoirs where he describes how he took off Foote in reluctant obedience to the call of the audience, the actor himself being- present. In his managerial life he was good-humoured and popular, and as bombastic as Mr Crummies himself." A 2 Sojue Fair Hibernians wards Captain Bland, a young naval officer descended from an old Yorkshire family, a branch of which had settled in the County Kerry, where Lieutenant Bland's father was well known as a practising physician.^ Grace Phillips's early training made her resolute to have the sanction of the Church upon any engagement she entered into, and her lover, finding he could in no other way prevail, married her. The ceremony, unfortunately for her, was per- formed by a Catholic priest, and so, however satisfactory it might be from a religious point of view, was not binding in the eye of the law. Moreover, Captain Bland was under age at the time. Of these circumstances his family took advantage to obtain a dissolution of the marriage, not, however, until there were two children, if not more, of whom Dorothea was the elder, being born in Waterford in 1762. It has been stated that Captain Bland married again, and that either he or his family allowed a small pension to his first wife and her children, which would account for the constant fear Mrs Bland expressed of offending her husband's family, and for the number of aliases she adopted. She was un- doubtedly left in poor circumstances, for Dora and her sister were apprenticed to a milliner in Dublin, where they remained until the first reached her sixteenth year. The future actress had a soul above ribbons ; acting, more- over, is in the blood, and the children of actors seldom settle down to private life, the stage seeming to draw them with irresistible force — much as the magnet does the needle. This strong passion now seized upon Dora. Her mother, who had returned to her old calling, but no longer played juvenile leads, imparted the first necessary lessons to a very apt scholar. ^ The Dictionary of National Biography in the notice on Mrs Jordan considers that there is grave inherent improbability in the statement that Bland was a gentle- man. "There is reason to suppose that he was merely a stage underling." This would seem to be a mistake on the part of the writer of the notice, as will be seen from the following communication from one of the descendants of Captain Bland's family still residing in Ireland. " Her father was Captain Bland, R.N., a scion of one of the oldest families in Yorkshire, who settled in Kerry many centuries ago, and now rank amongst the largest proprietors in Ireland." From another source we learn that Captain Bland was first cousin to General Johnson and to Sir Francis Lunn. A great deal of uncertainty surrounds the whole story of the "Bland marriage." Dorothea Jordan 3 Ryder was at that time manager of Crowe Street Theatre, Dublin, and a friend of the family. With the usual bonhomie of the profession, he was willing to give the young girl a chance. She appeared in the trifling part of Phoebe in "As you Like It," her stage name being Miss Francis, not to shock the prejudices of her father's family, it being for some reason — probably the potent one of money — Mrs Bland's earnest desire not to offend the Bland family. Beyond her small circle of friends, Dora's debut does not seem to have excited the least attention, her mother ascribing this apparent failure to the inferiority of the part, wdiich afforded no chance of attracting the notice of the house. Nothing daunted, Mrs Bland, who believed in her daughter's talent, approached Daly, the manager of Smoke Alley Theatre, whose stock company, being inferior in strength to that of Crowe Street, was more likely to afford the desired oj)ening. A more careful mother than Mrs Bland might have hesitated to place her child in the hands of such a man as Daly,'^ whose character was of the worst. The need, how- ever, was pressing. The manager's keen eye detected at once promise in the undeveloped beauty and immature per- formance of the young girl whose very freshness was to him a charm. He engaged her for the new farce then in prepara- tion, " The Duenna," in which she appeared as Lopez, in male attire, followed by " The Romp." She w^as more successful as the Tomboy in the last than in Lopez. Later on, she appeared in Captain Jephson's play, " Adelaide." This tirst season in Dublin gained her the reputation of an attractive actress. Her next appearance was at Cork, where an incident occurred very similar to that which happened to Peg Woffington in her early days. Heaphy, the manager of the Cork Theatre, had engaged her on Daly's representations of her talent at a salary of one pound a week. She was 1 Daly was a gentleman by birth, and had a good education. When a Fellow Commoner at Trinity College he had distinguished himself by bursting into an actress's dressing-room (Miss Pope) at the head of a party of collegians. He was a handsome man, but of a coarse, excitable and quarrelsome nature. He forced a duel on Keiuble. 4 Some Fair Hibernians universally admired and a great attraction ; nevertheless, her benefit turned out a failure from the want of the proper patronage. The j^oung bucks of Cork espoused her cause, just as did the collegians of Trinity College that of Woffington. They were headed by a certain Mr Smith, son to a banker in the town, and were resolved that their favourite should have another chance. They shouted for Heaphy, and when he would not appear proceeded to wreak their dis- pleasure by tearing up the benches. A regular row was imminent when Heaphy's son-in-law came forward. To him the young men, through Mr Smith, made known their pleasure — Miss Phillips should have another benefit. In vain he objected; they would listen to no other terms; and the manager had to agree. The actress had a crowded house, and netted forty pounds, an innnense sum in her eyes; and what was even more important, when she re- turned to Dublin her salary was raised to three guineas a Aveek. On her visit to Cork, the young actress was accompanied, it is said, by her father, who performed the duties of scene- sliifter. This could not have been Captain Bland, but it has been suggested that this was Francis, who by many writers has been mentioned as Mrs Bland's second husband.^ Why any secrecy was kept as to this marriage seems strange, unless it was that Mrs Bland was afraid of losing the small allow- ance made to her by Captain Bland or his family. She had no other possible reason for concealing a marriage she had every right to make. The aliases in which Mrs Bland delighted are, however, extremely confusing, she appearing sometimes as Mrs Phillips, again as Bland and occasionally as Francis. Dora's next provincial engagement was at Waterford — a singular choice considering the fuss that was made as to offending her father's family. The adoption of the " alias " was, it must be supposed, sufficient to sootlie their suscepti- ^ Boaden speaks of Mrs Bland more than once as ]\Irs Francis. Tate Wilkin- .son mentions the Francis family as apart from Dora and her brother. The Dictionary of National Biograjihy gives the name as Frances. Dorothea Jordan 5 bilities. Here, however, occurred the first crisis in our heroine's life. Admirers she had ah^eady in dozens, but a genuine offer of marriage is a more stirring event, and always forms an epoch in a woman's life. Lieutenant Charles Doyne was, like Captain Bland, a gentleman by birth and education, and his attachment was both honour- able and sincere : it, however, found no favour with Dora's mother. The fact that the lover had no fortune but his profession, and that he made it a condition that Dora should leave the stage, weighed heavily against him. Mrs Francis's knowledge of acting told her that in her daughter she possessed what, if well developed, might be a mine of gold, and she had no fancy to lose such a treasure by burying it in a marching regiment. Moreover, her own experience of a man's passion was not conclusive as to its being very lasting. In her own case, she had experienced how easily love can be weakened and how, after a little while, nothing remains of all the vows and protestations but a sense of their burden, and what had happened to her might be repeated in Dora's case. Mrs Francis placed all these considerations before her child, asking; her to weigh well before she decided whether she was willing to sacifice a possibly great career for certain poverty and uncertain happiness. Like all mothers, she understood talking down a daughter's heart — not that in this case the young girl's affections were really engaged. vShe relinquished her lover without a struggle. Not so Lieutenant Doyne. He pleaded for an engagement warmlj^, passionately, and his friend, Sir Jonah Barrington, dilates upon the misery the young man suffered when finally dismissed. After this episode, the young actress returned to Dublin, where the news of her success in Cork had preceded her. Her popularity was much increased by her performance of Sophia in " the Lord of the Manor," written by General Burgoyne,^ in which her singing of " A Rose Tree in Full Bearing " trans- 1 General Burgoyne was a meritorious and gallant officer, unfortunate in one instance, and for this was somewhat ungenerously persecuted by the ministers of tlie day. In private life he was an accomplished gentleman and a sincere friend, "a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy." He died, 1792, at his house in Hertford Street. tSee 1st Series Memoirs of Miss Farrcn. 6 Sonic Fair Hibernians ported her audience.^ Another fcU'ourite part was Patrick in " The Poor Soldier," which she played seventy-five niohts, which was tlien thought an extraordinarily long run. Irish audiences were critical and enthusiastic, and if they approved heartily, their verdict was considerd certain to throw open the doors of the London houses. This idea filled the mind of Mrs Francis, who was, like all mothers, more ambitious for her daughter than she had ever been for herself. It is not likely, however, that she would have carried her wishes so speedily into effect unless the continuance of Dora's engagement had been rendered impossible by the unpleasant circumstances in which she found herself placed. Daly had lately married a clever and well-known actress, Miss Barsanti, who was accustomed to play with much applause some of the leading parts at Covent Garden Theatre. This lady naturally felt aggrieved at the evidence of popular favour towards a " chit of a girl who, in her, Mrs Daly's, opinion, did not know how to act." To add to her offences, Mrs Daly chose to con- ceive, rightly or wrongly, that Dora was favouring her husband's attentions in order to advance her own interests. Mrs Daly's jealousy caused her to circulate all manner of A^ile reports against the young girl. This complication hastened Mrs Francis's decision. Although she was not so watchful of her daughter's reputation as was Mrs Farren, she was thoroughly in earnest in wishing to remove her from such dangerous surroundings, and in July of the year 1782 severed her connection with Daly's companj^ 1 In Dublin she introduced "Melton Oysters." Another favourite song with the Dublin audience was " The Rose Tree in Full Bearing " and " The Camp Medley," composed by Major Lebcllier, then quartered in Limerick, where he fell in love with a beauty of the locality, one Miss Mounteford Bown, or Bowen, who married William Henn of Paradise, whereupon the Irish, who are given to apt naming of their friends, called her the Bird of Paradise. Amongst the audience on one occasion was Mrs Lefanu (Sheridan's sister). "Do you observe," she said to her uncle, Mr Chamberlaine, " that young lady standing by the wing nearest the stage door." "The little, young lass do ytni mea.n ? "Yes," said she, "that little girl if she lives will be some time or other the first comic actress in England or Ireland ; she is a Miss Francis ; she has not been long on the stage, but for chastity of acting, naivete and being the character she represents, young as she is, she surpasses what could have been expected of so young a pei-former." Dorothea Joi'dan 7 In those daj^s, London was the goal of all aspirants to fame and fortune. There was plenty of money to be had, and a popular actress who once hit the fancy of the town could make her own terms — but an opening of some sort was necessary. There was no hope of an introduction from Daly, who, irritated at the withdrawal of the popular young actress, threatened to demand a penalty for the infringement of con- tract. In this rather hopeless condition, Mrs Francis bethought herself of the Othello to whom she had acted Desdemona twenty or more years ago. Tate Wilkinson, who formerly had been well buffeted by ill fortune, was now an important personage as the manager of a country circuit, of which the large city of York was the centre. Provincial towns in the last century held higher social status than they do nowa- days when railroads have made such short work of distance from the capital. We who have never known it otherwise can hardly grasp the difference steam has made in everyday life, and yet with all the undoubted advantages afforded by this quick transit there is something to regret in that tranquil case and daily round of small occupations which was a notice- able feature in the lives of our forefathers. Remaining so much at home, they had plenty of time for that wonderful corres- pondence in which many of them indulged : those delightful letters, folded in four, sealed with the big coat-of-arms which hung at their fobs, and written in a copperplate hand, are so many pictures of life and society, which are of far more value than any amount of society papers and Kodaks of which we are so proud. When they did travel, which was generally once a year, they did not rush at break-neck speed through steam-laden air, bent on reaching their journey's end in the quickest possible time, but packed themselves and family into the roomy coach and jogged along the roads lazil}', stopping when they liked at same comfortable roadside inn, and arriving, without turning a hair, at their destination, which was not only London, but York or Bristol or Bath. At any of these towns there was no lack of good society and suf- ficient gaiety to satisfy the limited desires of the squire's family, who did not aspire to going to Court, but liked a 8 Sonic Fair Jlibciiiians ^ood dance and a chance of seeing Mrs Siddons or any other star. A man like Tate Wilkinson was on excellent terms with the principal gentry in the towns where his circuit took him. He had in his youth known Garrick and Woffington, Gibber and Foote, and a long list of kings and queens of the stage, most of whom he had deeply offended by his clever mimicry of their different peculiarities. In his memoirs, he gives the pleasantest account of his own mortifications as well as his triumphs. In this amusing record, we find the following record of his first meeting with his former Desdemona and her family. This interview took place at Leeds, to which place the York manager had brought his company, then on circuit. Jiill) 1782. — " Miss Francis suddenly starts upon me, with her mother, Mrs G. Philips, Master and Miss Francis, her brother and sister, all in hand — recognised her mother as my first Desdemona in Dublin 1758. She then played as Miss G. Philips. Her younger sister, who was also in Dublin, had been for some years after in the York company and was then, 1782, dying. When I first met them at the inn, I cannot say they were so well accoutred as I could have wished, for my own sake as well as theirs, the mamma, like all other mammas, and especially actresses' mammas, talked so fulsomely of her daughter that I was almost disgusted and very near giving a flat denial to any negotiation. Now, had I given a determined ' No ! ' to Mrs Jordan at that flurried instant, it might have been unfortunate for her and her dependants." It sjjeaks much for the kindness of Wilkinson's heart that he did engage her without any previous knowledge of her powers beyond what he could judge from the few lines which she spoke from " Calista," but although she was weary with travelling and dejected in mind and body, the keen ear of the manager detected a plaintive tone in her melodious voice, which from experience he knew to be of the right ring to touch an audience. " Calista " was therefore fixed upon for her debut, to be followed by the " Virgin Unmask'd." The rehearsals strengthened Wilkinson's first impression that Miss Francis would j)rove a success, but he had not the faintest Dorothea Jordan 9 idea that her gifts lay in a totally different direction from plaintive heroines. Great, therefore, was his consternation when, on the day of the first appearance, her mother asked that it should be announced in the bills that after the play Miss Francis would sing "The Greenwood Laddie." One can hardly imagine that tlie astute manager acceded to this request without first testing, her capabilities in this line, otherwise he would certainly have had a bad moment when Calista, just risen from the dead, rushed before the still tearful audience in a frock and little mob cap, and with a smile that no other comic actress ever was blest with set tliem all laughing. Her success was assured, and when she took her benefit a month later, the house was crowded. She was then permanently engaged, and her appearance at York was heralded by the usual amount of puffing, and likewise by the usual fuss made as to the name she should assume. Mrs Francis, who seems to have had a passion for aliases, came to the manager with a story as to her not taking the name of Phillips which she had used at Leeds, as her aunt, one of the clergyman's daughters, was dying, and it would hurt her feelings and likewise injure the chance of a legacy of stage dresses. This being a valid reason, the manager suggested Bland or Francis, but to both there were objections. Ulti- mately, she adopted the one by which the actress was ever after known. This third change has been ascribed to difierent reasons, too long and unpleasant to give here. The one given by Tate Wilkinson is as satisfactory as any other. " She was talking to me one day of all she had sufiered in Daly's company. ' I shed tears enough,' said she, ' to overflow the Jordan.' From that time I called her little Jordan, and when .she went to London, she kept the name as being more 1 Tate Wilkinson always took to liimself the credit — " I gave her that name ; I was her sponsor." "You!" "Yes: when she thought of going to London, she thought Miss sounded insignificant, so she asked me to advise her a name. 'Why,' said I, 'my dear, you have crossed the water, so I'll call you Jordan,' and by the memory of Sam ! if she didn't take my joke in earnest, and call herself Mrs Jordan ever since." On the other hand, Boaden, who, the Quarterly Review says, was candle-snuffer behind the scenes, persists, " The baptism had no reference whatever to London. Mrs Jordan was three years with Tate Wilkinson before she quitted him for Drury Lane Theatre." lO Soinc Fair Hibernians From whatever the cause, all must allow that the change from Miss Francis to Mrs Jordan was a manifest improve- ment. One would not like to controvert the authority who lays down the dictum that " a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," yet one cannot deny that some names carry more weii^ht than others, and, as a rule, Christian names do not make satisfactory surnames. The race week at York was the gayest meeting of the year, and the theatre was nightly crowded. Amongst the visitors to the town was a well-known actor of Drury Lane Theatre, William Smith, generally known by the name of Gentleman Smith, on account of his very polished manners. Mrs Jordan's performance of Prl^cilhi Tomboy in " The Eomp" pleased the London actor, and as he was a kind- hearted man, he did not limit his admiration to mere words, but, as will be seen, exerted himself to do her a service. Meantime, she was very well content with her first season. Her salary had been raised to thirty shillings a-week, and at Sheffield, Hull and Leeds she had enthusiastic receptions. The York audiences were never very warm admirers ; they were accustomed to the courtly grace of Miss Farren, which, nevertheless, was not touclied with one spark of genius, and they looked doubtfully upon Mrs Jordan's delightful romping. They were, however, very appreciative of her singing, and whenever they were out of humour from any cause, the manager would entreat Mrs Jordan to give them a song, which was certain to restore their serenity. Her singing was one of her greatest charms, her voice untaught, as it was, xMK8 JORDAN- AS "THE KOIIP. Dorothea Jordan 1 1 producing more effect than that of many cultivated musicians. " The Camp Medley " was a favourite with the York audience, and her singing of " Let not Age Thy Bloom ensnare," in the part of Miss Juniper in " Summer Amusements," completely captivated the Duke of Norfolk, who was a great lover of the stage. It is not to be supposed that Mrs Jordan's rise in public favour did not raise up for her the usual amount of enemies that are born of success, for it is only the mediocre that have troops of friends. The theatrical profession, moreover, is one where success is so evident and failure so overwhelming that one can hardly be surprised that the losers in the game are tempted to some overt demonstration of their rage and jealousy.^ In Mrs Jordan's case what seems to have excited the greatest amount of envj was her appearing in male attire as William in the opera of " Rosina." This drew upon her the anger of Mrs Ward, a somewhat veteran actress, who had hitherto the monopoly of such parts. This lady, who was more jealous of the youthful appearance of her rival than of her decided superiority as an actress, organised amongst her own set of friends a conspiracy to disconcert the popular favourite whilst she was on the stage. The conspirators placed themselves near the stage doors, and used all their ingenuity to disturb and annoy Mrs Jordan by laughing at her, making rude remarks on her appearance and being other- wise offensive. Appeals to their mercy were of no avail, and to have drawn the manager into the quarrel would have been to make matters worse. In this situation, Mrs Francis's stage experience came to her daughter's assistance. By her instruc- tions, the young actress appeared before her audience with every sign of disturbance upon her charming face, tears in her lovely eyes, an appeal for help and sympathy in every ^ Mrs Barry was so jealous of Mrs Boutell that when the latter played Statira in the " Rival Queens," she struck at her with a dagger and although the point WAS blunted, it made its way through Mrs Boutell's stays and entered a quarter of an inch into the flesh. Different causes were assigned for this outbreak on the part of Mrs Barry, who, it was said, really wanted to destroy her rival.— Genest, History of the Stage. 1 2 Some Fair Hibernians glance. Her admirers at once wanted to know the cause of their favourite's distress. This led to inquiry into the annoy- ance, and the manager's attention being drawn to the matter for the future the doors were locked when Mrs Jordan was on the stage. To Mrs Ward's further mortification, her detested rival appeared as Pcitrick in " The Poor Soldier," a part she played to perfection. In tliis she transported her audience by her singing of — " How liappy the soldier who lives on his pay, And spends half-a-crown out of sixpence a day." The decided animosity shown towards her, in addition to the necessity of making more money to support the number depending upon her, made it desirous for Mrs Jordan to change the scene. She had already been in correspondence with the managers of Drury Lane, to whom Mr Smith had given a most flattering account of her talents, but nothing was actually settled until the season of 1785. Meantime, the uncertainty gave the actress that restless sensation which always precedes a coming change in our condition of life. This state of mind influenced her whole conduct. The manager complained she had grown careless and indifferent to pleasing either him or the public. On one occasion when called upon to sing between the acts, she flatly refused. The audience insisted, the manager stormed, while the young lady sullenly continued her obstinate refusal. At last the' storm outside the curtain grew too strong even for her audacity, and so, almost crying with annoyance, she came on and warbled out " In the Prattling Hours of Youth," a somewhat inane ditty, composed by Doctor Arne. Tate Wilkinson, who tells this story, adds that if the actress had taken her benefit she would never have submitted, but, as that was still to come, her poverty and not her will consented. The petulance she exhibited on this and other occasions was hardly wise ; it alienated her friends and admirers.^ Her benefit at Leeds ^ All through her life, Mrs Jordan was subject to these fits of sulleniiess and ill- hunioiir. Dorothea Jordan 1 3 was, in consequence, thinly attended, and Mrs Siddons, who saw her in this mood, formed no great opinion of her powers, and thought she would do better to stay where she Avas than venture on the London boards. Yates, likewise, received the same impression, and while praising the lovely Miss Wilkin- son, afterwards Mrs Mountain and Mrs Browne, adds that Mrs Jordan was merely a piece of theatrical mediocrity. Both these good judges were in a few weeks to find how short- sighted had been their verdict. A fine commotion took place when, later on, the news leaked out that the Jordan was actually engaged to appear at Drury Lane. All manner of spiteful prophecies were at once let loose. Mrs Robinson, one of her rivals, told the manager that when he had lost his " great treasure " (a favourite term of Wilkinson's in addressing ]\[rs Jordan), "■■it would soon be turned back upon his hands, and it would be glad to come if he would accept it." In return for this low witticism, Mrs Jordan's mother begged Mr Wilkinson to let her know when that fright (Mrs Robinson) had done acting, for it was so horrid, she could not look at if. All this was contemptible in the extreme, but it did not tend to soothe the actress's troubled spirit. She was, indeed, setting out on an unknown sea, where many dangers were likely to swamp her little bark, and few friendly hands were ready to help her to a safe harbour. One can imagine in what a perturbation of mind she made this momentous journey to London. Every- thing depended upon the success of this experiment — if it had resulted in failure she would have had to return to York with her value considerably lowered. As to the salary, there was not much gained there, four pounds a-week was all Mr Smith could obtain for her. The oft-quoted saying of Sir Walter Raleigh ' however holds good in theatrical as in all other ventures, and the event justified our heroine's endeavour to climb the ladder of success. At the moment of Mrs Jordan's arrival, Drury Lane was crowded with actresses, all of them popular and of remarkable merit. This circumstance rendered the advent of the new- comer singularly unpropitious. Established favourites, like 14 Some Fair Hibernians Mrs Sicldons, Miss Farren aud Miss Pope, filled all the leading parts in tragedy and comedy, and this so ably as to render it difficult for the debutante to secure even the crumbs of public favour. Mrs Jordan wisely took a line utterly different, and one in which she could in no way clash with the popular idols. The youthful heroines of Shakespeare's dramas, and the whole class of romps in modern comedy were unoccupied, except by inferior actresses, and here she resolved to make her mark. To this proposal, the acting managers, Sheridan and King, made no objection, and it only remained to settle in what character she should make lie-r first appearance. During her York experiences, she had been much impressed by a Mrs Browne's acting of Peggy in " The Country Girl." Mrs Browne was an actress of great comic power, her mature years, however, and large person were ill-suited to playing a vivacious girl in her teens. Nevertheless, as she was a perfect mistress of the " business," she pleased her audience by her well-meant efforts. Mrs Jordan was quick enough to see that, with more seasonable graces and a natural, not assumed, girlish hilarity, the part could be made altogether one to captivate the public, and the result showed how true was her estimate. In her hands, " The Country Girl " became the rage of the town; it seemed as if it had been written ex- pressly for her, although composed by Wycherley ^ many years before she was known on the stage. It was said that she had studied the part under its original producer, Mrs Browne ; this, however, is not at all probable, and in any case the especial charms which Mrs Jordan brought before her audience, " the elastic step, the artless simplicity, and, if the expression may be used, the juicy tones of her melodious voice, these were Nature's gifts, and never could have been imparted." Mrs Jordan's laugh is insisted upon by all her critics. Most actresses are distinguished for certain qualities which are lacking in others. Miss O'Neill, we are told, was great in a cri/, Mrs Jordan unrivalled in a laugh, which was so infectious as to communicate itself at once to the whole ^ Wycherley wrote it as the " Country Wife," and Garrick altered tlie title to the "Country Girl." Do7'otJica Jordan 1 5 house. Playgoers of the present day are not in a position to understand the effect produced by a hiugh or a cry ; either from a defect of training or a natural inability in modern players, the actresses of our time indulge in that most unpleasant of artificial sounds, the stage laugh, which is only equalled by the stage cry. We are told that the laughter of Mrs Jordan was perfectly genuine in all its branches, from the juvenile giggle to the full, joyous burst ; it would break out in the most uncontrollable manner, " sparkling like bubbles in the water." It was on the ISth October 1785 that Mrs Jordan made her first appearance at Drury Lane in the part of Pegcjy in " The Country Girl." The outside world had heard little of her beyond that she was a new addition to the company. For some reason, she had not been heralded by any pufi" preliminary ; the house, therefore, was only moderately full. The actress, a prey to nervousness, stood trembling at the wing. It was a terrible moment for her, and now that she was in face of the ordeal, the magnitude of the undertaking seemed almost overpowering. The moment, however, she touched the boards her self-possession returned. Mrs Jordan at this time was in her twenty-third year : of middle height, her figure, which was exquisitely moulded, was somewhat inclined to embonpoint, which, later, developed into corpulence ; her face was oval — not strictly beautiful, the charm lying principally in the expression, which was so altogether fas- cinating that no one thought of considering the question of her beauty. Looking at the portraits Romney painted of her, one can hardly realise this. The jaw is long almost to heaviness, and the eyes have a melancholy expression, which, in reality, was dissipated by her wonderful smile, which was her real charm. As she came on the stage, her youthful appearance (she did not look more than nineteen) and enchanting face took the house by surprise. This favourable impression was strengthened by the first sound of her melodious voice, with "its peculiar fulness, as if she had some delicious, ripe peach in her mouth," while her laugh, tinged with " exquisite humour, exhibited at once merriment 1 6 Soinc Fair Hibernians jind deliolit." In the scene where Pcg<)ll writes the clandestine letter to her lover, the house burst into applause at her indescribable naivete, and the applause became a tumult of acclamation when she sang with her usual archness — "Do you, papa, but find a coach, And leave the other to ine, sir, For that will make the lover approach, And I warrant we sha'n't disagree, sir. No sparks will talk to girls that walk, I've heard it and I confide in't. Do yon then fix my coach and six, I warrant I'll get one to ride in't." At the conclusion, she was recalled again and again. Mrs Inchbald, who was in the house, describes the scene.^ " She came to town with no report in her favour to elevate her above a very moderate salary (four pounds a-week) or to attract more than a very moderate house when she appeared, but here moderation ceased. She at once displayed such consummate art, with such bewitching nature, such excellent sense, and such innocent simplicity, that her auditors were boundless in their plaudits and so warm in their praises when they left the theatre that their friends at home would not give credit to the extent of their eulogiums." One can imagine with what feelings Mrs Jordan returned home on this eventful evening ; the congratulations of her friends and the plaudits of the house ringing in her ears, and the knowledge that her success was a solid one, in proof of which her salary was to be rated at twelve instead of four pounds a-week, with two benefits. The part of P<'Sacred to the ^lemory of Mrs Dorothy Jordan, Late of Drury Lane Theatre. Poor, injured mortality, snatched from the fostering embrace of Public Admiration. 30 Some Fair Hibernians truly wicked reports. I am so ill that I can do nothing myself, but must wait for the assistance of a good and clever friend, who is at present out of the way, and who (if truth is not quite scared out of the world) will endeavour to d(j away with the ill impressions those reports were meant to make." Notwithstanding this denial, it was evident to those who possessed her friendshij) that Mrs Jordan had a mind ill at ease. She had nothing to complain of in her reception by the public, who welcomed their old favourite with en- thusiasm. She made her reappearance at Covent Garden in " The Country Girl," and, although the ease of retirement had added to her somewhat corpulent figure, still the match- less Thalia of the stage exerted her potent charm, and the theatre was crowded whenever her name was in the bill. The papers still continuing to publish all manner of un- pleasant reports concerning her and the Duke, Mrs Jordan was advised to cancel her London engagements and to go on a tour instead. This she did; but at Bath, where her first engagement took place, she found the whole town full of the separation between her and her royal admirer. From Bath she went to Dublin, which she had not visited since she ran away from Daly's company. Twenty years had passed since then, and a new generation had grown up who only knew her name by repute, while some of the older folk, who re- membered her and her singing of " Melton Oysters," found it difficult to recognise in the large, handsome Mrs Jordan the slender girl wdio had won popular favour by her youthful vivacity. Her engagement was altogether a failure : scur- rilous attacks were made upon her and her friends, while constant impositions from Jones, the manager, with whom she shared the house and got no profit, involved her in per- petual quarrels, until at last, wearied and sick at heart, she shook the dust of her native country from her feet and returned to England, where the final blow fell upon her. It was when she was acting at Cheltenham to crowded houses that the closing scene in this miserable drama took place. The performance was for the manager's benefit, and Dorothea Jordan 3 i Mrs Jordan, with her usual good nature, had undertaken to play her famous part of Nell in " Devil to Pay," Jobson doing the cobbler. Every seat was booked. That very afternoon, the fatal letter came from the Duke of Clarence to inform her that all was over between them, and that their last interview was to take place at Maidenhead, where he would meet her. The unfortunate woman came to the theatre more dead than alive. She, however, struggled through her part until Jobson arrived at the passage where he has to accuse the conjurer of making her " laughing drunk " : here the effort to laugh resulted in tlie overstrung actress bursting into tears. Jobson, with great presence of mind, altered the text, exclaiming, " Why, Nell, the conjurer has made thee crying drunk ! " The scene was got through, Mrs Jordan recovering herself, and the play ended with the usual wild enthusiasm for the popular favourite. After the performance, she was put into a chaise in her stage costume, and travelled all night to keep her appointment next day with the Duke. What passed at this interview, at which the Prince of Wales was present, is not known, but can be easily imagined. The fact that, by the death of the Duke of York, the Duke of Clarence had advanced a step nearer to the throne, made it a matter of necessity that he should marry, and already several eligible alliances were under discussion. It was there- fore necessary that the tie (whether of illegal marriage, as Mrs Jordan's friends asserted, or otherwise) should be severed. The actress's tears and supplications availed nothing, and the parting was hnal. The Duke never saw her again. Siiortly after she removed from Hammersmith to Cadogan Place, from whence she wrote to Boaden, who was, all through her life, a staunch friend. "Cadogan Place, Thvrsday. " My dear Sir, — I fear I must have appeared unmindful of your many kindnesses in having been such a length of time without writing to you, but really, till very lately, my spirits have been so depressed that I am sure you Avill 32 Some Fail' Hibernians understand my feelings when I say it cost nie more pain to write to those interested about me than to a common acquaintance ; but the constant kindness and attention I meet with from the Duke, in every respect but personal interviews (and which depends as much on my feelings as his), has, in a great measure, restored me to my former health and spirits. Among many noble traits of goodness, he has lately added one more, that of exonerating me from my promise of not returning to my profession. This he has done under the idea of its benefitting my health and adding to my pleasures and comforts, and, though it is very uncertain whether I shall ever avail myself of this kindness, yet you, if you choose, are at liberty to make it known, whether publicly or privately. — Yours ever, etc., etc., " Dora Jordan." " p./V. — I wish I could see you, Init it is such a long way for you to come." A few^ days later, she again writes to the same friend : — " St James's, " Tuesday^ 1th Decemher." " My dear Sir, — I lose not a moment in letting you know that the Duke of Clarence has concluded and settled on me and his children the most liberal and generous provision, and I trust everything will sink into oblivion. — Yours ever, . " Dora Jordan." The terms of the settlement w^ere, — For the maintenance of the Duke's four daughters, £1500 ; for a horse and a carriage for their use, £600 ; for Mrs Jordan's use, £2000 ; in all, £4100 per annum. It was made a special condi- tion that, if Mrs Jordan returned to the stage, the care of his daughters and the £1500 a-year for their maintenance should revert to His Royal Highness. This statement, and the fact that a legal settlement of a very liberal character was effected, dispose of the insinuations constantly made by Boaden that Dorothea Jordan ^il) part of Mrs Jordan's fortune was placed by her at the disposal of the Duke. Both Boaden and Sir Jonah Barrington seem to think there can be no other way of accounting for the sudden collapse of the large sum she had made by her profession. They forget that, like all those who make money easily, Mrs Jordan spent with the left hand what the right had received. Her Irish nature and indifferent training were likely to add to the easy squandering of money, and there were those about her only too ready to help her in such lavish expenditure. One is not surprised to find tliat difficulties began to gather round her. To meet the demands made upon her, as well as to find excitement in the profession she loved, Mrs Jordan, in a very few months, resolved to return to the stage. Managers, how- ever, were not so eager to engage her as formerly. No longer a royal favourite, but a discarded mistress, she had the mor- tification of experiencing that her position had something to say to her success. To this was added the always melancholy advance of years, which, unobserved by her, had stolen many of her greatest charms, had dimmed the lustre of her eyes and deadened the joyous echo of her infectious laugh, while her immense size made such parts as the Country Girl and Miss Hoyden singularly unsuitable. Mr Dyce, who saw her play the part of the heroine in Kenney's new comedy, " Debtor and Creditor," produced at Covent Garden, says her figure was ridiculously unsuited to the part of a young girl, and in consequence the piece ran only a few nights. Fortunately for Mrs Jordan, the English nation has a tender reverence for bygone favourites. Witness their for- bearance towards veteran singers and actors of the present day. This forbearance was extended to Mrs Jordan all the more generously from the indignation that was roused in her behalf by the unseemly and indelicate attacks made by the Press upon her. The audience, to show how much they valued so old a public servant, took every opportunity that afibrded personal application to testify to her their sympathy. The season at Covent Garden being over, Mrs Jordan weiit on tour, visiting most of the large towns in the provinces C 34 Some Fair Hibernians witli the most extraordinary success. If London had shown her that her day was over, its sentence was reversed by Batli, Bristol, Leeds and York. The financial success of the tour was stated to be £7000. This would seem hardly credible. Her biographer considers it a gross exaggeration, in proof of which assertion he makes a calculation that to acquire such a sum, Mrs Jordan must have acted one hundred and forty nights in one year, which, when a lady is over fifty, would have been, in his opinion, too great a strain. The strain, however, was a matter of necessity. It would take too long to enter into all the details (given in full by Boaden and her friend Sir Jonah Harrington) of Mrs Jordan's involved affairs. The failure of her son-in-law, Mr Alsop, a Calcutta merchant, precipitated matters, while her own care- lessness in giving security for some friend whose name does not transpire, but who let her in for a large sum of money, seems to have completed her ruin. Mrs Jordan was at an end of all her resources when, in 1815, a sudden call was made upon her for £2000. Not having this sum at command, she had to pledge her annuity from the Duke, and, to avoid arrest, escaped to France, meaning to remain there until her affairs could be arranged. Month after month passed, however, and no settlement was made. Meanwhile Mrs Jordan resided at Boulogne, a place very generally selected by persons who, in the language of the day, were in hiding. She lived a little way out of the town in a suburb called Marquetra, from the fortress close to it. Her residence was a small cottage, neat, clean and very cheerful. She passed as Mrs James, and one of her sons-in-law, Colonel Hawker,^ was with her, as also her companion. Miss Sketchley. Here Mrs Jordan remained nearly a year, waiting for the recall from her lawyers wdiich never came. On the contrary, there seemed some reason for further precautions and a more secluded residence. We gather this from Mrs Jordan's sudden flight to Paris, and likewise her change of name from James to Johnson. She did not remain in Paris, but went first to 1 Colonel Hawker was inarriecl to one df the Miss Fords. Dorothea Jordan 35 Versailles and afterwards to St Cloud, wliere she resided in one of the large, comfortless " liotels " adjoining the palace. No more desolate dwelling could be imagined. There was no comfort in the large, ill-furnished rooms, and she had no friends to cheer her solitude. The companion, a former governess of her children, whom she had brought with her from England, had returned there to look after the compli- cated law business. Mrs Jordan spent her day lying on a miserable sofa, eating her heart out in her eager desire for news from England that never came. There is something terrible in this picture of the once matchless Thalia, the idol of the public, the spoiled and petted royal favourite, slowly pining away in her sad, self-inflicted exile. Boaden and her friend Sir Jonah Barrington would have us believe that the poor lady was the victim of a conspiracy ; that someone, who is never named, had an object in keeping her away, and that this dark conspirator had the poor lady kept under restraint, not allowing any friends to have access to her, while impress- ing on her that she was surrounded by spies and enemies who deprived her of the necessaries of life. What the object of this dark conspiracy was we are not informed, but, using one's own common sense, we come to the conclusion that the conspiracy had existence only in the minds of her friendly biographers. The whole story is common enough. Mrs Jordan had contracted debts either for herself or others, and as in her time there was no such thing as sponging out liabilities in a Bankruptcy Court, her person would have been " attached " if she had not run away from her creditors, as was the fashion in the last century. This is the explanation of the secrecy, the change of name and the flitting from one place to another. There was no- thing mysterious, but the closing scenes of the laughter- loving Jordan were inexpressibly sad. She was in a strange countrj^, ill in body and mind and evidently suffering from nervous delusions. The story told of the old friend who found her out goes far to prove that the poor lady was not in her right mind. This person, who had been a confectioner. 36 So?uc Fair Ilibcrniaus ov sweetmeat provider to the Royal Family, had left England many years before and had settled in Paris. He had known Mrs Jordan well, and was anxious to renew his old friendship and to be of ser\-ice to her. He was not, however, allowed to see her. He later received a letter from her desiring him to repair at inidniglit to St Cloud, when she spoke to him from a easement window. The interview lasted two hours, during which time she told her friend that she was in actual want,^ and implored him to return next day and to bring her twenty pounds. It was further arranged that he should help to get her away to England. He did return in ten days' time, having made all the necessary preparations, but to his dismay he was told she had expired the previous day. The story of her death, as told by her biographer Boaden, is highly dramatic, but it somehow lacks consistency. According to this narrative, which was related to Sir Jonah Barrington by the master of the house — a certain Mr C (his name is all through jealously con- cealed) — Mrs Jordan, from the moment of her arrival, had appeared restlessly anxious for letters from England. " An interval of some posts elapsed, during which she re- ceived no answers to her letters ; and her consequent anxiety seemed too great for mortal strength to bear up against. On the morning of her death, this impatient feeling reached its crisis. The words used now by Mv C become of the greatest value. ' The agitation was almost fearful ; her eyes were now restless, now fixed ; her motion rapid and un- meaning; and her whole manner seemed to bespeak the attack of some convulsive paroxysm.' She eagerly re- ([uested Mr C to go for her letters, before the usual hour of delivery. On his return she started up and held out her hand, as if impatient to receive them. He told her, ' there were novr.' 'She stood a moment motionless; looked towards him with a vacant stare ; held out her hand again, as if by an involuntary action ; instantly withdrew it, and sank back upon the sofa from which she had arisen. 1 At this time she had with her valuable jewels, and wore on her fintrer a diamond ring- worth £400. These facts give the lie to her destitute condition. Dorothea Jordan 37 Mr C now left the room to send up lier attendant, but she had gone out ; he, therefore, himself, returned to Mrs Jordan. On approaching her lie observed some change in her looks that alarmed him. She spoke not a word, but gazed at him steadfastly. She wept not — no tear flowed. Her face was one moment flushed, another livid. She sighed deeply, and her heart seemed bursting, Mr C stood, un- certain what to do ; but in a minute, he heard her breath drawn more hardl}^, and, as it were, sobbingly. He was now thoroughly terrified ; he hastily approached the sofa, and, leaning over the unfortunate lady, discovered that those deep-drawn sobs had immediately preceded the moment of Mrs Jordan's dissolution. She was already no more ! ' " She was buried in the churchyard of St Cloud, not with- out some difficulty on account of her profession ; this, however, was got over, and nine English gentlemen followed her remains to the grave. For many years no memorial marked the spot where she lay. At length, however, a tablet was put up with a flourishing inscription in Latin. This states her death to have taken place July the 3d 1816 — her age, fifty. All con- temporary writers, including Boaden, date her birth 1762 ; consequently, she must have been at the time of her decease fifty-four years of age. There is no doubt that the strange narrative of Mrs Jordan's last moments leaves an unpleasant impression upon the mind of the reader ; it, therefore, was not surprising that at the time in which this bygone tragedy occurred it caused a stir and sensation. Ridiculous stories got about, one being that she was not dead, but, with the help of Miss Sketchley and the kindly Mr C , had managed to escape from the hands of her creditors ; some people declared they had seen her in the flesh. One of these was her biographer, Boaden, who spins a lengthy and improbable yarn as to stopping to look into a print shop in Piccadilly. On a sudden, a lady stood by his side. She raised her veil to look at the prints, and his conviction was that she was no other than Mrs Jordan — strangely enough, the conviction was sufficient. His ardent friendship never prompted him 8 Sojue Fail' Hibernians to address his departed friend. Mrs ALsop^ was likewise convinced that she met her mother walking in the Strand. Neither of these witnesses is very credible, and the whole story is marked by flagrant improbability. The scandal connected with Mrs Jordan's name did not cease with her life. It took seven years to arrange her affairs, all the available assets being sworn as under £300. In 1823 a compromise was offered to the creditors through the public press. Hereupon, a perfect broadside of abuse opened upon the Duke of Clarence. Mr Barton, who had been thirtj^-six years in the Duke's service, replied wnth a full statement, exonerating his master from any share in the unfortunate mismanagement of Mrs Jordan's affairs. This brought on a crowed of letters, accusations and a revival of the whole unsavour}^ story, which should have been decently buried, now that the Duke of Clarence was a married man.' Mrs Jordan's nine children — four daughters and five sons, of w^hich the eldest w^as created Earl of Munster — were so many thorns in the flesh of their Koyal father. The Duke of Wellington said, " They all "want to be made dukes and duchesses." -^ The best of them seems to have been Lord Adolphus Fitz-Clarence. Lady Morgan tells rather a touching incident creditable to the feelings of those concerned. She was dining w^ith Lord Adolphus in 1837 at old St James's Palace. Her host took her into his boudoir. " We w^ere alone, and he show'ed me a miniature set in brilliants. ' The King ? ' I said. 1 Mrs Alsop, who had been known as Miss Jordan, followed her mother's pro- fession for a few years, and, trusting to the kindly feeling of the public, appeared in some of her favourite parts, witli, however, but little success. Mr Dyce in his notes says, " I saw her play in Murphy's comedy, and she played it well, singing a song accompanied on the harp by herself. She really possessed considerable talent as an actress. She was downright ugly." Hazlitt says, " She was no more like her mother than I am like Hercules, but she was a nice little woman."' Her life and death were alike a tragedy. " That the Duke of Clarence did not marry until 1818, two years after Mrs Jordan's death, is cited by the descendants of that lady as a proof that some sort of legalised tie existed between her and the Duke. ^ The daughters were all handsome, they lived at Bushy Park, and were received in society as the Duke's daughters ; they married well. Dorothea Jordan 39 ' Yes, m}" father,' said he, taking another picture out of the casket, 'and,' added he, with much emotion, 'this was — m}^ mother.' After a pause I said, 'It is a great likeness as I last saw her.' ' Where was that ? In Dublin — on the stage ? ' ' Yes, in " The Country Girl," the most wondrous representation of life and nature I ever beheld. I also saw her when she was on a visit to Sir Jonah Barrington's. She sent to v^y father to go and visit her. He did so. She called him the most amiable of managers.' " After a pause he added, " Sir Charles and you will accompany me to Chantrey's to-morrow to see her beautiful monument, which they have refused to admit into St Paul's, although Mrs WofRngton's is still ex- pected there." Boaden cites a very generous letter from Lord Frederick Fitz -Clarence to his mother, when she was in hiding at Boulogne, offering her his quarter's allowance if that would help her in her difficulties. In Miss Berry's Journal there is an entry (in the year 1839) of a curious conversation she had with Chantrey, who was her neighbour at a dinner-party. " William the Fourth sent for him (Chantrey) soon after his accession and told him he had a commission to give him for a monument to Mrs Jordan. The King desired the sculptor's opinion as to where it should be placed. His Majesty then went into a thousand particulars of her private life always ending each with an encomium that she had been such an excellent mother. He said he knew he had been much blamed for his conduct to her, but that from the time they separated, he had allowed her two thousand a-year, which was regularly paid. The monument in question was executed by Chantrey, and he was paid for it." There would not be space here to go through Mrs Jordan's successes as an actress. Before, however, concluding this brief resume of her life, we must take a glance at her pro- fessional career, and the claims she had to be classed with such actresses as Woffington, Clive and Abington. It seems to have been agreed upon by all her critics, that Shakespeare was not her forte, neither could she be taken 40 Some Fair Hibernians seriously as a tragic actress. Although she had been originally engaged by Smith to take second lead in tragedy to Mrs Siddons, her failure was so marked in any effort she made in that line, that the attempt was abandoned. Her last venture was in the char- acter of Juliet in " Romeo and Juliet." This was in 1796, when both her age and increasing corpulence made her singularly unfitted for the part.^ With strange pertinacity, however, she had fixed her mind upon playing one of Shakespeare's heroines for her own benefit. Her first selection had been Ophelia. Kemble, however, had selected Hamlet for his benefit, and would not relinquish the idea. Fierce battles were fought between the two. Mrs Jordan had in the end to give way ; she went, however, from Scylla to Charybdis. The absurdity of the child -like, impassioned Juliet being represented by a middle-aged, stout woman, was bound to result in a farcical failure. The papers were unmeasured in their condemnation. The Morning Herald did not mince its words : — "When it is recollected that Mrs Jordan was engaged by Mr Smith to play second to Mrs Siddons in tragedy, in con- sequence of the gentleman's great admiration of her talents in that line, the surprise into which many persons were thrown on seeing her name on the play-bills for Juliet will naturally diminish. We confess, however, that neither in con- ception nor in power is she adequate to the character. When she comes to scenes of impassioned dignity and violent declamation, where the stronger feelings are to be roused, she falls suddenly short and leaves the audience to supply the deficiency." Rosalind and Viola were, on the other hand, thoroughly within her powers. She gave to them more of the author's ' The best critics have been for years calling attention to the want of the proper representation of this, the most clifBcult of all the great dramatist's creations. Every actor who has a tolerable share of good lookn" thinks himself qualified by that fact alone to play Romeo ; and as for Juliet — she occasionally dispenses with even the qualification of good looks. It is not much of a wonder that the persons who so frequently attemjit the representation do not succeed in giving us any idea of the Romeo and Juliet as tliey were drawn by Shakespeare's wai'mest and most delicate pencil, and the tender, generous enthusiasm which actuates them is widely different from the sentimental affectation of youthful love often presented by ladies and gentlemen whose years are alone inimical to any due representation. Dorothea /ordaii 41 conception than any actress has ever done, to quote the Imes of "Peter Pindar": — "Had Sliakespeare's self at Drury been While Jordan played each vaiied scene, He would have started from his seat And cried — 'That's Rosalind comjilete.' " Sir Joshua Reynolds, who had a sort of fatherly affection for a being, who, like the Jordan, ran upon the stage as a play- ground and laughed from sincere wildness of delight, talks of " her exquisite and tender Viola, where she combines feeling with sportive effect." When asked to decide between her and Mrs Abington, Sir Joshua declared that Mrs Jordan vastly exceeded everything he had ever seen, and really was what others affected to be. Genest says her Rosalind, Viola and Lady Confess will never be excelled. Another wonderful im- personation was Nell in " The Devil to Pay." Here again she challenged com- petition with two departed actresses — Clive and Wof- fington — and once more the few who still remembered their early favourites grumbled. " We old folks," said Horace Walpole, " are apt to be prejudiced in favour of our first im- pressions." The senile grumblings of old age are, however, little regarded on any subject, and in the case of Mrs Jordan's Nell, we may be sure that her impersonation fully satis- fied the play-goers of her own time. Miss Berry who saw her play it with Bannister as " Jobson," describes her perform- ance as incomparable, but adds that in " The Wonder " she JIKS JORDAN . TO PA-i ^ELL IN " IHE ])EVIL (ifte?- Jiomncy. 42 Some Fair Hibernians broiig'ht out her oyster ivoman notes too often, ' which destroys all the effect of her otherwise captivating voice." The astonishing na'ivetc' with which she delivered the words in " The Country Girl " — " Ay, but if he loves me, why should he miss ? " never failed to charm her hearers, as also her clandes- tine composition of her letter to her lover, which was beyond all praise. In " The Romp " she displayed an astonishing power of holding her audience and commanding their applause. One of her best performances was the Hoyden in " The Trip to Scarborough ; " it was admirably suited'to her in every way. Her rusticity did not appear assumed, her vulgarity was not affected ; she was for the time a young hoyden. Her awkward air when she first entered, the use she made of the piece of bread and butter, the silent show of surl}" discontent, her adjusting the dress of the nurse and refusal to be locked up, her dividing the cake and final approach to Lord Fopping- ton, — these have never been equalled. Severe critics denied that Mrs Jordan had actual beauty. She possessed, however, attractions which are superior to mere personal charms. Her countenance was full of expression and animated varietj^ her laugh was tinged with the most exquisite humour, exciting at once merriment and delight ; her attitudes were expressive, her pronunciation was correct, and she represented in every way " Those nameless graces wliicli no methods teach, Antl which a master hand alone can reach." Hazlitt calls her a child of Nature, whose voice was a cordial to the heart, to hear whose laugh was nectar, whose talk was far above sino^ino- and whose sinmng was like the twangino; of Cupid's bow. Her person, he adds, was large, soft and generous like her heart. Her voice, that rare gift, says Leigh Hunt, had an extraordinary mellowness that delighted the ear with its peculiar fulness, and possessed a certain emphasis that appeared the earnest of perfect conviction. Lamb gives her the highest praise. Haydon speaks of her as touching and fascinating. Byron declared she was superb. Mathews talks of her as an extraordinary and exquisite being, distinct from Dorothea Jordan 43 any other being in the world as she was superior to all her contemporaries in her particular line. Kemble said she was irresistible. " It may seem ridicu- lous," he once remarked to Boaden, "but I could have taken her in my arms and cherished her, though it was in the open street, without blushing." Such an expression from the frigid lips of Kemble was a compliment that spoke volumes in her praise. Lord William Lennox, who saw her when he was a lad, retained a lively recollection of her silver-toned voice, her unsophisticated manner, her tenderness and her exuberant spirits. Of her it was truly said : — " Her smile was by a thousand smiles repaid, Her art was Nature, governed by thy laws. To act of good full oft she bent her aid ; Her talents gained her thus, with hands, the heart's applause." The portraits of Mrs Jordan are numerous. She was painted as " The Country Girl," by Romney^ (the original being now in the possession of the present Earl of Munster), and as Nell, in " The Devil to Pay " ; by Hoppner as Thalia and as Hyppolita ; by Steeden as Sir Harry Wildair ; as Beatrice in a picture by Eriseli with Mrs Siddons as Hero. It is also / VldA£X^ said that Romney painted her dancing in his picture of a^ " Mirtli." ^ This picture was painted for the Duke of Clarence, and it hung in the dining-room at Bushy Park. LADY ANNE AND LADY GERTRUDE FITZPATRICK, DAUGHTERS TO JOHN, SECOND EARL OF UPPER OSSORY. (1770-18—) Visitors to the exhibitions of old Masters, and frequenters of print-shops, are acquainted with Sir Josliua's charming j^ortrait of the little girl Collina^ as a mountaineer, with her skirt tucked up, and her large, wondering eyes drinking in the fresh air of the hills. The original of Collina was Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick, and Lady Anne, her elder by four years, sat for another charming child-portrait. These children were the daughters of John, Earl of Ossory of the " benignant smile,"^ while their mother is best known to this generation as the recipient of some of Horace Walpole's choicest letters. She was Anne Liddell, daughter to Lord Ravensworth, and when Walpole first knew her, she was Duchess of Grafton. Writing to his w^ell loved Horace Mann, he makes a panegyric of her charms — " she is a passion of mine ; she is my sovereign lady and ' my duchess.' " When she goes abroad he writes again to impress upon his friend, who was Minister at Florence, that he must pay her every atten- tion, " for she is one of our first great ladies, and one of the finest women you ever saw ; the Dulce goes with her ; a man of strict honour, and does not want sense nor good breeding, but is not particularly familiar nor particularly good-humoured nor at all particularly generous." On another occasion, Walpole. who was fitful in his opinions, described the Duke of Grafton as having an inherent want of principle, or, what came to ^ "Collina"' was begun in 1779 when Sir Joshua Reynolds was on a visit to Lord Ossory at Farming Woods, it was completed in 1780 and engraved 1782. ^ " Ossory's benignant smile Diffuses good-humour round our isle."' 44 LADY A.NXK FITZPA I HHK A.S THK. " G IKL- lUlTH THK lUXCH OF CKAl'KS. J ''"> ' i ,[Afler Sir Jushua Reynolds — 1775. Lady Anne and Lady Gertnide Fitspatrick 45 the same thing, inattention, indolence and indifference to tlie interests of the country. "He is one of the most persuasive and pathetic speakers in the House of Lords ; he delivers his speeches like a gentleman and a scholar, his language is well chosen and correct, while his judgment in arranging his matter is not excelled or even equalled by anyone. Slight circum- stances, such as a change of seat, are apt to disconcert him ; his temper is irascible and easily roused, especially by an}' coarse expression from his antagonists." From a domestic point of view, the Duke of Grafton was perhaps not worse' than the men of his time, but he flaunted his infidelities in a most outrageous fashion : his attentions to a St Giles's beauty, called Nancy Parsons, were carried so far as to escort her through the Houses of Parliament. His Duchess, who was high-spirited as well as beautiful, resented this public outrage, and revenged herself by encouraging the attentions of Lord Ossory. These attentions soon became so marked as to be talked. of over teacups with much shaking of heads and hypocritical whisperings, which whisperings ended in the usual waj^ There was a scandal and a trial. The Duchess descended from her high estate, and her story was the counuon talk of the servants' hall. That his sovereign lady should have climbed down the social ladder in this sorry fashion was a shock to her faithful admirer, Walpole. He had a fine sense of j)ropriety, and drew the line at divorcees. He recovered his respect and regard, however, when, the day after the divorce was pronounced, she married Lord Ossory.^ It is remarkable that he announces the 1 The original name of tlie Earls of Ossorys was Mae-gill Patrick, softened into tlie more euphonious Fitzpatrick. According to Sir Bernard Burke, the Mac-gill Patricks belonged to the " ancient monarchy of Ireland." In later times, they V ere faithful adherents of the unfortunate House of Stuart, and suffered for their fidelity during the usurpation of Cromwell, and under the Act of Attainder, 1689. One of the family, however, was wiser in his generation. Richard Fitzpatrick fjught under William the Third's standard, and in reward for his services received, after the battle of Aughrim, large grants of land— especially in the Queen's County — which had been the property of an adherent of James the Second, Eilward Morris. Richard Fitzpatrick was also elevated to the peerage, with the title of Baron Gowran ; his son John was advanced to be Earl of Upper Ossory. He. married Lady Evelyn Leveson Gower, dauj,diter to Earl Gower and sister to the first Earl of Stafford, and had two sons — John of the benignant smile who married Anne Liddell and was the fatlier of "Collina," and Richard, the Secretary for War and Privy Councillor. 46 Some Fair Hibernians inarriage to George Montagu without a word of comment. " The Duchess of Grafton is actually Lady Ossory." Not a jest, not a sneer, not an ill-natured story. Neither did he approach his divinity, now that she was reinstated on the social platform ; he waited until she took the initiative and wrote to him, inviting him to Ampthill, Lord Ossory's seat in Bedfordshire. His answer is a triumph of finesse, for we must all acknowledge that to congratulate a lady in Lady Ossory's position on her second marriage was a difficult task. See how our Horace extricates himself from all entanglement : — " 1769. — You cannot imagine how pleased I shall be to be witness of your happiness, which undoubtedly does not surprise me. I have for some time known the goodness and sense of Lord Ossory, and your ladyship must be very partial to him indeed before I shall think your affection ill-placed." From this time, a close intimacy existed between the witty and vivacious Horace and both husband and wife, a friendship which has given us the long and delightful correspondence which fills two volumes of his printed works, and which covers a space of twenty years. In this collection we have the tone of the day from a partaker in the frolics. Walpole photographs society with a light and brilliant touch. He is bright, sparkling, witty and serious by turns ; he retails, for the amusement of his correspondents, every detail of the w^orld he lives amongst, collects all the on dits of society, lavishes his most caustic sayings, and finishes the whole picture with a verve and lightness truly delightful. It seems somewhat of a pity that Lord Orford did not preserve Lady Ossory's replies to these letters. She was a woman of high endow- ments, with a lively imagination, quick discernment and a ready wit. Her letters would have been worth reading, for her style, we are told, was easy and negligent, perhaps inten- tionally calculated rather to elicit answers than to convey much information, or to express any decided opinion upon any subject. There is one remarkable feature in this correspondence, a Lady Anne and Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick 47 feature which is likewise observable in the correspondence between Walpole and the favourites of his old age (Mary and Agnes Berry), that while the letters preserve a formality of address which no one nowadays would use to a friend, they contain certain allusions and anecdotes which would never be related to a lady in the present day. We must, however, remember that plain speaking was a marked feature of the eighteentli century, and that our grandmothers did not object to a doubtful story or a coarse joke.^ This wonderful corre- spondence runs into over sixty letters, while to her husband (for whom he entertained a warm friendship) Walpole wrote double that number. To him, however, he wrote of politics, war's alarms and Cabinet councils, while to her ladyship he was a news purveyor and fashion-plate, telling her of Lady Powis's new damask, or " that certain invisible machines that one heard of a year or two ago, and which are said to be constructed of cork, are to be worn somewhere or other behind or before in emulation of the Duchess of Devon- shire's condition." This is very amusing, but not very dignified ; purveyors of news, however, cannot be too par- ticular as to the quality of their contributions. His mention of a visit paid to him by Lord March, afterwards Duke of Queensberry, who was accompanied by La Rena, a celebrated opera dancer, would seem to be in questionable taste. There is delightful reading in the brilliant cowp d'oeil he gives us of fashionable life in London. Nobody has ever touched such chronicles with so light a pen. So vivid is the portraiture that we who read feel as if we too had known these Lady Bettys and the Lord Georges who figure in his pages. We hear the ripple of their laughter, the sound of ^ No better instance can be cited of the extraordinary frankness that prevailed in conversation than the anecdote related of Mrs Montagu of blue-stocking celebrit}'. On one occasion, when Charles Fox was visiting her, she exclaimed, in the heat of a warm dispute upon some question, that she did not care three skips of a I — se for his opinion, upon which Fox made the following witty impromptu, — " Says ^Montagu to me, and in her own house, I do not care for you three skijjs of a 1 — se, I forgive it — for women, however well-bred, Will still talk of that which runs in their head." 48 So/Jic Fair Hibernians tlu'ii- voices, the frua-fivu of tlieir brocaded skirts as they o;o u[) and down tlie grand staircases, flirting their fans and ogling the macaronis. They were a terribly wicked set, men and women alike, but there was something grand about them for all their wickedness ; and, after all, the world is not much better nowadays, only we do not flaunt our sins as the}' did. Walpole went here, there, everywhere, picking up his bits of news, with which he filled his letters to his diflerent correspondents. " I was last night at the French Ambassador's, where the house was all arbours and bowers of roses, and where the heat reminded me of Calcutta, where so many English were stewed to death." At another fashionable assembly he saw the new French quadrille danced, and before going to bed writes to his sovereign lady a full account of this new dance. "The quadrille ^vas very pretty. Mrs Damer, Lady Sefton, Lady Melbourne and the Princess Czartoriski were in blue satin with blonde, and collets montes a la reine Elizabeth. Lord R. Spencer, Mr Fitzpatrick, Lord Carlisle, and I forget whom, in like dresses with red sashes, black hats with diamond loops and a few feathers ; after which, Mrs Hobart, all in gauze and spangles, like a spangle pudding, a Miss — I forget — Lord Edward Bentinck and a Mr Corbet danced a pas-de- quatre, in which Mrs Hobart performed admirably. Of all the pretty creatures," he adds, " was Mrs Bunbur}-, one of Goldsmith's Hornecks." Walpole's account of his daily life is worth reading, from the light it throws upon the ways of society a hundred and flfty years ago, when a man of fashion had to play so many parts. His nephew, Lord Orford's son, was dying at this time, and his aflairs were in the utmost confusion. " In the midst of this prospect must I keep up the tone of the world, go shepherdising with macaronis, sit up to loo with m}' Lady Hertford, be witness to Miss Pelham's orgies, dine at villas and give dinners at my own. Consultations of physicians, letters to Lady Orford, decent visit to my Court, sup at Lady Powis's on Wednesday, drink tea with all the fashionable world at Mr Fitzroy's farm on Thursday, blown Lady Anne and Lady Gerirnde Fitzpatrick 49 by a north wind into the house, and whisk back to Lady Hertford's. This morning to my brother's to hear of new bills, away into my chaise and to Strawberry Hill, where come two Frenchmen to dinner. On Monday a man to sell me two acres, immensely dear. (To Philip, his valet : ' I cannot help it ; you must go and put him off. I have not a minute to spare. I will be back to-morrow night to meet the lawyer.') Margaret, his housekeeper, comes in. ' Sir, Lady Bingham desires you will dine with her on Monday at Hampton Court.' ' I cannot ! ' ' Sir, Captain What-d'ye-call- him has sent twice for a ticket to see the house.' 'Don't plague me about tickets ! ' ' Sir, a servant from Isleworth has brought this parcel.' ' What the deuce is in it ? ' Only a printer's proposal for writing the lives of all British writers, and a letter to tell me that I would do it better than anybody else ; but as I may not have the time, Dr Berkenhout proposes to do it, and will conclude the bargain if I will be so good as to write it first and send it to him and give him advice and point out materials and provide him with anecdotes. My dear madam, what if you should send him this letter as a specimen of my style ? Alas ! alas ! I have already lost my lilac tide." This is a good specimen of Walpole's most sjorightly manner, and some of the touches are full of spirit. Another very amusing letter contains a description of a visit to Nuneham, the residence of Lord Harcourt, where his pleasure was damped by the constant presence of a certain Sir William Lee with his wife and a prim miss, whose thin lips were " well stuffed into her nostrils." This trio are pre- sented to us with a few graphic touches which make us feel as if we had known these wet blankets. " They sat bolt upright, like macaws on their perches in a menagerie, and scarce said so much. I wanted to bid them call a coach. The morning and the evening was the first day, and the morning and the evening was the second day, and still they were just in their places." Walpole's extraordinary faculty of identifying himself with every subject that interested his friend comes well to D 50 Some Fair Hibeniians the front in these letters. He knows all that goes on at Ampthill, Lord Ossory's seat, and gives his correspondents little bits of its chronological history. Ampthill belonged to Elizabeth, Duchess of Exeter, sister to our Henry IV. ; lier second husband, Sir John Cornwall, Lord Fanhope, died there. " Their portraits," he adds, " in painted glass, were in the church, but I daresay I have told you all this before, ci que voild cle rtia radoterie it is a proof I dote on." His letters photograj)h for us the family circle there, each personage being quite distinct (this being a peculiar feature of his graphic style). We have Ossory himself, amiable, benignant, " diffusing good-humour all around ; " his countess lovely, with a certain air of a " precieiise," and her "maids of honour," as he calls the three beautiful Miss Vernons,^ in whose praise he wrote the verses entitled " The Graces." He was very much taken with this charming trio, and suggests to Lady Ossory that Sir Joshua should paint an allegorical picture of them after the manner of Rubens. " You must hold Lady Anne on your lap. Our lord, like Mercury, intro- duces the three Vernons ; and wdth so much truth, you could not want allegorj^, which I do not love." The Lady Anne mentioned here was the baby daughter of his friends, and two years later, the little Lady Gertrude made her appearance. The two children seem to have been singularly attractive, quaint, large-eyed little creatures, with that delicious baby roundness of limb so admirably portrayed by Sir Joshua. A dear little pair were Anne and Gertrude, and their con- fiding ways would have stolen into the heart of a mis- anthrope, which Walpole was not. He was genuinely fond of children, a good trait in his character. Unmarried himself, he had none of that cynicism aftected by those who sneer ^ Daughters and co-heirs of Richard Vernon of Hilton, by his wife, Lady Evelyn Fitzpatrick, widow of John, late Earl of Upper Ossory. The Miss Veruons were, therefore, half -sisters to the second Earl of Upper Ossory. The eldest married George, Earl of Warwick, in 1776. The second died young. The third, Caroline Maria, married, in 1798, Richard Percy Smith of Cheam, (Surrey, who took the name of Vernon. His son, Robert Vernon, was created Baron Lyveden. Another charming trio of sisters formed part of the Ampthill circle. There were the Miss Fitzpatricks, cousins of the Earl, also his sisters, the beautiful Lady Louisa Fitzpatrick, who married William, first Marquis of Lansdowne, and Mary, Lady Holland. .ADV CEKTUrnE FITZ-PATKICK AS " C'OLLIXA, THE LITTLE JIOUNTAIXEEll. [After Sir Joshua Keynnlds — 177 {From the Original Picture.) Lady Anne and Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick 51 at blessings they do not possess. One can make a pretty picture in imagination of the old courtier with his friends' children at his knee, a thin varnish of sentiment overlaying his world-smitten soul, for surely there was never a more thorough worldling than this same Walpole, and yet with something like a heart, or what did service for such. Lady Anne, although not such a pretty child as her sister, seems to have been Walpole's favourite. Poor little Lady Gertrude^ incurred his displeasure, and probably that of her own parents, by coming into the world in place of the brother who, according to Walpole's ideas, should have succeeded Lady Anne, " I own I am vexed — I am disappointed," he writes, " but when Madame de Trop ceases to be the youngest of your race, I daresay I shall love her, especially when Lady Anne begins to love her less than her brother ; but remember, a brother is the sine qua non of my reconciliation." There is an ill-humoured tone in his reply to the mother's de- scription of Madame de Trop's lovely eyes and baptismal name. " I like the blue eyes, madam, better than the denomina- tion of Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick, which, respectable as it is, is very harsh and rough sounding. Pray let her change it for the first goldfinch that offers. Nay, I do not even trust the blueth of the eyes. I do not believe they last once in twenty years. One cannot go into a village fifty miles from London without seeing a dozen little children with flaxen hair and eyes of sky-blue. What becomes of them all ? One does not see a grown Christian with them twice in a century, except in poetry." It was for the Ampthill children that Walpole wrote the two fairy tales that appear in his works. The first of these. The Peach in Brandy, like all that came from his pen, is most elegantly written, but would hardly commend itself to children of tender years. Lady Anne, however, was some- what of a blue stocking. When she was only ten years of age, she sent her old friend a regular poser in the shape of a riddle iiifour quipos. Walpole, who was then drifting some- 1 Born 1774. 52 Some Fair Hibernians what into the crabbed humour of a sexagenarian, took this childish exhibition of pedantry in bad part, especially as he found it too hard a nut to crack. There is great ill-humour in his answer, — " I cannot unsew a single stitch of such millinery versifica- tion, and though I will not contemptuously return such silken lines directly, I desjjair of unravelling them, and will only detain them till I have ejjfiled them for a whole morning, since it seems that a mistake in a single shade may occasion a blunder or a double entendre." In his next letter he follows up this attack with another equally bitter, — " I return the quipos, madam, because if I retained them till I understand them, I fear you would never have them again. I should as soon be able to hold a dialogue with a rainbow by the help of the grammar or a prism — for I have not yet discovered which is the first or the last verse of four lines that hang like ropes of onions." Lady Ossory seems to have resented this ill-tempered criticism upon her little daughter's precocious etlbrts, for pre- sently we find Horace crying peccavi, — "In truth I am sorry I expressed myself so awkwardly that you thought I disapproved of the quipos. On the con- trary, you see how much they have amused me." And then he goes into a lengthy dissertation upon the riddle, too long and unamusing to relate here. In spite of his little outburst of ill- humour, Walpole was undoubtedly very partial to Lady Anne. On her birthday he sent her a charming poem on " tShells," and, all through, his interest was more for her than for her prettier sister. He thought her " full of sensibility, although 1 am sorry she promises to have so much of a virtue, whose kingdom is not of this world, but, like patience, is ever tried with the greater disadvantage of wanting to remedy half the mis- fortunes it feels for. Sensibility is one of those mother springs on which most depends the colour of our lives, and determines our being happy or miserable. I have often said the world is a comedy to those who think, and a tragedy to those who feel ; and sensibility has not only occasion to suffer for others, but is sure to have its own portion too." Lady Anne and Lady Gertrude Fit zpat rick 53 This sensibility is noticeable in Lady Anne's portrait as the child with a bunch of grapes, while the quality is some- what lacking in Collina's — Lady Gertrude's — dear, bright, sparkling little face, and yet there is an untouched wealth of love in those large, childish eyes, which we must hope pre- served the grey-blue Irish tint. Walpole did not think the portrait did her justice, " although it is sweetly pretty ; it has not half the countenance of the original." He adds, that the print is poorly executed, faint and unfinished. As time goes on, we find Walpole still playing tlie part of family friend and general referee on all matters of importance, giving judicious and sincere advice to Lady Ossor^^ to show herself more in society. " I doubt your ladyship's dislike of quitting Ampthill proceeds a little from your aversion to appearing in public, but do you know you must surmount this — nay, entirely." And then he adds, " There is no pleasure in being anybody's friend if one is not to tell them very dis- agreeable truths." Again, writing on this subject, he says, " Pray, madam, do not be so vulgar as to stay in the country because there is somebodj- or other liere that you are afraid of meeting. What an old-fashioned prejudice ! Does one like anybody the less because one dislikes that person ? There is not a monarch in Europe who cannot conquer his aversion in seventeen days, and shall a subject be allowed greater latitude ? I know your ladyship's are not antipathies, but very contrary awkwardnesses ; but you must get over them. Lions and lambs, doves and serpents, now trot in the same harness, and it does one's heart good to see them." Again, when Lord Euston, her son by her previous marriage to the Duke of Grafton, displeased his father by engaging himself to Walpole's niece. Lady Maria Waldegrave, the old diplomatist counselled Lady Ossory as to the part she should take. " I agree with you that any fervour on your ladyship's part could but hurt ; indeed, the only part I take myself, is to recommend perfect silence, which I shall strictly observe myself." On the subject of the little girls' education and their deportment, he has much to say, especially as to his favourite Anne, who was the cleverer of the two. He writes, in answer to her questions 54 Some Fair Hibernians concerning the Salique law, a long and learned explana- tion, counsels her on her drawing, for which she had decided talent and criticises in an amiable manner her double heads, at the same time strongly advising her to cultivate music, which he considers a more fascinating art. He is deeply in- terested in the private theatricals at Ampthill, to which, how- ever, he did not go. He sent a prologue, and is anxious for all particulars, especially of Lady Anne's acting* of Kitty, in " High Life Below Stairs." He writes to Lady Ossory that he approves extremely of Jter good humour in acting and dancing, " for I should hate gravity, dignity or austerity in one's own house in tlie countri/." Who had not rather see Scipio playing at leap-frog with his children at his Ampthill than parading to St Paul's singing Te Deum ? " It was not in accordance with Walpole's usual tact thus to remind Lady Ossory that her day was over, and that of her daughters' was beginning. These reminders of advancing years are not well said. This was, however, in 1785, when Lady Anne was fifteen, her sister only eleven, yet Walpole, in a letter to her mother, gives her the agreeable information that the Province of Bedford, meaning the Duke of that name's son, admired her daughter, a somewhat premature announce- ment, considering her age. This is about the last friendly act on Walpole's part to his former friends. He was growing old, and the waywardness of the spoiled child of fashionable society was beginning to show itself unchecked. A letter he wrote to Lady Ossory in 1787 was the beginning of a coolness in his affections for his sovereign lady. In it he takes exception to Lady Ossor}^ having shown one of his letters to General Fitzpatrick, the Secretary for War. There is something irrepressibly sad in this letter. The subtle insight the old man of the world shows in reading the character of his equally worldly cor- respondent, the disgust he cannot conceal at her doses of flattery, while all the time he is quite conscious that she and Mr Fitzpatrick are amusing themselves at his expense. The bitter cry, too, that comes straight from his heart that he has no friend who will tell him the truth, is terribly real. Lady Anne and Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick 55 " You reprove me for not being perfectly humble, and then tell me you show my letters to Mr Fitzpatrick.^ Do you think I can like iladA and can I help suspecting that you are laughing at me for a credulous old simpleton. Indeed, I do suspect it, and am not such a gudgeon as to swallow the hook with which you tempt me to play. Mr Fitzpatrick has too much sense and taste to be amused with the gossiping babble of my replies to the questions you put me, and I can have no satisfaction in scribbling the trifles I send you, if they are to be seen, or if I am to ponder and guard them against being downright dotage. And how shall I discover that they are not so, if they are ? Where is the touchstone on which old age is to try its decay ? It ivill strike seventy to-morroiv, and who will be so inuch my friend as to tell me that it anight as well strike fourscore ? With these convictions staring me in the face, do not imagine, my good madam, that I suppose I can entertain one of the liveliest young men in England, and who passes his time with Mr Fox, Mr Sheridan and Mr Hare." The real rupture, however, in the friendship between him and Lady Ossory dates from the time Mary and Agnes Berry appear on the scene. " They are the best informed and most perfect creatures I ever saw of their age," he writes to Lady Ossory. This delightful family — "for the father is a little, merr}^ man with a round face " — grappled the lonely sexa- ^ Richard Fitzpatrick, celebrated as the friend of Charles Fox, as M'ell as on account of his own accomplishments, was the hon of John, first Earl of Ui3]jer Ossory, and was born on the 30th of January 1717. In his youth he served with some credit in the American War. In 1780, he was returned to Parliament as member for Tavistock ; in 1782, he was appointed secretary to the Duke of Portland, Lord-Lien tenant of Ireland, and the following year was nominated to the office of Secretary at War. His person is said to have been extremely strikincr. He was tall and handsome, his manners were peculiarly prepossessing, and there was a charm in his conversation which rendered his society more courted than that of almost any other person of his day. As Secretary at War he gave general satisfaction. In the House of Commons he was admitted to have been an able, if not a powerful speaker, and his lighter poetical compositions have no mean merit. Like his friend Fox, he was a libertine in every sense of the word. Their friendship had commenced in earlj' life, and they continued to be in- separably attached to each other to the last. The same love of pleasure, the same fatal attachment to the gaming-table, and the same redeeming taste for literature distinguished them both. In his later years, the mental as well as bodily faculties of Fitzpatrick appear to have been impaired Ijy the excesses in which he had indulged. "I witnessed," says Wraxall, "the painful spectacle of his surviving almost all the personal and intellectual graces which Nature had conferred upon him with so lavish a hand." General Fitzpatrick died on the 25th April 1813, in his 67th year. 56 Some Fair Hibernians genarian with hooks of steel, and from this time the two pearls, as he designates Mary and Agnes, took complete possession of his capricious fancy; and as there was not room in his somewhat narrow heart for his new loves, Lady Ossory had to be content with a back seat. His last letter to her is verj^ touching, as showing the embittered state of his mind : — '■'■ January^ 1789. " My dear Madam, — You distress me infinitely by show- ing my idle notes, which I cannot conceive can interest any- body. My old-fashioned breeding compels me every now and then to reply to the letters you honour me with writing, but, in truth, very unwillingly, for I seldom can have anything particular to say. I scarce go out of my own house, and then only to two or three very private places, where I see nobody that really knows anything; and what I learn comes from newspapers that collect intelligence from coffee-houses — consequently, what I neither believe nor repeat. At home I only see a few charitable elders, except some fourscore nephews and nieces of different ages, who are only brought me about once a year to stare at me as the Methusaleh of the family, and the}^ can only speak of their own contemporaries, which interests me no more than if they talked of their dolls or bats and balls. " Must not the result of all this, madam, make me a very entertaining correspondent ? And can such letters be worth reading, or can I have any spirit, when so old and reduced, to dictate ? " Oh, my good madam, dispense with me from such a task, and think how it must add to it to apprehend such letters being shown. Pray, send me no more such laurels, which I desire no more than their leaves when decked with a scrap of tinsel and stuck on Twelfth cakes that lie on the shop-boards of pastrycooks at Christmas. I shall be quite content with a sprig of rosemary thrown after me when the parson of the parish commits my dust to dust. Till then, pray, madam, accept the resignation of your ancient servant, " Orford." Lady Anne and Lady Gertrude Fitzpatrick 57 With the cessation of Horace Walpole's correspondence, we lose . touch of the family at Ampthill. Here and there we catch glimpses of the names with which he has made us so familiar, but there is nothinoc tano-ible. Wc know that, RTRLDE FITZPATKU'IC. {From a Picture, by Hoppner following the usual course of things, Collina and her sister grew up into beautiful young ladies, went to Court in high heads and hoops, and we may assume (for I here state nothing on fact) broke the heart of dozens of admirers. Some sort of blight, however, seems to have followed their path. The portrait of Lady Gertrude, beautiful as it is, has a sad expression, as of one who had suffered somewhat from the buffets of evil fortune, and yet it would appear on the surface that nothing was wanting to make their lives happy 58 Some Fair Hibernians and contented — who can tell ? The more one has to do with the inner life of those who have gone before us, the more is the truth borne in upon us that it is not the circumstances in which our lot is cast, not the adventitious accident of birth or fortune, intellect or beauty, that make or mar the whole, but it is we ourselves who build up or destroy the airy fabric of our own happiness — this may have been the case with these two sisters. Anne's over-sensibility, perhaps, brought about the result predicted by her early friend, Walpole ; while Gertrude may have turned out a hard, scoffing young person, laughing at her lover's protestations and weeping afterwards that she had driven him from her. This is all guess work, however, framed principally on looking at the beautiful but somewhat discontented face in the portrait before me. Poor little Collina, something went wrong in your life, but you are an independent soul, and, I dare swear, didn't sigh long for any false-hearted swain. . . . Then came the usual change, father and mother both dying — Lady Ossory of a painful disease which she bore with exemplary patience. Lord Ossorj^ died in 1818, and, some years later, Ampthill was sold^ — another landmark gone. This was when little Collina was nearly fifty.^ She and her sister had a house in Grosvenor Place, and spent their time between London and Ireland, where they lived in a corner of the family mansion. The country people liked them, and it was told to me that they very much resembled the Ladies of Llan- gollen in their eccentricities and amiabilities. I know not how far this is true. As I said before, the interest which attaches to these ladies is not in their own lives, but in the link they make with the past centuiy. 1 Ampthill was sold to Banni Parke. - She died in 1841. ANNK (OOIXTKSS OF CHARLEMOXT). IFn a Miniature in the jmssession of the Countess of Charlemiint. MARY BIRMINGHAM, COUNTESS OF LEITRIM ; ANNE BIRMINGHAM, COUNTESS OF CHARLEMONT The Birmino-hams are of English descent, as their name denotes. They belong, however, to the earliest plantation of settlers under Henry II., when Robert, son to William de Birmingham of Birmingham Castle, accompanied Strongbow on his expedi- tion to Ireland. Robert distinguished himself by his keen pursuit of the natives ; no man showed more zeal in hunting them from rock, cave and thicket, for which zeal he was duly rewarded by large grants of land in the west. Such grants were but doubtful blessings, the first English settlers holding, so to speak, their lives in their hands. Their adversaries had certain advantages in carrying on the predatory warfare the}" indulged in : they knew the country, and could hide themselves in the hills for weeks and months, descending when the oppor- tunity offered, slaughtering, pillaging and carrying off all they could lay their hands on. One famous instance of their suc- cess in such predatory warfare remains on record in the title " Black Monday," which owes its name to the fact that Henr}:" II, presented the tract of country surrounding the River Liffey, upon which Dublin was afterwards built (the capital at this early period being only represented by the dusky river flowing from bog and turf with some few huts and a wicker bridge),^ to his faithful subjects of Bristol. Five hundred of these crossed in rude boats the wide expanse of ocean which separates the smiling waters of the River Avon from the more turbid stream of the Liffey, and being well pleased with their new acquisition, they, on one Easter Monday, went ^ Profes.sor Dowden's "Dublin City." — Scribners, 1884. 59 6o Some Fair Hibernians a-pleasurino; in the fields, picnicing in their rouo^h fashion, — when, lo ! as the evenino- fell, down from the hills and woods, and from ambushes on all sides, rushed like a torrent the Irish, who had been waiting their opportunity, and of the luckless five hundred none, we are told, returned to the city to tell the tale of slaughter, which, however, was com- memorated by the significant title of Black Monday, while the place where it happened was called " Bloody Fields." These outbreaks on the part of the weaker party provoked the most sanguinary reprisals from the conquerors, and so the blood}^ record went on. The Birminghams, who were men of strength and purpose, seem to have been fitted by nature for this predatory warfare and to have enjoyed it. Pierce, or Peter, first Lord of Athenry, distinguished himself to the full, as much as did the original settler Robert, in the capacitj^ of harrowing, hunting and slaying the natives ; so did like- wise Sir John de Birmingham, who struck out a new hunting ground for himself, in Louth, where he planted a branch of the famil}', and was treacherously murdered by the Gormans, who were colonists of Norman descent. As time went on, we find all this savage warfare sub- siding, and the old story repeating itself of the lion lying down with the lamb ; in other words, the conquerors and the conquered were blended into one, the English settlers becom- ing, in many instances more Irish than the Irish themselves,^ and we are not surprised to find that in the fourteenth century the Birminghams with other chiefs (of English origin) being suspected of abetting rebellion, the head of the family, William, Lord Birmingham of Athenr}'-, was executed for high treason, and liuried among the friar preachers in Dublin. We need not now follow the varjnng fortunes of the twenty- two Lords of Athenry, which are set forth at length in Lodge's Peerage. They were men of courage, and came well to the front. They had a fine castle called Birmingham Castle, 1 Sir John Davies observes on the general defection of the old English into the Irish customs, "for about that time," says he, " they did not only forget the English language and scorn the use thereof, but grew to be ashamed of their very English names, and took Irish surnames and nicknames. Mary and Anne Birmingham 6 1 and as they lived in troubled and stirring times, had enough to do to defend themselves against the attacks made upon them. Francis, the nineteenth lord, maintained the rights of the Stuarts until after the battle of Worcester, when the King wrote to him from France, advising him to submit to the powers in authority, who, nevertheless, excepted him from the general pardon. His son Edward, twentieth baron, was also on the Stuart side, but, after the battle of the Boyne, William III. reversed the bill of attainder and outlawry, and he received a full pardon, his grandson, the twenty- second and last Lord of Athenry, being created Earl of Louth. Another offshoot of the family was the ancient branch of Carbery, which separated from the original stock early — a younger son of the third Lord Athenry settling in Carryck in Carbery. The family of Birmingham, to which the beautiful subjects of our present story belonged, were a branch of the Lords of Athenry, and always considered as kinsmen. They dwelt at Ross Hill, situated in perhaps the loveliest spot along the western coast. Lough Mask, one of the large tributary lakes fed by the Atlantic, lies at its feet : its clear, smiling waters are oftentimes a veil for the hidden dangers that lurk beneath a treacherous serenity, fitful and changeable as a woman's smile. The lake's smooth waters are not to be trusted, and have, rising, wooed many a trusting lover to eternal sleep, for the storm suddenly catches the unwary navigator, leaving him no chance of escape ; his boat is tossed and rent asunder amid unearthly shrieks and howls, like lost souls or demons at play. The peasants, when they hear the tumult, cower in their beds, or by the fireside ; none would dare to venture outside, for all know that the lake fiend is abroad and will do his will ; and when his mood is past, the waters will be all smiling and inviting again.^ On the summit of gently sloping hills stand the ruins of Ross Abbey, once the home of the learned order of Benedictine monks. These now lend to the scene the interest of picturesque ^ Lough Mask has a tragii; record in the murder of the Huddys during the troubles of recent times. 62 Some Fair Hibernians decay. Ross Hill, too, is a dilapidated and battered remnant oi' what was once a commodious dwelling-house, of which only a bay window is now remaining, the house having been sacked in the rising of 1798 and only the shell left. At this time the head of the house was William Birming- ham ^ who had married Miss Jane Rutledge of Bushfield, County Mayo, a beauty in her day, a gift inherited by her two daughters, Mary and Anne, who likewise were the heiresses of their father's large property, he being the last of his line. The times were terribly out of joint, and although during the childhood of Mar}^ and Anne there w^ere only grumblings of the storm, wise and prudent men foresaw that the general shipwreck was at hand. Residence in a sequestered place such as Ross Hill, where help was not easily attainable, was naturally fraught with considerable danger, especially when two beautiful and wealthy girls were the prizes which might fall to a gallant abductor. In the latter part of the eighteenth century a marked feature of Irish life was the forcible abduction of women. This outrage was either actuated by love or a desire to possess the fortune of the unfortunate victim (the latter being the more general). Sometimes it was committed with the consent of the weaker party, sometimes it was the end of an unfortunate courtship, the girl being dragged away by a man she had refused. Occasionally a woman having remained, in the opinion of her neighbours, too long unmarried, her husband was selected for her, and the abduction was arranged. The process was generally the same. In the dead of the night the lonely cottage where the victim lived was surrounded by a band of ruffians with black crape over their faces, the girl was dragged from her bed and carried to some wild district amongst the bogs and mountains, where, after some days, away from all help and terrified by the most lawless threats, she consented to go through the marriage ceremony. One of the worst features of this form of outrage was the admiration it excited in the popular mind, the perpetrator being often elevated to the rank of a hero, and his crime " The name of Birmingham was pronounced in Ireland Brummagem. Mary and Anne Birmingham 63 looked upon as a gallant achievement. Nor was abduction confined only to the lower orders. Gentlemen were often mixed up in such transactions, and some high - sounding names could be found amongst the members of the abduction clubs. An interesting case was that of the abduction by Willy Reilly of the beautiful Miss FoUiot, whose fame for loveliness and accomplishments had earned her the sobriquet of "the Lily of Longford." Her father, Colonel Folliot (or Folliard, as it was pronounced by the country people), was a man of consideration, owning a large estate in Westmeath, where the romantic drama took place, the interest of the situation being intensified in this instance by the heroine belonging to the State religion, while the hero was of an old Catholic family. This fact accounts for the unbounded popularity Willy Reilly's story achieved, and the hold it took of the imaginative Irish, always ready to range themselves upon the side of unfortunate lovers — in truth this case cannot be counted amongst those of forcible abduction, as Helen Folliot was quite willing to trust herself to the honour of her lover rather than submit to a hateful marriage, forced upon her by her father. Never- theless, in spite of every efibrt made to save him — the poor girl herself coming into Court to tell her story of their love — Willy Reilly was condemned to death, but the extreme penalty of the law was commuted to transportation. The poor Lily of Longford pined away in hopeless melancholy. Her beauty was a wa-eck and her mind was clouded by her misfortune — her one idea being to get news of Willy, With the hope of efi'ecting a cure her father made Helen go into society, where she would, so long as the parental eye was on her, conduct herself quietly though sadly. So soon as she found the opportunity, she would put the question that was for ever hovering on her lips — " Can you tell me where is Willy Reilly ? He is gone away and I cannot find him." For many years the love episode of Willy Reilly and the Lily of Longford remained enshrined in the hearts of the peasantry, and the ballad of Willy Reilly was popular at all village gatherings.^ ^ The story of Willy Reilly and the Lily of Longford is the subject of one of Carleton's popular novels. Amongst other incidents he mentions what actually 64 Some Fair Hibernians Miss Corbally's was a far less romantic abduction, the motive being the possession of her large fortune. In this instance a ruse was resorted to, a sham messenger being sent to inform her that her brother was ill and wanted her to come to him. As she was going over Essex Bridge, in Dublin three or four ruffians seized her, thrust her into a coach and drove away with her. Numbers of persons pursued the coach along the quays, but in vain. She was, however, ultimately rescued. Mrs Uelany in her autobiography relates at great length the story of the abduction of the two Miss M'Dermotts, who were heiresses to their dead father's estates in Connaught, a circumstance which excited the indignation of their cousin, Mr Flynn, who considered himself the proper heir to his uncle's property, as being the male representative of the family. He was determined to possess himself of what he considered his right, and, there being no other way, made up his mind to make Maria, the elder and richer, his wife, although she was neither young nor handsome. Mrs Delany describes her as a tall, large woman, with a sensible face, a sweet voice and great gentle- ness of manner. The proposed marriage found great favour with Flynn's family. Miss M'Dermott, however, decidedly rejected her cousin's proposals. The discomfited suitor behaved apparently with the utmost generosity, bearing his disappoint- ment like a man, only requesting the old cousinly relations should not be interrupted, all this in so friendly a manner and with such apparent good faith that the ladies showed their desire to correspond by at once accepting an invitation to spend the day with their uncle's family. Having dined, they ordered their carriage to return home, when the uncle, who had been all kindness to them, now insisted they should stay the night. They, however, remained firm in their determina- tion to leave, when they were told both servants and carriage had been sent away early in the forenoon and would come back next day. Maria at once felt a foreboding of evil ; did occur, that Reilly was accused of stealing some family jewels, which were found upon him when he was arrested. From this accusation The Lily exculpated her lover ; the jewels, it appeared were taken by her. Mary and Anne Birmingham 65 this terror remained with her while the family sat down to cards. They were in the middle of the game when suddenly men with masks rushed into the room ; the two girls rose with a horrified cry and ran into an inner room, where one hid herself under the bed, the other behind it. They were soon discovered. One of the masked villains seized upon the younger, but finding she was not the one he wanted, cursed her heartily and then laid violent hands upon Miss M'Dermott who was still under the bed. She fought manfully, says Mrs Delany. He was not with all his efforts able to drag her out until her clothes were nearly all torn off". The poor woman threw herself upon her knees to implore mercy, but, seizing her by her arms, he dragged her into the adjoining room where her uncle was standing before the fire, looking on with perfect indifference. Appealing to him was of no use, and when she was dragged into the hall, she found two hundred desperate-looking men ready to help her savage assailant. She was seized by a dozen hands, her hands and feet tied ; she was then lifted to the saddle, upon which her cousin was already seated, and securely fastened with ropes. They tried to gag her, but she resisted so violentljr that, as time pressed, they desisted. After travelling some time this spirited woman managed, by struggling violently, to free her hands, and then deftly untied the rope and slid softly from the horse ; but she was soon surrounded, and although with her back to a tree she fought for some time, she was overpowered. One of the gang ran a sword up her arm from the wrisfc to the elbow, and, fainting with pain, she was once more strapped on the horse and they travelled on again. After some time they arrived at a cabin, where she was lifted off" and consigned to the care of a woman who received orders to watch her care- fully. Finding she knew this person, the. unfortunate girl besought her to let her go, offering a large sum of money to tempt her. The hag was about to yield, when suddenly the door, opened and her persecutor returned in company with a ' The marriage, even if solemnised by a Catholic priest, would have been illegal, as the penal law on this point was then in force. 66 So7He Fair Hibernians man dressed as a priest,^ wlio tried to persuade her to be married at once, assuring her that Flynn was resolved to make her liis wife by force. Nothing daunted, Maria per- sisted in her refusal, declaring she would rather die than consent to such a marriage. The ceremony was, however, proceeded with. When they tried to force the ring upon her finger, she tore it off and, snatching up a mug of milk standing on the lire, she threw it, boiling hot, into the mock priest's face. Just then one of the party came in, and speaking in Irish, which fortunately Maria understood, told Flynn the county was in pursuit, which gave her some comfort. However, the}^ once more seized her, and, finding she was bleed- ing profusely from the wound in her arm, they were afraid to go much further, but carried her to a bog close by, where they plunged lier up to her shoulders, and placed a man, heavily armed, on each side to prevent her escaping. Her friends soon found her and released her, carrying her to the house of a gentleman in the neighbourhood, who received her most kindly, and where she had the best medical advice and care. She was in danger for twenty-one days, but finally recovered. The plunging in the bog really saved her life by stopping the bleeding. After this adventure the Miss M'Dermotts left the country and came to Dublin, where their story excited much interest. Their cause was taken up by Dean Delany, and Mrs Delany has immortalised their wonderful escape in her memoirs. The heroine was married at. Delville Church to a young man able to protect her against abductors. The case of Miss M'Dermott was fully forty years before our two heroines appeared on the stage of life. The taste for such outrages was, however, still keenly alive, abduc- tions being carried on in a more organised fashion. In 1794 there were abduction clubs for the express purpose of supply- ing the means of carrying off heiresses, this last fact proving that love was not so much the motive that actuated the abductors as money .^ 1 The last abduction case on record in Ireland must be fresh in the memory of many still living. It was somewhere in the fifties that John Garden of Barnane a gentleman of good birth and good estate, and exceedingly popular, conceived an unfortunate attachment for Miss Arbuthnot, which, not being reciprocated, in- Majy and Anne Biinninghani 67 Mr Birmingham was fully alive to the facilities that Ross Hall afforded for such an undertaking, and as he had no mind for a Willy Reilly as his son-in-law, he removed his daughters out of harm's way, and with a view to fitting them for the high position their beauty and wealth would probably com- mand, he took them to Italy, where their education was completed. They moved amongst a highly intellectual circle both at Rome and Florence, their friends being chosen as much for their mental gifts as for their station. The season of 1796 in Florence was exceptionally brilliant ; the city was crowded with English visitors — Lord and Lady Cowper, Lord Holland, Lady Webster, and a host of others. Mary Birmingham, the elder sister, was the acknowledged belle, while the dawning beauty of Anne, who was not as yet "out," was duly recognised, it being pronounced by good judges that she would equal if not eclipse her sister, a prophecy which was fulfilled. Both at this time, and all through a career marked by extraordinary success, the two girls seem to have been singularly unspoilt by the admiration they excited ; their unafiected simplicity appears to have added to their charm and won for them a number of friends. " They are all bent upon being kind to us," writes Mary Birmingham to a friend. " Lady Cowper dressed me last Saturday for a ball at the Casino, where I went with Madame d'Albani. Lady Webster and Lord Holland came, I bored myself extremely at the ball, and wherever I go I am always bored since I have been at Florence." And then she confesses with adorable candour that she is always so — "when I am not quiet : it is constitutional, so do not scold me. And as for being an old maid, do not speak against that brilliant state, for certain it will be mine as the only one I deserve." In the next paragraph she goes on to describe her dress, and considering her depressed state of mind, she takes a natural and very feminine satisfaction in dwelling on such adornment. duced Mr Garden to revive the old method of carrying off his lady-love. The number of times he essayed this feat without success, and the hairbreadth escapes of the lady would fill a small volume. Mr Garden was brought before the magis- trates scores of times ; he was fined and imprisoned — all to no purpose. No sooner was he let out than he began again. The lady, however, escaped his persecution. 68 Some Fair Hibernians " I must, however, tell you about niy dress on Saturday, for it was almost entirely the work of Lady Cowper. On my head I had a long roll of crape turned round and round, and between my hair two feathers of half a league of height, with an esprit between them ; sleeves of white satin (this is the fashion with all sorts of dresses) ; a body of purple satin with little sleeves of the same, and a purple fringe which hung on the white satin ; waist very short, and the petticoat of plain muslin ; the belt a narrow white satin ribbon with a rosette behind. This is detail enough." Madame d'Albani, mentioned in the previous letter, was the Comtesse d'Albanie, widow of the " Young Pretender," the man for whom Esmond conspired and Beatrix had a desperate quarrel with Lady Castletown, as readers of that most en- thralling romance will remember. By all accounts, he was in his later days a good-for-nothing, drunken sot, a terrible incubus on the Countess, as she was called, who was many years younger than her husband. She was a genuine princess of the House of Stolberg, and a handsome, clever, capable woman, wealthy into the bargain. Everyone knows the romantic passion she excited in the heart of Al fieri, who, during the lifetime of her husband, occupied the position of amico di casa, dining every day with the Countess and her peevish, half-fuddled consort. In 1780 the Countess's life was, according to her statement, endangered by her husband's violence when in his drunken fits.^ She therefore quitted his house, and, going to Rome, placed herself under the protection of his brother, Cardinal York. Alfieri followed her. The world, which has argus eyes for such little affairs, began to wag its malicious tongue, and Alfieri, finding the popular voice ^ The general retailer of news, our ever-gossipy Horact;, tells us what actually did happen : — " Last Wednesday the Count got so beastly drunk that he tore the Countess's hair and endeavoured to strangle her ; her screams alarmed the family, who saved her. She contrived to take shelter in a convent, and declares she will never return to her husband." Wraxall mentions in his memoirs seeing Charles Edward, in 1779, at Florence, where he made a nightly exhibition of personal humiliation : he was carried into his box at the opera by his servants, and laid upon a sofa ia the back part, while the Countess occupied the front seat, attended by Alfieri. According to this witness, she had very little pretensions to beauty. Raikes found that she had none of the ideal beauty about her which we could have imagined the object of Alfieri's love possessing. Mary and Anne Birmingham 69 against him, and having a chivah'ous desire not to compro- mise "his sovereign lady" quitted Rome and wandered about for some years, until in 1788 the death of her husband set the Countess free. Whether the lovers availed themselves of this liberty has remained always an uncertainty. They were both living in Florence in 1796. The Birminghams were very inti- mate with Madame d'Albani, who was a leader of society. She entertained a warm admiration for the two beautiful Irish girls, who fully returned her liking. " There is not a soul that interests me here but Madame Albani," writes the somewhat hlase joung philosopher, Mary. This indifference to everything, and general distaste to society, unusual in one so young, and whose charms made her the object of general admiration, may have been caused by some attachment which was not viewed favourably by her parents, or it may have been merely a girl's whim. For the rest, Mary and her sister were decidedly superior to the ordinary run of girls of their generation. Both sisters had artistic temperaments, this tendency being developed by their residence in Italy, where alone Art was properly reverenced. Mary was a fairly good artist, while Anne had a pretty gift for rhyming. Their father, too, was a man of culture, so that probably the precieuse manner adopted by Miss Birmingham was no affectation but the natural outcome of her education. She speaks of herself as being an old woman at the age of nineteen, and attributes her extraordinary gravity to the tranquility of her early life in Italy. It is pleasant, however, to find that later her girlish nature asserted itself. Her letters from Germany, where they went on leaving Italy in 1796, are actually gay, and her descriptions of social life at a small German Court a hundred years ago, are delightfully written and well worth reproducing here. " Carlsbad, ''dtkJvy, 179C. " Wednesday we were presented at the reception. I was never more astonished than with several things that occurred. In the first place we entered — my mother and I and the Baron 70 Some Fair Hibemiians Schimananski (one of our Poles). We passed quietly into another room, where the sister of the Duchess of Kurland, with a suite of twenty ladies, besieged us from behind, so we had to face round and be presented one after the other. As they were all married, I took no part, but my turn came. From the other end fifty young ladies came and made me curtseys and overpowered me with English, which they all talked. Really, at the end of a quarter-of-an-hour, with all the noise, my senses had departed, and I did not know whether I was standing on my head or my heels. In the end a young person arrived, whom everyone kissed and whom everyone hastened to present to me as one who talked English. But she was very different from the numerous crowd I had seen hitherto. She was as beautiful as an angel, and really spoke English well. We began talking to each other, and the evening passed very agreeably. But this was not all. We were in the midst of a circle of one hundred people, young men and young women, when all of a sudden a signal was given, and everyone ran to the other side of the mile with all their strength. You may judge how this ruse seized me with astonishment, and I remained quite stupefied. I thought the house had taken fire. It was only a few cups of chocolate that had caused all this fracas. Only for my charming Countess Clare, I should have remained standing in the middle of this enormous salon without a living being within a hundred steps of me. I assure you, my knees ache with all the curtseys I had to make that night. Amongst the people there were some very nice and very elegant. Madame de Rodenham, her daughters and Countess Clare, and, above all, the Prince of Saxe-Gotha was very agreeable. The Duchess of Kurland was so amiable as to ask that ray mother should be introduced to her. The eldest of the princesses, who is beautiful, is in love, they say, with the Prince of Saxe-Gotha. His father sent him here expressly to make up to her; but he doesn't care for her, and she is so used to be sought out and almost adored (for she is very rich) by many princes, that she is quite piqued with the coldness of this one. She is very beautiful. We are to be Mary and Anne Birminghoni 7 1 presented to them at the ball on Sunday or Monday, and my mother is to go to the Duchess. You know, or you do not know, that the Duke of Kurland is no longer a sovereign prince ; for, seeing the ability of the Empress of Russia, seeing the fate of the King of Poland, trembling for himself, he sold his estates a year ago to the Empress; he is now enormously rich, but no longer a sovereign. He has no son, therefore it is just as well. The gaiety of the Germans is astonishing. You can imagine how it strikes a person who has lived so long in quiet Italy, and who at the age of nineteen is almost an old woman. I am quite delighted to do my apprenticeship before returning to Ireland, where the young ladies are almost as youthful as here." Before closing this letter, she gives her correspondent an account of the ball given by the Duchess of Kurland, and from the tone of unconscious elation in the letter, it is evident that she had been much admired — especially by the Prince of Saxe-Gotha — and enjoyed her triumph as much as so sensible a young person could. " I have just returned from the ball, my dear. I danced all the possible dances, except waltzes, which are not in the least hoM ton or comme il faut. I have had more partners than I wanted, and am engaged to-night till the fourth with excellent partners, the Prince of Saxe-Gotha amongst others. He is devoted to dancing, and resembles in that, and in his manner generally, Prince Auguste. Of the Duchess and the Princesses, the mother is the most beautiful. I will tell you what the Prince of Saxe-Gotha said to me : — ' The mother is a thousand times more beautiful ; the eldest is pretty, but knows it too well, and is full of pretension ; the second is not at all so pretty, but more amiable. The little one begins already to know the attractions of her person.' Ah ! bj^-the- bye, I want to tell you a little story that the young Count Slam told me yesterday. His father was great friends with Lord Gilford, just when this one left Ireland ; they were at Milan, where Lord Gilford bored himself to death. Count 72 Some Fair Hibernians Slam said to him, — ' But, my friend, let us try Vienna ; perhaps that'll please you better.' ' Oh, no,' said the other, 'I have a horror of Vienna; I'll never go there.' After repeating verj^ often this thing, he said, — 'To satisfy you, I'll go there for ten days. I leave everything behind me here.' He went to Vienna, spent three months there without leaving it, and married Mdlle. de . Predestination, my dear ! It will be for you one day. I am going to the ball, but I should almost prefer to die than to be always in society : there is nothing which so tires the heart, the spirit and the soul. " The French are two leagues from Frankfort. What do you think of that ? " In October 1797, Mr Birmingham and his family returned to Ireland. It was hardly a felicitous moment for the introduction of the young beauties into society. Ah-eady the mutterings of the storm were heard that broke over the whole country a few months later, while the danger of foreign help supjiorting the disaffected had become a possibility. The attempt made by the French fleet at Bantry Bay (which is one of the most dramatic incidents of this sad page of Irish history) was of recent occurrence. Men's minds were still full of the danger of a foreign invasion, which had been averted mainly through the unexpected loyalty shown by the militia and the Catholics. The "United Irishmen" indeed urged that the French had attempted to land in one of the parts of Ireland where the organisation was least extended, and that if they had appeared in the north or north-west, the result would have been very diflerent. There was no doubt that a disaffected spirit in Ireland was widespread, but so also was the intimidation used by the leaders to enrol members in the association of "United Irishmen." This intimidation was carried on by small bands of conspirators, who exacted vi et armis the oath which the new member took without, in many cases, any intention of observance. In addition to this, as Mr Lecky points out with an insight into the Irish character which will be endorsed by everyone who Mary and Anne Birniinghani / o has any real knowledge of the people, disloyalty was and still is often "a fashion, a sentiment, often an amusement which has abundantly coloured the popular imagination, but which has never been strong or substantial enough to induce any genuine sacrifice in its cause." These remarks, however, would not apply to a certain sec- tion of the " United Irishmen," who were desperately in earnest in their resolve to plunge their unfortunate country in all the horrors of civil war. These men had determined on a rising so soon as a landing for their allies from France could be effected, and there was every probability that if the attempt was made again it would be successful. The drilling, marching and training of large bodies of men went on by day and night, while republican ideas were inculcated and rewards lavishly promised. French assistance was guaranteed by Bonaparte to the leaders of the rebellion of 1798, and even serious preparations were made. The French fleet was to sail from Boulogne : whether it would have reached the Irish coast, it is impossible to say, but no one can question that, if it had, the effect would have been most serious. Napoleon always repented that he had abandoned this undertaking, and con- sidered his vacillation as one of the errors of his life. It is, however, doubtful whether any large expedition could have suc- ceeded in reaching the Irish coast. If it had done so, no one could have seriously questioned the gravity of the situation. Humbert's expedition cannot be regarded in any light but as a comedy, a comedy that ended tragically for the actors therein. It seems hardly credible that, after the fiasco of " La Hoche," another such invasion should have been attempted ; yet it actually happened, the scene being on this occasion Killala instead of Bantry Bay ; here, on August 22, 1798, a small flotilla of three frigates made its appearance, the English flag flying from their masts. Its commander, Humbert, had a small force of 1000 men and a large cargo of uniforms wherein to clothe the natives as good French (Republican) soldiers. The result of the expedition is well known, the last scenes presenting the usvial savage and revolting features which marked the course of this bloody 74 Some Fail' Hibernians risin*;-. The loss of property was enormous. The claims sent in by those who had suffered in the cause of loyalty amounted to £823,517. "But who," writes Gordon, "could estimate the damages of the croppies,^ whose houses were burned and effects pillaged and destroyed, and who, barred from com- pensation, sent in no estimate to the Commissioners ? " The moral scars left upon the country were, however, far worse than any loss of property which, as a matter of fact, was only a temporary evil. The spring of national prosperity, being agriculture, was bound to recover itself, given certain condi- tions. In the very height of the struggle, Beresford wrote that it was " most strange and extraordinary that the revenue every week was rising in a degree that had been hitherto unknown." The harvest of 1798,^ fortunately, was exception- ally good, and this fact did more than any measure that Government could bring forward to alleviate the general panic. Society likewise recovered (especially in the capital) with wonderful elasticity. In reading of the upheavals that have taken place from time to time in this part of the world, nothing is more surprising than the recuperative power evinced by those who have passed over the fiery plough- shares of life, which, we imagine, would have hopelessly crushed more refined and sensitive organisations. Had we lived through some national crisis, and been deprived of friends, home and fortune as these were, we imagine we could never have built up the foundation of fresh happiness. We should have done so, for the human mind is always the same in its elasticity. And so we come to under- stand that in an incredibly short space of time the actors who played their parts (either for good or evil) in the most harrowing scenes of the Rebellion of 1798 resumed their places on the stage of society, and liaving buried the hatchet shook hands with their opponents.^ 1 Croppies, a term of contempt from the song, " Croppies" or " Cropped heads lie down." - In the month of August, Lord Clare noticed the rich corn crops that were ripening over the districts through which he passed. He also observed that the peasants were everywhere returning to their ordinary occupations. 3 The moral effect of the Rebellion made a more lasting impression than did Mary and Aiine Birininghaui 75 The season of 1799 was a brilliant one in the little Irish capital, which was full to overflowing with the nobility and country gentlemen, with their wives and daughters, who had come to town to spend their last halfpenny in a gentlemanly manner, and do honour to the King's representative, Lord Corn- wallis, who had, for he was a soldier as well as a politician, taken the field against the rebels, and saved the country from the French invaders. The Viceroy was surrounded with a brilliant staff; so, too, was Lord Carhampton, the Com- mander-in-chief ; the Chief Secretary was Lord Castlereagh,^ the first Irishman who had held the post. Castlereagh was exceptionally clever, and his busy brain was now working out the intricate problem how to force his great scheme of uniting Ireland to England upon the people and the country. This scheme, as everyone knows, he carried into efiect by the most outrageous bribery the following year. It would be quite unnecessary to enter here upon the story of this historical event, which changed the whole social con- dition of Ireland, and gave a blow to the Protestant nobility and gentry from which they have never since recovered.^ the ruin which it undoubtedly brought upon the upper classes. A lady who visited Ireland in ] 801 found that the Rebellion was the prominent object in the minds of most of those who passed through it. "It is their principal epoch, and seems to have divided time into two grand divisions, unmarked by any lesser periods, before and after the Rebellion ; the first of these seems to resemble Paradise before the Fall. They bad then good servants, fine flowers, fine fruit, fine horses, good beer and plenty of farm, that indispensable requisite in rural economy. Since that period of perfect felicity, the servants have been unmanage- able, the horses restive, the beer sour, the farm uncome-at-able, and all things scarce and dear. Great part of the evils complained of are undoubtedly felt ; some are imaginary, and some arise from causes which are not so important or so pleasant to put forward as the word rebellion." Mrs Trench's remarks on the truth of this last observation were exemplified in the recent troubles in Ireland, — " The cry of the ruined landlord was often raised not so much by those who actually suffered from the times as by these who were ruined by other causes, but found it more pleasant to put forward the land agitation." 1 Robert Stewart, Lord Castlereagh, son of Robert Stewart of Ballylawn, Co. Donegal, and Mount Stewart, Co. Down, who was created a viscount in 1795, an earl in 1796, and Marquis of Londonderry in 1816. Lord Castlereagh was a dis- tinguished politician, and stood out as a central figure in Irish history, and to him was due the Act of Union. He is constantly mentioned in Lord Charlemont's letters as " Our dear friend Robert, a very able young man, who unfortunately was Pittised with a vengeance." " A singular proof of the effect produced by the Act of Union is afforded by one fact alone. In 1799 there were in Dublin fifty-seven resident peers, with fine mansions and large retinues of servants. At the present moment there is not one resident nobleman. The last who had a house in Dublin being the late Lord .James Butler, but this solitary relic of a bygone nobility sold his mansion in Rutland 76 Some Fair Hibernians The opposition to the Act came altogether from men of this chiss, who, under the leadership of Oriel Foster, the Speaker of the House of Commons, made a maonificent figlit for their rights throughout the winter of 1799-1800. Tlie fight went on, the most splendid display of eloquence being made by Grattan, Foster and Sir John Parnell ; it was a death struggle, but the result was easy to prophesy. Everyone is familiar with the sa^ang of the gentleman who wished he had THE LAST .SiTTl>;u OF THE JIUSH HOUSE OF COMMONS. a country to sell, and even the most ardent patriot must own that Irishmen who possessed this treasure were willing to part with it^ for a consideration. The most fervid eloquence Square some years before his death. We cannot, however, shut our eyes to the fact that a similar depletion of the titled class would in all pi'obability have taken place under any circumstances. The story of the Encumbered Estates Court thi'ows considerable light upon the causes (other than political) of the decay of the Irish nobility. ^ The revelations made by the publication of the Secret Service Records unfold a curious chapter in Irish history. Mary and Anne Birmingham "jy could not make head against the bribes offered hy Castlereagh, who drew from the English Exchequer over a million, while peerages were scattered broadcast. Meanwhile, society profited by the general stir and com- motion. Dublin was crowded to excess, and upheld its reputation as the gayest of capitals. Lord Cornwallis and Lord Castlereagh ^ were diffuse in their hospitalities, the latter and his young wife, daughter to the somewhile Viceroy of Ireland, the Earl of Buckingham, surrounding themselves with a group of the most attractive women and the most distinguished men. The Miss Birminghams were special favourites with both Lord and Lady Castlereagh. Mr Birmingham had suffered considerably for his loyalty dur- ing the recent troubles. Ross Hill had been surrounded by the rebels, and hardly a stone of it was left standing. This alone would have given a claim on Lord Castlereagh's friend- ship, without the addition of having two lovely daughters. The Miss Birminghams, for Anne was now a fully-fledged young lady, were the belles of the Dublin season of 1799. Since the days of the Gunnings, no greater beauties had ap- peared, and, as Horace Walpole had said of the first-named, the fact that they were two equally handsome increased the effect, for, taken singly, there were many women quite as beautiful. " I never saw two such beautiful creatures as the Birming- hams," writes Lady Morgan ; " the youngest the loveliest of the two." This would appear to liave been the universal opinion. Mary, however, had special charms of her own. She was full of esprit, as we have seen by her corre- spondence, with a true artistic nature, as was evidenced by her fitful moods. She was engaged, before the end of this season of 1799, to the eldest son of Lord Leitrim, and was married to him early in 1800. There is little heard of her after this. We have glimpses of her occasionally, but her name was not so well known in the world of fashion, both at ^ Until within the last twenty years, " Union Lord " was a term of reproach, as revealing the fact that the recipient of this honour had sold his country. In person Lord Castlereagh was calm, engaging, mild and dignified. His enemies have often as- cribed his unfortunate end to remorse for having, as the saying goes, sold his country. A politician's conscience is hardly so tender, and, as a matter of fact, Lord Castle- reagh, who had then become Londonderry survived the Act of Union nineteen years. 78 Souic Fair Hibernians home and abroad, as that of Anne, who, in 1802, when she was barely twenty, became the wife of Francis William, second Earl of Charlemont, who had succeeded his father in 1799. No two men could be more unlike than this father and son. The character of the great Earl, as he is called, has been admirably sketched by Mr Lecky, who says : " In him Ireland lost a true patriot, who had for a short time played a leading and very honourable part in her history, and the trans- parent disinterestedness of his public life, the sound- ness and moderation of his judgment, and the readiness with which he was always })repared to devote time, labour and money to the public good, established his position. In one critical moment," Mr Lecky adds, " Charlemont's services to his country had been trans- cendently great." This moment was the formation of the Volunteer Corps, the hnest body of men ever Ijrought together. " The Ijrief career of the Volun- teers," writes Mr Wingfield, " stands as a unique ex- ample in Irish history. Urged by a strange series of events, Ireland rose up from her dust-heap and was clad for the nonce in glorious raiment." It was in February 1782 that the delegates of one hundred and forty-three corps of Ulster Volunteers met in the great churcli of Dungannon in full uniform. Many of them were men of high rank, large property, excellent character, and they conducted their debates with a gravity, decorum and modera- tion which no assembl}' could surpass. The result of the AN Ihl-^U \ULLMhH Mary and Anne Birininghavi 79 meeting was the victory of the Bill of Rights, which was wrested from the then Minister, Lord North, and gave to the Catholics of Ireland a larger measure of freedom than they had hitherto enjoyed. It was mainly due to Grattan that this great victory was achieved. Mr Lecky tells us how this great and eloquent man moved the amendment in the Irish House of Commons : — " he was still weak and pale from recent illness, and his appearance denoted the evident anxiety of his mind, but as he proceeded his voice gathered strength, and the tire of a great orator, acting on the highly-excited and sympathetic audience, soon produced even more than its wonted effect." The strange, swaying gestures which were habitual to him were compared by one observer to the action of the mower as his scythe sweeps through the long grass, and by another to the rolling of a ship in a heavy swell. Another name which must be for ever associated with the Volunteers is that of the first Lord Charlemont. He, more than any other man, devoted himself to the development of a move- ment which he conceived was for the good of the country he loved so well. To it he gave his best energies, his influence, his money, his time, his whole heart — and for some years there seemed every prospect that his hopes would be realised, and that a permanent benefit had been secured to Ireland. The Volunteers grew more and more into a national militia — self-constituted, self-governed, and, for the most part, self- armed ; they had attained a degree of discipline little inferior to the regular army, and were doing excellent work in guarding jails, keeping order at public meetings, and other services usually performed by the military or police. Their reviews, which were generally held in College Green, were on a scale of great splendour, as is seen in Wheatley's picture. See p. 81. Unfortunately, the serpent of distrust began to creep into the hitherto united body of Volunteers. Some of the members grew to look upon the development of the movement with alarm, and to doubt that so large a force could be kept under proper control. The Duke of Leinster was one of these. Napper Tandy, who was tainted with the doctrine of revolution which was in the air, moved that the So Some Fair Hibernians Duke should be expelled from the division, and was at once expelled himself. This was the beginning of the downfall of this splendid body of men who had been actuated by a truly patriotic spirit. As Lord John Russell says, there is no sadder chapter in the sad chronicle of Ireland than their fall ; but, he adds, the characters of Lord Charlemont and Mr Grattan deserve to be drawn with a pencil of light. Purer and more upright statesmen have never adorned the annals of any country. To a man of Lord Charlemont's elevated mind, KAHL OF CHAKLKMUNT. the falling away of the Volunteers from their original standard and their lapsing into disaffection, was a sore trial, which darkened the closing years of his life. A lesser one was the knowledge that his son and successor inherited no spark of the spirit of patriotism which had burned so ardently in his own breast. Francis Caulfeild, second Earl of Charle- mont, does not stand out as a central figure in the history of his country. It is often the case that Nature seems to exhaust her gifts, either personal or mental, in one generation, and does Mary and Anne Birmingham 8i not repeat them in the next. There is not mucli to record of the. second earl. In his youth his somewhat dissipated habits had caused considerable anxiety to his father, and in the corre- spondence published by the Historical Commission we find one or two beautiful letters from him to his son. Later on, Mr Caulfeild represented Charlemont (a pocket borough) and on his first night in Parliament made a commendable debut; but here his political career ended. Neither did the second earl inherit the artistic tastes of the first or Great THE VOLUNTEEES IN COLLEGE GKEEX, FKOJI THE I'RILLL L\ UIU.VILI \, 1. A. Earl, who was a nobleman " after the pattern of Chesterfield or Rockingham." The latter was his intimate friend, and they vied with one another in collecting the finest pieces of sculpture, the best paintings, the most elegant ornaments. The letters of Lord Charlemont to his friend Malone, which have been lately published by the Historical Commission, testify that the sums of money he spent upon statues books, paintings, intaglios, vases were enormous for the time in which he lived, but would not be thought much in our own day, when a volume of scarce, old printing will fetch two or three hundred pounds. We find that the price 82 Some Fair Hibernians given by Lord Charlemont to Hogai-th's widow for "The Lady's Last Stake" was only one hundred pounds, and for the "Gate of Calais" the same; the bust of Rockingham, by Nollekens, only cost fifty pounds. Still, although the cost of each article taken separately was, according to our views, small, the aggregate amounted to thousands, and the collec- tion of articles of virtu was unrivalled, Charlemont House was built, in 1763, from the design of Sir William Chambers, who, in March of that year, wrote to the Earl : — " I have sent herewith a plan of the manner in which I think The Sweepstakes should be ornamented. As you cannot have a court deep enough to turn carriages in without throwing the house too far back to be an ornament to the street, 1 have designed the entrances with piers at the two extremities of the court, and the space between them may be closed with iron grilles, which will look well." Tlie fact that the Great Earl had chosen Rutland Square for his town residence made the locality at once fashionable, every house being occupied by noblemen or gentlemen of the highest position. On the parade day of the Volunteers a guard of honour would be detailed to wait upon tlie Colonel, Lord Charlemont, and accompany him and a brilliant staff to College Green, where the reviews were held. In addition to these advantages, the Rotunda Gardens were at that time a fashionable resort, and nightly crowded with the beaux and belles of Dublin. Sic transit gloria mundi, the ominous flag of the house-agent now decorates most of the deserted tenements in Rutland Square, and a few nursery- maids are the only tenants of the Rotunda Gardens.^ Charlemont House, large as it was, could not contain 1 During the lifetime of .James Molyneux, the late and last Earl of Charlemont, Charlemont House and Marino were the scene of many a pleasant revel. On one occasion a fancy ball took place, when Lord Charlemont appeared in the uniform worn by his famous ancestor as Colonel of the Volunteers. The historic house in Rutland Square lent itself to such revels. Like a ci-devant beauty, anxious to live up to her former reputation, it resumed for the night a touch of its old magni- ficence ; it was, however, only a flash before final darkness. Charlemont House has been for many years a Government office. Its fine rooms and spacious library are partitioned off to suit the different requirements of red-tapeism. On the last occasion upon which I visited Charlemont House I was painfully impressed by its desolate aspect. There was tlie silent coldness of official life, the only interrup- Alary and Anne Biiininghani Z^^ all the treasures amassed by the artistic Earl; and in 1789 Chambers was again called upon to send over plans for a country residence. Marino lies in a prettily- wooded country not more than half-an-hour's drive from Dublin; it unites the charm of a fine dashing seaboard to its inland advantages, and it was not surprising that the quiet of the sequestered retreat, upon which he had lavished care and money, appealed strongly to one of the Earl's temperament. By degrees he withdrew there almost altogether. In the grounds he •caused to be erected a delightful casino, from a design of Sir William Chambers. "It was the very perfection of architectural elegance, being of the Sicilian Doric order, constructed of stone of dazzling whiteness and raised upon a square base." The entrance was ornamented by a series of chiaroscuros of classical subjects; the designs by Cipriani, executed under the superintendence of Verpyle. Marino ^ was very dear to Lord Charlemont's heart, especially after the disappointments which attended the breaking up of his cherished hopes in regard to the situation of Ireland. Like many another, what he loved most was a matter of indifference to his heir. Neither Lord nor Lady Charlemont had any affection for Marino. Her early education made her care more for foreign life, and the first years of her marriage were spent abroad. At Florence she found her former friend, the Comtesse d' Albanie grown older and fatter, but kind as ever. Lady Mansfield described to Moore the eftect Lady Charlemont's beauty produced upon the enthusiastic Italians. " Last night, at the Comtesse d'Albanie's, they were ready to fall down on their knees and worsliip her." Her portrait undoubtedly presents a lovely face, contour perfect, the eyes large and starlike, the mouth irresistible. " Thoroughly unspoilt by tion the footfall of a chance visitor echoing on the marble hall. As I stood there. I peopled the silent house with the forms of the brilliant throng who had been wont to assemble there — the beauties, the wits, the statesmen, the politicians. Grattan, Burke, Flood, Ireland's loved Kildare, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and his lovely Pamela. What a shifting scene ; what a rustle of silken skirts up and down the grand staircase ; what laughter and chatter fi-om those rosy lips, with now and then an occasional oath or doubtful story. ^ Marino, like Charlemont House, is sold. It is nc^w the property of the Christian Brothers. 84 Some Fair Hibernians nil the homage paid to her, that beautiful creature, Lad}- Charlemont," writes Moore, "has not yet seen Lord Byron's tribute to her beauty." The lines he alludes to appeared in the first edition of " Don Juan," but were later expunged, pro- bably by the wish of Lord Charlemont, who may not have liked his wife's name to be associated with a poem so universally co)idemned. Here are the lines as they originally stood : — " There was an Irish lady, to wliose bust I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was A frequent model ; and if e'er she must Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling laws, They will destroy a face which mortal thought Ne'er compassed, nor less moilal chisel wrought." And nine years later, writing to Bowles, he says : " The head of Lady Charlemont, when I first saw her, seemed to possess all that sculpture could require for the Ideal." There is constant mention in Moore's diary of Lady Charlemont. Tlie poet was on terms of intimacy with both husband and wife ; the latter's love of rhyming, however, made a special bond of union. " Lady Charlemont is again on the wing to Dublin," writes Rogers, " as beautiful as ever. She talks of j-uur songs with the same enthusiasm she used to do." Lady Charlemont's own verse was like that of man}- amateurs — graceful but feeble. Two or three of her poems are now lying before me : they are very much of the character that we find in some of the inferior annuals or books of beauty of the period. The first of these is an epitaph on j)ooi Braham, wliose tomb is erected on the top of three pollards at Beechgrove, Killadoon. Braham was a pet canary bird evidently much cherished by his mistress. The verses to his. memory are not, however, so remarkable as the lines on the singular death of poor Cob, a favourite swan who committed felo-de-se : — "To terminate his mortal span. Impatient of Time's dull delay, He flew upon the scythe of man." These lines someway convey a reminiscence of Mrs Leo- Ma 7y and A n ne Birni ijigh am 85 Hunter's "Frog," and we turn with more pleasure to the following, which have a certain go in them : — " Away with melancholy, Nor doleful dirges bring On life and human folly. But merrily, merrily sing. Oil, what's the use of sighing, When life is on the wing ? Can we prevent its flying ? Then merrily, merrily sing." Lady Charlemont might have been satisfied with her gift of divine beauty, and have let alone meddling with the Muses, her gifts not lying in that direction. Her ambition, how- ever, was to be not only a poetess but a blue of the first order, a fact which her devoted admirer, Byron, acknow- ledges with much sorrow. But so potent was the spell of her beauty that even this lapse into what he held in especial aversion was forgiven by him. Jn a long diatribe against the hated blue, he saj^s, alluding to Lady Charlemont : " I say nothing of her , . , look in her face and you forget all — everything else .... Ah, that face ! — to be beloved by that woman, I would build and burn another Troy." Lady Charlemont's blueism need not have alarmed Byron, she being in reality quite as silly as any woman should be. The family traditions are full of the poor beauty's sprospositos, which equal, if they do not surpass, Lady Coventry's, as when she heard someone talking in praise of Lord Bacon's works, she said, " 0/i, CJiarlemovt, do let us have a hacon." And on another occasion, when stagheaded trees were under dis- cussion, she proffered the request to have an avenue of stagheaded trees. On one occasion when she dined with Lady her hostess sent her down to dinner with the American minister whose name began with Van. To his surprise, his beautiful neighbour questioned him closely as to the habits of lions and tigers, and when he professed ignorance she said earnestly, " Ah, you must tell me, Mr Van Hamburg, what you feel when you have your head in the lion's mouth." ^ ' Van Hamburg, a famous lion tamer. 86 Some Fail' Hibernians Beaut}' is a perishable gift, as we all know, but somehow it gives one a shock Av^hen later this passage occurs in Moore's diary : " I think Bessy (his wife) looked even prettier than Lady Charlemont ; but then she is younger." Alas ! for the flight of years that dims even such glorious eyes as hers. Tears had, perhaps, some share in dimming their brilliance — Rachel mourning for her children. Once more we quote from the ever-garrulous Moore. " 1827. Went down to the Charlemonts' to pass the day at a very pretty place near Teddington. They were just recovering the loss of one of their daughters, who died of a long illness. The other girl, a very lovely person, felt it so much that they have great fears for her." Those fears were realised — the Honourable Emily Caulfeild died that year, 1829 — her death being preceded by that of the only surviving son, James, Lord Caulfeild, a 3'oung man of much j)romise. These sad bereavements (which always seem to fall at the moment when advancing years make the trial all the harder to bear) changed the bright aspect of Lady Charlemont's life. She was just preparing to live again in the triumphs of her beautiful daughters, but from this period we hear little more of her. In 1837 she lost her husband, and three years later her sister, Lady Leitrim, To the children of this last she was much attached, extending her affection to the second generation, by whom " Aunt Charlemont," in spite of her fidgety ways, was much loved. In her old age there was no trace of the beauty which had charmed Byron and Moore. She was a tiny, shrivelled old lady. She drove about Dublin in an old-fashioned chariot, with a hannnercloth, upon which were emblazoned the Charlemont arms, a fashion which has passed away with the chariot. To the last, Lady Charlemont kept up her hlue tendencies, attending lectures at the Dublin Society House, and patronising all artistic gatherings. She was lady of the bed-chamber to the Queen up to 1854. She died at her residence, 14 Upper Grosvenor Street, on December 23, 1876, at the advanced age of ninety-iive. [From fhf ()rl,jhi'il Piclure lnj l:«iiiiieii. in Ihe /» nfllie Hon. derahl I'onsonbij. SARAH CURRAN (17 8 0-1808) Not far from Cork there is a small town called Newmarket, which in olden days was peopled by vassals or kerns of the great Desmond family, by name M'Auliffe. The M'AulifFes were a resolute clan ; they shared the opinions and they suffered the same fate as did their chief, the Desmond of Queen Elizabeth's day. The M'Auliffes, being, so to speak, cleared out of the way, were succeeded by the Aldworths, a planting of James the First. The Aldworths did not care to inhabit M'Auliffe Castle, which was picturesque but uncom- fortable, requiring a host of retainers to defend it against the attacks of wandering marauders. So it was let go to ruin in a most picturesque manner, while the new-comers built themselves a plain, substantial dwelling called New- market House, with a long, straight avenue, thickly planted with elm, sycamore and beech trees, which we are told " grew into giants, for the Aldworths, although good and liospitahle were not extravagant." There is an unconscious irony in this remark most diverting. Amongst the inhabitants of the small town of Newmarket there was one family whom the Aldworths distinguished by especial acts of patronage. The Currans were of English origin, and had followed the Aldworths when they had been transplanted to Ireland. The first of the family had been (in view of his fidelity) appointed to the post of seneschal of the town ; his son married Sarah Philpot, a thorough gentlewoman, " with a woman's deep, fresh but irregular moods." Sarah's mind was like the clear river of her native town, that came gushing from the lonely mountains down to the village. She hid under a somewhat cold and severe exterior a waste of 87 S8 Some Fair Hibernians passions, traditions and aspirations, all lying in a tumultuous jumble in her soul, and in their turn being overpowered by intense love for her son, John Philpot. The affection between the mother and son was deep and strong, and to her influence may be traced that love of his country for which he was remarkable. In his boyhood she flooded his mind with stories and memories of the bygone glories of Ireland, and filled his young heart with soft lullabies that permeated his very being. It was Mrs Curran's wish that her son should enter the Church. He was therefore sent in 1767 to Trinity College, where he was entered as a sizar; but in 1770 he got a scholarship, and, abandoning the Church, turned his attention to the Bar. The College boys were a most unruly set ; they mixed up in every fight and frolic of the city. An internecine warfare waged continually between them and the townsmen, and on these occasions the college gown became a weapon, for in its folds was concealed a heavy key. In every scrape John Philpot Curran was the foremost rioter. It was said of him that he was the wittiest, the dreamiest, the most classical and ambitious, the wildest and the most mischievous scamp in Trinity College. The youth is father to the man, and all through his life Curran retained these characteristics. His character has been somewhat misrepresented by his biographers, who, while they talk of his witty sayings and quote his puns, take little note of the fervid nature, the passion of which shines through those luminous eyes which look at us from his well-known portrait by Lawrence, and which light up his face like coals of fire — a face, by the way, by some called ugly, but which, neverthe- less, possessed, as some ugly faces do, a most extraordinary attraction, especially for women. His unprepossessing appear- ance and his great success with the fair sex was commemorated in a small compass by his friend, Mrs Battier, (one of the Dublin blue-stockings), who wrote the following couplet : — " For though his monkey face might fail to woo her, Yet, ah, his monkey tricks would fain undo her." Sarah Curran 89 His nature was intensely sensitive. His love for his mother continued all through his life, and did not cease with her death.i He married his cousin, Miss Creagh of Newmarket, who was eminentl}^ unsuitable as a wife. He was, however, passionately attached to her, in spite of her affectations, her laziness and her inordinate conceit. Curran had no means save what his intellectual qualities would gain for him, but these were of such a striking order that, instead of being surprised at his eminent success, the wonder would have been had such a man failed. He rose rapidly at the Bar, his reputation being greater amongst his friends than with the public — a sure sign, his biographer says, of a genuine man. His first great case was against Lord Doneraile, and, in consequence, he was challenged by Captain St Leger and fought a duel — not by any means the only encounter in which Curran took part.- A lawyer in those days had need to be a good shot, for a duel often followed a day's work in the Courts, and such affairs rather increased than diminished a man's reputation. The Irish Bar at this time presented a scintillation of brilliant men — Burke, Plunkett, Wolfe (Lord Kil warden), Toler, (Lord Norbury) Yelverton, O'Grady, all men of remarkable talent and keen wit." Curran took his place in the foremost rank, being counted one of the ablest men in certain cases. Unfortunately, as his business increased, he had less time to give to family ^ The epitaph he placed on her tomb is a touching record of his filial affection — Here lies the body of Sarah Curran. She was marked by many years, many talents, IMany virtues, few failings, Xo crime. This memorial was placed here l)y a son — whom she loved. - He fought a duel with Lord Clare, the Chancellor, when he was Mr Fitz- gibbon. ^ They were all Monks of the Screw, a society under the care of the Patron Saint of Ireland —St Patrick. Their convent was in Kevin Street, where their somewhat noisy meetings took place. Curran wrote the charter, which ran : — "When St Patrick our order invented, And called us the Monks of the Screw, Good rules he revealed to our abbot, To guide us in what we should do. But first he replenished his fountain With liquor, the best in the sky, And we swore by the word of his saintship That fountain should never run dry." 90 Sojne Fair Hibernians life, and the happiness which had marked the earlier years of his married life suffered a total eclipse. Mrs Curran com- plained of the dulness of The Priory, a place Curran had bought near Dublin. " An ugly villa," says one who knew it, " built in the usual style of the suburban architecture of the day." Mrs Curran's solitude (for Curran was undoubtedly not domestic) was cheered by the constant visits of an intimate friend of lier husband — the vicar of the adjoining church — who took a kindly interest in the lady's welfare. The usual result followed — the Rev. Mr Sandys eloped with Mrs Curran, leaving four children of different ages without a mother's care. This blow was keenly felt by Curran, and it may be said that he never recovered from it, his genial nature being tinged from this time with a certain bitterness, his affections growing colder. It was noted that from the time of his wife's desertion, Curran, when he pleaded in a divorce suit, was remarkable for his scathing denunciations of the male offender. On one occasion, the eloquence with which he described the consequences of the fault, and the touching- picture he drew of the deserted husband and neglected children, affected the listeners deeply. There was not a dry eye, we are told, in the Court, and the jury assessed the damages at the unprecedented sum of £10,000. Unfortunately, in his own family, Curran made the mis- take of punishing the children (who had suffered as much, if not more, than he had, from losing their mother's care) for their mother's fault — not that he treated them with either severity or unkindness, but he set up a barrier between him- self and them that they could not pass. He encouraged no demonstrations of affection, and although willing that they should have all the advantages of his wealth and position, he neither sought their intimate friendship nor invited them to repose confidence in him.- If he had done so, Sarah Curran's pitiful story might never have been written. She, 1 Richard, Henry, Amelia and Sarah. - It must be reniemljered, however (when judging Curran's conduct as a father), that in the last century and beginning of this, parents and children were on a totally different footing from what they are in our day. The formal respect, the unquestioning obedience, the abject fear have given place to an equality aiid independence of thought and opinion which, although it may be more healthy, is Sarah Cur^'an 91 it was said, stood especially in awe of her father, being of a delicate and timorous nature, carefully concealing the depth of her nature and its capabilities of loving. Had she lived in less stirring times her path might have been peaceful and happy, but the history of her country was bound up in the sad tragedy of her life, and I must again ask the indulgence of my readers while we take a glance at what brought about her misfortunes. The short, wild rising of 1798, which had choked every prison in Ireland with prisoners, was over, and the new panacea of a union between the countries — Pitt's pet scheme — had been forced upon an unwilling country. We have seen that it was more unpopular with the northern and Protestant section than with tlie Catholics of the west and south. The Presbyterians and Dissenters were filled with distrust of the measure. Castlereagh, however, was bent on carrying it through, and did so at the expense of his own credit, which was considerably lowered by the bribes he distributed to the jpatTiotic members of the Irish Parliament. The moment, moreover, was ill-chosen, and the result was at first not commensurate with the outlay. In 1803 the countr}' was still seething with agitation, when Robert Emmet stood forward as the new champion of Ireland's wrongs. Amongst many enthusiastic patriots, few were so sincere in their en- thusiasm as this youth, round whose story a halo of romance has been cast which enlists the sympathy even of the most earnest enemy of such sentimental vapouring as he indulged in.^ nevertheless liable to the danger hinted at in the old proverb, Too much familiarity begets contempt. Curran's coldness was principally displayed towards his younirer children. To Henry, his youngest son, he showed a marked dislike. Cyrus Redding, who was on intimate terms with Henry Curran, describes him as a most interesting and amiable man whose life was darkened by this shadow — to which he occasionally alluded — attributing it to a very obvious reason. ' One of the foremost opposers of the Union was Plunket. " For my part," he said, "I will resist it (the Union) to the last gasp of my existence and with the last drop of my })lood, and when I feel the hour of my dissolution approaching, I will, like the father of Hannibal, take uiy children to the altar and swear them to eternal hostility against the invaders of their country's freedom." Often enough did the disturbers of Ireland's peace found their justification on these impassioned words. A little reflection, however, shows how wiser counsels prevailed over genuine patriotism. Had Mr Plunket persevered in his wild vow, the scaffold would have intercepted its performance, and Ireland would have lost an able Chancellor, as well as a bishop and archbishop. 92 Sojne Fair Hibemiians Robert Emmet had from his childhood been bred up in -^ - •^ A ^ 4- ' ^^^"%iiii^^ 1 ...rt^^' ■^' -iiiii- . ■ MAKGLEKITK, COUNTESS OF BLESSING TUN. [After Sir Thomas Lawn MARGUERITE POAVER, COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON {Born 1790.— Died 1849.) The life of this woman, endowed as she was with natural gifts of singular excellence, and favoured in no ordinary degree by the good things of fortune, presents a curious example of that perversity with which some human beings (like the moth round the candle) rush upon their own de- struction. According to the new theories, they are powerless to avert by any efforts of their own the downward tendencies which produce such fatal results. This unhealthy exculpa- tion of all wrong-doing, by shifting the blame from the actual sinner to his progenitor, is not, borne out by fact. A more logical explanation is to be found in the M'^ant of early training and discipline, which lies at the root of many a wasted life. This want is to the individual what the lack of a rudder is to a boat — without it we are at the mercy of every wind and wave of capricious fortune. Marguerite Power was all through her chequered career to feel what it was to be tossed liither and thither without any definite guide but her own inclinations. She had no standard as to right or wrong, no settled belief, unless we can count as such a profound indifference to public opinion. Her impulses were all good, but her life was, if not an open scandal, an outrage upon the received laws of society. All this can easily be traced to the lax principles which prevailed in her father's house. Edmund Power of Knockbrit, in the County Tipperary, was a typical Irishman as existing a hundred years ago — hasty in temper, extravagant in habits, fond of play, horses, wine 141 142 Some Fair Hibernians and revelry, inattentive to business, improvident in expendi- ture. He was a fine-looking man, of imposing appearance, demonstrative in the matter of frills and ruffles, much given to white ties and the wearing of leather breeches and top- boots. His sobriquets were — " Shiver the Frills," " Beau Power," and " Buck Power," the last being the distinguish- ing appellation of a man of fashion. Mr Power had married the daughter of an unfortunate Mr Sheehy, who, for supposed comj^licity in rescuing some prisoners, had suffered the extreme penalty of the law. ^ Mrs Power seems to have been a gentle lady, who occupied her- self principally in increasing her family. The Powers had numerous children and but small fortune. The times, more- over, were considerably out of joint, and it would have required a steadier head than Edmund Power possessed to steer clear of the rocks and quicksands which beset the path of an Irish gentleman. The Powers were a Catholic family, and, in consequence, Edmund Power was not on the roll of magistrates, no Papist being allowed to hold any office of trust. - Mr Power got rid of this disability by con- ^ Edimind Sheehy, James Farrell and James Buxton were tried at the Kil- kenny Assizes in April 1766, and true bills were found against them for the murder of John Bridge. They were executed a week after their sentence was passed. According to the barbarous custom of the time, their heads were to be severed from their bodies and spiked over the gaol. Mr Sheehy 's relations tried to spare his widow this last trial, and were given a hint by the authorities that if, after the severance had been accomplished, any person was in readiness to bear it off, the soldiers would not be too zealous to prevent its removal. Accordingly, no sooner was Edmund Sheehy's head struck from his body than a rush was mad^ by some one in the crowd, who seized the head and fled with it, the soldiers making a free passage. It was a woman servant who performed this act of devotion. - It was not only the Catholics who were kept down by the dominant upper class, but the inferior clergy and smaller gentry of the Protestant religion were treated in a contemptuous, overbearing manner by those of higher rank. The case of Mr Higgins and the scene of bullying that went on at a Grand Jury dinner at Kilmainham is typical of the times. Lord Santry gave the toast, " To the glorious memory of King William." Mr Rowley. — And may he be hanged as high as Hainan who refuses it. Lord Santry. — No, that's too good for him. May he be starved to death. Itcv. Mr Higcfins. — Pray, Mr Rowley, sir, let us have no cursing here ; as mucli blessing as you choose. Mr Roivley. — Sir, they can't be cursed too much who refuse, for it is to liim we owe all our lives, liberties and pi'operty. Mr ffigr/ins. — Under God, Mr Rowley, under God. Mr Rowley. — 'Tis in God we move and live and have our being. Then the glass came to Mr Higgins, who tilled and gave the toast, " To all who loved King William when alive, and honour his memory now he is dead, and Marguerite Poiver, Coiintess of Blessiiigton 143 forming to the established religion, whereupon he was appointed magistrate for two counties — Waterford and Tipperary. These appointments were purelj- honorary and extremely onerous — a magistrate in those troublous times having to turn out, in pursuit of rebels, at any hour of the day or night. The countryside was alive with Whiteboys, Steelboys, all manner of illegal associa- tions, setting fire to houses, burning hayricks, maiming cattle. Mr Power devoted his time to upholding the law, very much to the detriment of his own affairs, which were utterly neglected.^ He was led on b}^ the ignis fatuus of the Irishmen of his time — a place under Government, which rested on the illusory promises of his noble patron. Lord Donoughmore. He could hardly have trusted to a more slippery protector. In lieu of a place, it was suggested to Mr Power that if he set up a news- paper he should have the monopoly of all Government pro- clamations. This advice, seeming to offer something tan- gible, was followed, and in an evil hour Mr Power removed his family to Clonmel, and started as editor of the Clonmel Gazette. He had at this time nine children, of whom four were girls. Marguerite being the second eldest, being born in 1790. In her childhood she showed no signs of the beauty which was remarkable in the other children. She was pallid and weakly, and her delicacy, together with her extremely sensi- tive organisation and singular precocity of intellect, doomed are truly thankful to God for the Revolution." This mightily pleased the com- pany. Loi-d rtantry next gave, '" To all those honest gentlemen who make the law the rule of their obedience," to which Mr Higgins added, " And where they cannot obey will patiently suffer," which put my lord into a passion. Lord Santry. ^Sir, what do you mean by that '': Mr Higgins. — I mean, sir, that where we cannot obey and must not resist. After some more observations from the clergyman. Lord Santry broke out again — " Do you come here, sir, to break the peace of the coimtry, sir, and to bull}- the gentlemen of the country ! You were once turned out of the community for breaking the peace of the county, sir, and we will have you turned out again, or I will not serve." And Mr Rowley and the others declared " it was intolerable a man should be here and huff the whole county," and Lord Santry wound up "that the Magistrates would go in a body and complain of the clergyman's con- duct," adding " we ^vill have you turned out again, sir." ^ Mr Power's zeal in hunting Whiteboys sometimes carried him too far. On one occasion he shot a peasaiat at work in the fields under the idea he was a rebel. For this over-zeal he was trieil on the charge of murder, but acquitted. 144 Some Fair Hibernians her, according to the superstitions of the country, to an early grave. The atmosphere in which the frail little creature grew up was most uncongenial to the development of her mind. Her father's temper was violent, and his outbursts shook the nerves of the sickly child. Her mother was incapable of discerning her finer qualities; and her brothers and sisters, strong in health, boisterous in spirits, were unfit companions for the little sufferer. She lived in a world of her own — a world of dreams and fancies, of perpetual speculation and restless inquiry, which never met an answer. At an early age her imagination began to work, and she would entertain the other children with the tales she invented. So remark- able was her talent in this way that her parents recognised and were proud of it, and would send for her to improvise for the amusement of friends and neighbours. The change from Knockbrit to Clonmel, which was a source of delight to her brothers and sisters, was to Marguerite one of unmingled regret. She loved Knockbrit which was en- deared to her by her passionate love of Nature, and always spoke of it with the greatest affection. In Clonmel troubles gathered thickly round her parents. The loss of two children impaired the health of her mother, while her father's temper grew so violent as to make him a terror to his family. The newspaper concern had been a complete failure. It was little read and entailed enormous expenses. Utterly unsuited as he was in every way to conduct such an undertaking, Mr Power's ruin was a foregone conclusion, while the frantic efforts he made to retrieve his position plunged him deeper and deeper. One of these efforts was a sudden rush into business as partner in the firm of Messrs Hunt & O'Brien, general merchants in Waterford. He expended large sums of money, procured by fresh mortgages on Knockbrit, for the purpose of building stores and warehouses. His incapacity for business was such that his partners, to save themselves from utter ruin, had to get rid of him. He had overdrawn the capital by several thousand pounds. Meantime the usual course of extravagance was continued, with no attempt at economy. Mr Power kept a liberal table and Marguerite Pozver, Countess of Blessington 145 entertained hospitably on the usual system of universal credit. In all this the children especially suffered from the deterioration of living in an atmosphere of debt and duns. Miserable shifts for keeping up appearances, and reckless dishonesty bore their fruit later, and in the wretched struggle and final break up of Gore House we have the refjex of Lady Blessington's early teaching. As a first evil result she had been taken from the boarding school where she and her sister Ellen had suffered keen humiliations from their father's irregularity in paying their pensions, and both girls were introduced into society at the ridiculous ages of fifteen and fourteen. Mr Power's embarrass- ment, which was only the normal condition of most Irish gentlemen of his time, did not interfere in the least with his social position. He and his family mixed in the best society of the adjoining counties, and here I have again to remind my readers that society in the last and beginning of this century was altogether on a different footing from what it is in our time — this social difference being altogether attributable to the increased facility of locomotion. In 1804 it took two days and a night by canal and coach to travel from the south of Ireland to Dublin, and four da^^s to reach London. Hence county families who were not over- burdened with money were thrown upon themselves, and had to be content with what amusement could be got in their im- mediate neighbourhood. Large towns, like York and Bristol, Galway and Tipperary, had a season of their own. Tipperary, being larger and more important than Clonmel, was the chief gathering point for the adjoining counties of Waterford and Kilkenny. Not many years ago there were many old people living who recalled the gaieties of winter seasons in the south, and the pleasant balls and parties given in the court-house. Here came all the best families living round about. The family coach was filled with fresh beauties, ready for fun and flirta- tion, while their elders carried themselves as befitted their position, and were ready to take offence at the slightest en- croachment on their rights. The line of demarcation between the county and the townsfolk, which was drawn very K 146 Some Fair Hibernians rigorously in England, was strained to the utmost in the sister island. At the balls given at the Castle of Dublin by the Viceroy, there was an arrangement of cross benches upon which no one could sit but peeresses. The wives of solicitors were not admitted at the Viceroy's Court, and dancing was regulated with the strictest regard to social position. There was no relaxation of these rules in the counties. The upper ten kept together at the top of the room, danced with one another, and snubbed with courteous insolence the doctor's wife and the solicitor's daughters. The highest lady led the country dance, follow^ed by the next in rank ; and any in- fringement of the proper precedence of each one was jealously guarded and resented on the spot by the lady's partner, duels being often the consequence of such infringements. The family of Mr Power were received amongst the elite ; the best people visited at their house, and the personal attractions of Ellen Power ^ made her the belle of every social gathering. Her beauty was of the statuesque order; her features Grecian in type ; but she was somewhat cold in her manner, relying too much on her attractions. Her sister Marguerite, with far less beauty, had the art of captivating attention by her grace of manner, elegance in dress, and the gaiety and sprightliness of her conversation. She was also an excellent dancer. She had likewise the somewhat rare gift — which does not always attend beauty — of retaining her admirers. A great feature of the county balls was the presence of the military, who were quartered in large detachments all through Ireland for the purpose of keeping down the rebel- lious spirit of the country. These Saxon warriors generally fell in love with the witchery of the Irish eyes, and were made captives in their turn. This history has been repeating itself since the days of Strongbow. In 1804 the 47th Regiment was quartered in Tipperary, and the officers were made welcome to the society of the county. Two of these — Captain St Leger Farmer and Captain 1 Miss Ellen Power married, in 181-3, John Home Purves, Esq., son of Sir Alexander Pvirves of Purves Hall, Berwick. This gentleman dying in 1827, Mrs Purves remarried, in 1828, the Speaker of the House of Commons, the Right Hon. Manners Sutton, who, in 1838, was created Viscount Canterbury. MargtLerite Power, Countess of Blessington 147 Murraj' — attached themselves to Marguerite, and in a short time both proposed for this child of fifteen. Marguerite preferred Captain ]\lurray, but St Leger Farmer was the richer, and both her father and mother joined in forcing her to accept him, which she did, according to her own account, after terrible scenes, and with. the utmost reluctance. Her married life was miserable. It soon became plain to her that her husband was subject to fits of insanity, of which fact his relatives had acquainted her father, but this had been concealed from her. During the first three months of their marriage he treated her with personal violence. He used to strike her on the face, pinch her till her arms were black and blue, lock her up whenever he went abroad, and often leave her without food. This is Lady Blessington's own account of her married life. Captain Farmer's brother, however, in a letter to the Evening Packet shortly after the publication of the above statement, contradicted it in every particular, denouncing it as a gross misrepresentation of facts. He writes : " So far as my brother and Captain Murray having both paid their addresses to the lady I believe to be true ; but that she preferred my brother is an undoubted fact, inasmuch as it was in every sense a love match between them, no settlement being made or even promised by my brother or his family ; for my father, having seven other sons, considered that in his purchase of all his steps he had received his share. ..." He adds, " Having been my brother's school-fellow and constant companion, I can assert that as boy and man he never showed any signs of insanity." There can be little doubt that the unhappiness of the Farmer marriage was due to the old story — faults upon both sides. Marguerite, a mere child in years, was destitute of experience, and possessed a love of admiration and a total want of good principles. Her conduct excited the jealousy of her husband, and drove him to frenzy. She escaped from his house several times, and ran home to her father's ; but it was not until he went to India that a final separation was decided, and that Mrs Farmer returned to her family — she 148 Some Fair Hibernians had then been married three years. The new arrangement did not bring her much comfort ; her father was unkind ; she was looked upon as an interloper, and as interfering with the prospects of her unmarried sisters. It was supposed that she had diverted the attentions of a certain Captain Jenkins, who, up to the appearance of the more fascinating Marguerite, had shown symptoms of matrimonial intentions in regard to Ellen. The same story repeated itself with Mr Stewart of Killymoon, who was in every way a desirable husband. Still, althougli Captain Farmer was constantly writing to urge Marguerite to join him in India, she per- sistently refused, and finally left her father's house ; for the next nine or ten years she resided almost altogether in England. Different reasons have been assigned for Mrs Farmer separating herself from her family.^ Scandal, which always hangs round a woman who lives apart from her husband, was soon busy with her good name, assigning to her different admirers — one of these was the Earl of Blessington. This nobleman, whose career attracted more attention than it would have otherwise done, by reason of his marriage with Mrs Farmer, was a type of the reckless, extravagant Irishman of his generation. He was the son of Luke Gardiner, Viscount Gardiner, and the beautiful Elizabeth Montgomery, and when only six years old his father had him dressed up as a volunteer, and presented him to a concourse of people with a child's sword in his tiny hand. The pride his parents took in him, and the unlimited indulgence accorded to him spoiled a character which by nature had all the elements of refinement and benevolence, and the death of his father when the young heir was only ten years old, by leaving him practically his own master at so tender an age, completed the destruction of his best qualities. Before he was eighteen he had acquired a char- acter for gallantry and extravagance. The first he established by eloping with Major Brown's wife, and the second by ^ Mr Fitzgerald MoUoy, in his recent life of Lady Blessington, states as a fact that she eloped with Captain Jenkins. Marguerite Power, Cottntess of Blessington 149 his emulating his contemporaiy, the equally extravagant Lord Barrymore, in his passion for theatricals and show of every description.^ No expense was spared iu the mounting of the pieces performed at his seat, Mountjoy Forest, in Tyrone. Here came on one occasion Mrs Farmer and her sister Ellen, then the wife of Captain Purves. The two ladies stayed at Rashe, a cottage on the Mountjoy estate, which was fitted up with the most lavish extravagance. This was hardly a step to silence the tongues of the scandal- mongers, Lord Blessington being at this time a married man although his wife was too delicate to be of the party. The intimacy was continued after Mrs Farmer went to reside in London, where she had a house in the now unfashionable quarter, Mancliester Street, her brother Michael living with her as a sort of chaperon. Intercourse with the world had improved Marguerite's natural gifts, and had likewise de- veloped her beauty. She was a fascinating and lovely woman. Lord Blessington evidently thought so ; his con- tinued presence in her drawing-room and assiduous atten- tions giving rise to much comment, especially as, now that he was a widower, his attentions would have been gladly received in many distinguished quarters. The irony of fate, however, made him the lover of one who could derive nothing but an unpleasant notoriety from his devotion. So long as her husband was alive, Marguerite's position was doubtful. In 1817 an end came to all the gossip and the scandal; Captain Farmer terminated his unfortunate existence by falling from a window after a hard night's drinking, and his wife was free to accept the high position offered her by Lord Blessington. They were married at the church of Bryanston Square as soon as decency permitted, the witnesses being her 1 Major and Mrs Brown being both of the Catholic faith, no divorce could be obtained ; after the death of her husband, however. Lord Blessington, to his credit, married Mrs Brown, to whom he was sincerely attached. She died at St Germains in 1814. Lord Blessington, whose delight in all shows extended to funerals, brought over to Dublin the remains of his wife ; they lay in state at hLs mansion in Henrietta Street, under a magnificent pall of black velvet embroidered in gold (this pall had done duty previously at the funeral of Marshal Duroc, so it may only have been hired). On each side of the coffin were seated six female mourners or mutes who had accompanied the corpse from London. The total expense of this display amounted to £2500. 150 Some Fair Hibernians brother, Robert Power, her brother-in-law, Captain Purves, Sir William Campbell and T. G. Pole. And now began a halcyon time for Marguerite. An adored wife, with an assured position and unlimited command of a large income, she must have sometimes felt as if in a dream, and have dreaded to awake and find herself back again in the frets and worries of her earlier life. At the time of his mar- riage her liusband had a rent-roll of twenty-two thousand a year, a fine estate in Tyrone, a rare old mansion in Henrietta Street, Dublin,^ and a splendid town residence in St James's Square, which he had recently furnished for the reception of his bride with the most reckless extravagance. Her private apartments were hung with Genoa velvet curtains, trimmed with gold bullion fringe; the furniture — sofas, chairs, tables — was of silver. Lady Blessington, in one of her later works, speaks of her husband's love of splendour being not conformable with good taste. She might have used a stronger expression in speaking of his wanton, mad extrava- gance. At this very time, when he was having his bride's sitting- room hung with bullion fringe, he was steeped in debt, and years were to elapse before the unfortunate purveyors of the silver furniture received their money. Like many another who has passed from the tight curb of poverty to the ease of affluence, the newly-made Countess, in a few years, out-Heroded her lord in the magnificence of her ideas. She became so fastidious m her tastes that it was almost impossible to please her. She did not, however, lose the kindness of heart which had always distinguished her. Previous to her marriage, great changes had taken place in the family circle she had left at Clonmel. Her mother was dead, her father had married again without improving his circumstances, her younger sister had grown up, as also two of her small brothers. From these, and others of more distant kin, there were constant applications for assistance, and to all the most generous aid was given from 1 Blessington House, in Henrietta Street— a fine stone mansion, the windows and doors adorned with fluted cohimns, the ceilings, panels, and architraves after the manner introduced by Adam. The house has now been modernised and utilised for chambers belonging to the gentlemen of the law, its title beinp: Queen's Inns. In 1894 all the Mountjoy property round Dublin was sold for £120,000 to the Honourable Charles Spencer Cowper. — Abridged from the Irish Builder. MargtLerite Power, Countess of Blessington 151 Marguerite's purse. She was happy herself, and wished to include those she loved in her newly-found happiness. So far as her social life was concerned, Lady Blessington showed an extraordinary facility in accommodating herself to the duties of her new position. As Lord Blessington's wife, she found herself called upon to preside over a brilliant circle, including some of the most eminent men and women of the day, distinguished alike for rank, talent, beauty and fashion, and belonging to every shade of politics and every class of society. It was a difficult task for one unaccustomed to the shoals and quicksands which beset the path of an untrained navigator in such deep waters, yet she managed to steer clear of anything approaching to shipwreck. Her beautj^ exercised a potent spell. So, too, her grace of manner, which at this period of her life, before she grew literary, was singularly frank and unaffected. The instant a thought crossed her mind it seemed transmitted by some electrical agency to her face ; the girlish joyousness of her laugh — eclats of Jordan- like mirth, petits rires foldtres adding to her fascination ; her voice, too, that greatest charm in woman, won her many admirers. " With all her beauty," said one who knew her well, " and all her talent, the witchery of her voice to me was her most exquisite attraction." For three years Lady Blessington held her court in St James's Square — years of great excitement and continuous gaiety, but nevertheless tinged with some mortifying recollec- tions. The society that gathered round the brilliant hostess in the palatial mansion was lacking in one element, and that one especially dear to Lady Blessington's heart. It is true that in later years she was to feel what it was to be ostracised by her own sex ; this was not the case at the time alluded to — ladies of rank and estimation came to St James's Square, but not in profusion ; they were scattered like hidden gems in a heap of sawdust. Still she had some female sup- port ; there was not that terrible array of black coats, and nothincr but black coats, which was the distinguishing feature of the assemblies at Gore House. Another annoyance to Lady Blessington was the coldness evinced towards her b}^ 152 Some Fair Hibernians Lord Blessingfcon's sisters — one of these, wife to tl\e Bishop of Ossor}^, refusing even to see her. These crumples in the rose leaves of her life made Lady Blessington fall in with a sudden wliim, which seized upon her husband in 1820, that they should shut up the London house and go to Paris to get ready for a lengthened tour through France and Ital3^ The preparations for this expedition were on a scale of magni- ficence ill suited to the already straitened income of Lord Blessington, but with him extravagance had now amounted almost to a mania. Nothing stood in the way of gratifying the whim of the moment, and, according to him, it was the business of his solicitors to supply the money, and of his creditors to wait until he chose to pay them. His travelling retinue befitted a great English prince rather than an im- poverished Irish nobleman. He took with him a French cook and batterie de cuisine, together with lady's-maids, foot- men, house steward, courier and valet. The French stood open-eyed at this wonderful cortege and the amount of luggage that was necessary for such a party, including the appendages, without which the now luxurious Countess never travelled. To make the royal progress complete, and to prevent the ennui which might arise from too much of their own com- pany, the Blessingtons invited three young people to be of the party — her ladyship's youngest sister, Mary Anne Power, a pretty, sprightly girl ; Count Alfred D'Orsay, and Charles Mathews,^ son to the elder Mathews. Count D'Orsay, who played later on such a prominent part in the life of Lady Blessington, had been known to Lord Blessington from his cliildhood, his father, General D'Orsay, being one of his oldest friends.- Neither was he to Lady Blessington a new acquaint- ance. In the first year of her marriage he had come to London with his brother-in-law, the Comte de Quiche,-^ who 1 Young Mathews, afterwards the celebrated actor, was at this time destined for the very different profession of an architect. He did not join the travellina" party till they had reached Naples, when he returned with Lord Bles.sington, whf- had gone to visit his Irish estates for a few weeks, and invited the son of his old friend, Charles Mathews, on a visit, ostensibly to study paintinof, in reality that his comic talents might dispel the cnmd which even the brightness of foreign life could not dissipate. '■^ General D'Onsay was one of the handsomest men of his day. When serving in the Vicille Garde, he had the soubriquet of " le Beau D'Orsay." ■* Afterwards Due de Grammont. Marguerite Poiver, Co2mtess of Blessington 153 had brought him to St James's Square. Being then little more than a boy, his fascinations did not make so much impression as the}^ did later. On one occasion he was invited to dine at Holland House, where he was seated next to Lady Holland, who supposed the handsome stranger to be a shy boy who was awe-struck by her majestic self. Owing to the consider- able development of her person, her ladyship was continually letting her dinner-napkin slip from her lap to the floor, and, as often as she did so, she smiled blandly but authoritatively" on the French count, and asked him to pick it up, which he did politely several times. At last, however, tired of the exercise, he said, to her great surprise, " Ne ferai-je pas mieux, madaTYie, de m'asseoir sous la table afln de pouvoir vous imsser la serviette i^lus oripidement." Since those days D'Orsay had developed into a youthful Apollo. " Cupidon dechaine," Byron called him later on. His powers of fascination equalled, if they did not surpass, his personal charm, and the union of the two made the irresistible D'Orsay. It was a singular infatuation that induced a man of the world like Lord Blessington to commit the folly of domesticating this handsome guest, and placing him in familiar contact with a woman of Marguerite's peculiar temperament, prone as she was to admiring all that was beautiful and noble. It is said that those the gods wish to destroy they blind, and considering Lord Blessington had experienced in his own person the consequences of such an intimacy, his blindness was, to say the least, extraordinary. During the period that the Blessingtons remained abroad — which covered the space of seven years — Count D'Orsay continued their guest. During this time, the other members of the party went their different ways. Mary Anne Power married the aged Count de Marsault ; Charles Mathews grew tired of being the comic man, ever ready to invent jokes to amuse his hosts, and returned to make his name on the stage. Alfred, however, held his ground ; it was in truth too good a berth to be easily relinquished bj^a man of the Count's luxurious habits. With each year the friendship of his hostess, and the infatuation of his host increased, until at last Lord Bless- I 54 Sojue Fair Hibernians ington put the seal to his previous folly by conceiving the project of making D'Orsay the husband of his daughter and heiress, Lady Harriet Gardiner. The first inception of this monstrous scheme (it may have been suggested by the Count himself), took form in 1823, when his lordship lost his only son and heir. Viscount Mountjoy, a boy of ten years old, who hitherto had always lived with Lord Blessington's grand- mother, Lady Mountjoy. At this time Lady Harriet was only eleven years old, and resided with her aunt. Miss Gardiner, in Ireland. There was therefore an interval of years to elapse before the project could be accomplished. The time was spent in wandering about Italy. At Genoa the party met Lord Byron, who at first was reluctant to be drawn into any intimacy, but he could not long resist the spell which Marguerite could weave round the hardest heart, and soon he was on terms of close intimacy with the household, talking sentiment with her ladyship and calling D'Orsay clier Alfred. Lady Blessington was in a state of wild enthusiasm for this king of lions — she rhapsodises by the yard concerning his perfections, sneering occasionally at his weaknesses. She gives a very life - like portrait of his personal appearance, his finely - chiselled lips, grey eyes, one visibly larger than the other ; his handsome nose and fine teeth. " I have never seen finer," she says, " nor a smoother or fairer skin." His figure was so thin as to be quite boyish, and his lameness was little perceptible had attention not been called to it by his own visible consciousness of the infirmity, a consciousness that gave a gaudier ie to his move- ments.^ Lady Blessington grows very hysterical as she gushes over her " hero," who, on his part, was affected unto tears at parting with friends he had only known a few days. The farewell was of the tenderest and saddest ; presents were 1 In connection with this consciousness of his infirmity, the writer remembers hearing an anecdote related by Count Zorzi, who, as a child, often saw Byron, who was an habitue of his mother's drawing-room. The boy, who for his years was a close observer, noticed how Byrou would glide from one seat to another, until he made his way to the chimney-piece ; here he would fall into an attitude, his elbow on the mantelpiece, his locks of hair thrown back, his offending foot well out of sight. Not till this carefully-prepared attitude had been arranged did he take any active part in the general conversation. Mai'g2ter{te Pozuer, Countess of Blessmgton 1 5 5 interchanged. Lady Blessington presented him with a ring of considerable value, and he in return gave her a pin with a small cameo of Napoleon, which he told her had been his constant companion for j^ears. He wrote, however, fi-om Genoa to ask it back on the plea that he was superstitious, and had recollected that memorials with a point are unlucky. He requested her acceptance of a little chain of Venetian manu- facture, the only peculiarity of which was that it could only be obtained in Venice. It has often been said that very few even of our best friends speak of as they do to j^ou. Writing to Moore, Lord Byron says, " Your other allies I have found very agreeable personages — Milor Blessington and epouse travelling with a very handsome companion in the shape of a French count, who, to use Farquhar's expression, in the ' Beaux Stratagem,' has all the air of a cupidon dechaine. Miladi seems highly literary, to which, and your honour's acquaint- ance with the family, I attribute the pleasure of having seen them. She is also very pretty — even in a morning — a species of beauty upon which the sun of Italy does not shine so frequently as the chandelier ! Mountjoy seems very good- natured, but is much tamed since I recollect him in all the glory of gems and snuff-boxes and uniforms and theatricals and speeches in our House (I mean of Peers), and sitting to Strohling, the painter, to be depicted as one of ' the heroes of Agincourt with the long sword, bridle, saddle-whack, fal de la.' There is a latent sneer running through all this that does not quite correspond with the tears at parting, and in another letter his lordship was kind enough to describe D'Orsay as one who seemed to have all the qualities requisite to have figured in his brother-in-law's ancestors' memoirs, by which he meant the memoirs of the Count de Grammont perpetrated in the days of Charles II. by Antoine Hamilton. On the other hand, no one ever has given the least idea of the real Bja'on — how he looked and talked so well as did the Count. Amongst his other talents he possessed the art of peppering and caricaturing his friends. He wrote a journal which he showed to Byron, who declared it to be the most extraordinary production, giving as it did a 1 56 Some Fair Hibernians " most melancholy but accurate description of all that regards high life in England." At this time D'Orsay had not much knowledge of English society, except what he had seen during his three years' residence under Lord Blessington's roof. During this pe^riod the travellers had visited all the principal towns in Italy, the Blessingtons keeping up a sort of princely establishment. At Rome they had a palazzo at £100 a month, and gathered round them a brilliant society. The Italians are not, except in some exclusive circles, too parti- cular, and the oddly-constituted party did not excite more surprise than the equally curious trio who later visited Italy, Sir William and Lady Hamilton, and Nelson. While they were at the Palazzo Nigroni, an addition was made to the family circle by the arrival of Lady Harriet Gardiner. Her father (who had never relinquished his favourite scheme of marrying his unfortunate daughter to Alfred D'Orsay) had ar- ranged that the wedding should take place as soon as she was of marriageable age. She was barely sixteen when she was taken from the care of her aunt and brought to Rome and presented to her future husband. The marriage, however, did not take place in Rome, owing to difficulties made by the English Ambassador. The whole party therefore moved on to Naples, where the wedding took place at the English Embassy. The real story of this miserable drama has, I fancy, never been told. One can hardly believe that Lord Blessington's obstinacy could have led him to wantonly sacrifice his child's happiness unless some other influence was at work. Speculation, however, is at fault, and nothing can be said with either profit or advan- tage on the subject, except that Count D'Orsay, apparently for the sake of her fortune, consented to contract a marriage with a girl for whom he did not entertain even a feeling of kindness. Mr Patmore's excuse for him places the Count in a worse light, as is often the case with friendly endeavours to wash a blackamoor white. He says, " D'Orsay when a mere boy made the fatal mistake of marrying one beautiful woman, while he was, without daring to confess it even to himself, madly in love with a still more beautiful woman whom he could not marry. Discovering his fatal error when too late, • Marguerite Pozver, Countess of Blessington 157 he separated from his wife ahnost at the church door." But how about living under the same roof with " the still more beautiful woman," and outraging his wife's feelings by his open neglect of her while eating her father's bread.^ The intimate friend and biographer of Lady Blessington, who has exercised a most judicious reserve as to this subject, admits that he was most painfully impressed by the position that Lady Harriet D'Orsay held in her father's house. " She was exceedingly girlish-looking ; rather inanimate, silent and reserved. She seldom spoke, was little noticed, and was treated in every way as a mere schoolgirl. I think her feelings were driven inwards by a sense of slight and indifference, and by the strangeness and coldness of everything around her." He goes on to charge her father with all the blame of this un- fortunate incident. " It was his act that had led to these mis- constructions, misconceptions, animosities, aversions and estrangements." This may be, but one cannot but think that there were two other actors in this domestic drama who were quite as much, if not more, culpable than the half-crazy Earl. The curtain, however, was soon to come down. A year after the ill-starred marriage, the Blessingtons, accompanied by the Count and his J^oung wife, left Italy for Paris, with the intention of making a long sojourn. The magnificent hotel be- longing to Marshal Ney was engaged at a high rent, and soon Lord Blessington was busy at his usual work of spending money. He seems on this occasion to have exceeded his usual extravagance. Lady Blessington, writing to friends in England, dilates with evident pleasure upon what she play- fully calls " our new toy," and describes how her husband surprised her by the decorations and fitting-up of her apart- ments, which were kept secret until quite finished, when the doors were thrown open and the splendours revealed. " The whole," she says, " is in exquisite taste, chastely beauti- ful ; a queen could desire nothing better." Not many weeks after this was written, an end came to 1 By the marriage settlement, £2400 a-year was settled absolutely upon Count D'Orsay. This annuity was at the time of the enforced sale of Lord Blessington's property consolidated into a lump sum of £80,000, which was paid over to his creditors. 158 Some Fair Hibernians all the sin and the folly. Riding in the Champs Elysees, Lord Blessington was seized with a fit and brought home unconscious. He died in a few hours. His affairs were in terrible confusion. The journeys, purchases, retinue of ser- vants, arranging surprises for his wife — all this mad extra- vagance was now to bear its fruit. His schedule of debts, with its overpowering crop of mortgages, is in its way a curiosity. To Lady Blessington, however, a settlement of two thousand a year was secured. He likewise left her different legacies of jewels, furniture and carriages, as also his house in St James's Square, the sale of which, it was calculated, would add five hundred a-year to her income. This hope proved fallacious. The property was so inextric- ably involved in litigation that Lady Blessington ultimately relinquished all claim to it into the hands of the executors. At the time of her widowhood, 1828, Lady Blessington was in the zenith of her beauty. That very year Law- rence's portrait of her was exhibited at the Academy, and Mr Coventry Patmore describes seeing the original standing before her own presentment. " Then I saw," says Mr Patmore, " how impossible it is for au artist to flatter a beautiful woman, and that in attempting to do so he is certain, however skilful, to fall into the error of blending incompatible expressions in the same face — as on this occasion the original stood before the picture she fairly killed the cojjy. There is about the latter a consciousness, a pretension, a leaning forward and a looking forth as if to claim or covet notice and admiration, of which there was no touch in the former. At this time she was about twenty-six. Unlike all other beautiful faces I have ever seen, hers was at this time neither a history nor a prophecy." Such gifts of beauty, and more than beauty — fasci- nation — which are thus set forth by Mr Patmore, and which are endorsed by many other contemporary writers, naturally drew upon the beautiful and well - endowed Countess an amount of attention which, had she been wise in her generation, should have warned her that it would be well for her to step carefully over the snares and pitfalls Marguerite Poiver, Countess of Blessington 159 that lay in her way. She might have known, for she had suffered before, that success is oftentimes more dangerous than failure, insomuch as it is sure to excite envy, and there is no guarding against the tongue of the envious. Unfor- tunately Marguerite's prudence was her least possession. She had hardly established herself in her house in London when she made her first mistake. Prompted by generosity, who shall say ? She offered a home in her house in Seamore Place to Count D 'Orsay and his young wife. This, to say the least, was ill-advised, and the false step which inaugu- rated Lady Blessington's return to London life struck the key-note of her future position. It may be that, as Mr Fitzgerald Molloy, her latest biographer, avers, there was nothing in the relations between the Count and his step- mother-in-law that could afford ground for cavil. Putting grave accusations altogether aside, there still remains the question of the happiness of the girl wife, and that this was materially affected by the humiliating part she was made to play as a cyplier where she should have been mistress, nobody can reasonably deny. Neither can we blame her for at last asserting herself by insisting upon a total separation from a husband who was openly neglect- ful of her. In 1831 Lady Harriet D'Orsay left her step- mother's house, and there is no reason to suppose that they ever met again. Count D'Orsay remained in London, having apartments of his own near Seamore Place. His constant presence, however, at Lady Blessington's, where he acted as master of the house, coupled with their appearing always together in public, showed an imprudent disregard for public opinion and, on Marguerite's side, a total lack of delicacy, especially after the intimacy had been publicly censured by the scurrilous press of the day. We are told by Mr Molloy that she suffered keenly from the attacks made upon her character in the Age and the Satirist. If this were so, the remedy lay in her own hands. She could have checked, if she had so wished, the tide of scandal that now flowed against her. Her name was in everyone's mouth, and the great ladies who had visited her ceased altogether to do i6o Some Fair Hibernians so. The supposed partner of her indiscretions was, however, visited with no such severe ostracisms. To him the doors of the most fashionable and correct houses' remained open ; his popularity as a leader of fashion was at this moment at its zenith.^ D'Orsay was now in the prime of his beauty. Look- ing at his portraits, one fails to catch where lay the charm which gave him the reputation he possessed in his own day, and which has handed down his name to us as a celebrity whose memory will live when those who did more valuable work are forgotten. We must, however, remember the conditions of the time in which he lived. Society was differ- ently constituted from what it is nowadays. The area was far smaller, entrance to this charmed circle being impossible except for those entitled by birth. The competition, there- fore, was restricted, and whereas it would be now impossible for any man of fashion to dominate as did D'Orsay in his day, the task was then comparatively easy. For the rest, nature had given him as many good gifts as to the Admirable Crichton. He was a good swordsman, a line horseman, a fair shot, an accomplished artist, a clever sculptor, and his literary cap- abilities, had he cultivated them, would have placed him in the front rank of writers. Such manly tastes obliterated the touch of effeminacy associated with his dandyism,- and made him equally popular with men as with women. Gronow describes him driving liis tilbury in the Park, — " He was like some gorgeous dragon-fly skimming through the air, and although all was dazzling and showy, yet there was a kind of harmony which precluded any idea or accusation of 1 To be D'Orsay 's tailor was more profitable than to be His Majesty's, and Stulz, who had the honour of making the well-fitting coats worn by the Count, owed his rise to the extensive orders he received from D'Orsay's admirers. " On one occasion a.nouvcau riche, wishing to give himself a fashionable air, applied to Stulz to dress him in as close an imitation of the Count as was possible. He tried on the coat and considered himself anxiously in the looking-glass. His imeasiness at not looking one bit like the aristocratic object of his admiration became every moment more pronoimced. ' Mr Stulz, how is this ? The coat has not the same air as the one worn by Count D'Orsay.' Mr Stulz shrugged his shoulders. ' Well, sir,' he said, 'you see nature must do something.' " ^ Another contemporary describes him as taking the most extraordinary care of his beauty. His bath was perfumed, and he used an enormous dressing-case, which it took two men to carry. This case accompanied him (m all excursions. Marguerite Power, Coinitess of Blessington i6i bad taste. All his imitators fell between the Scylla and Charybdis of tigerism and charlatanism, but he escaped these quicksands." A writer of the day gives us a very life-like sketch of the Count's personal appearance, — " He was rather above six feet in height, and in his youth might have have served as a model for a statuary. His neck long, his shoulders broad, waist narrow, and, although he was somewhat under-limbed, nothing could surpass the beauty of his feet and ankles. His dark chestnut hair hung naturally in long, waving curls, his forehead was high and wide, his features regular, his eyes large and of a hazel colour. He had full lips and very white teeth, a little apart, which sometimes gave to his generally amiable face a rather cruel, sneering expression, such as one sees in the heads of the old Roman emperors." It was while living at ISeamore Place that Lady Blessing- ton entered upon her literary career. So early as 1822 she had published a small volume of sketches, which had the success due to its author being an admired beauty. Despite a certain facility which she possessed, in common with many other women, for scribbling, it was a mistake (one of the many she made) for Lady Blessington to take up the role of a fashionable novelist. For a woman who spent her life as she did in society (where she was the stimulus of much mental activity), it was morally impossible to make any literary effort worthy of the name. The writer who holds even the public of his own time, to say nothing of future generations, is not made out of the smart man or the fashionable woman. In the deteriorating process of amusing themselves or the world around them, they fritter away any good gifts they may have ; and the best result they can hope to attain is a mere ephemeral success. It is no reproach to Lady Blessington to say, that hardly anyone of the present day has ever read, or perhaps heard of. The Two Friends, or, The Victims of Society, which was one of her best attempts. Sir Walter Besant calls this "a horrid book," and doubtless, according to the standard of to-day, this L 1 62 Some Fair Hibernians judgment is correct. It is undoubtedly a poor excuse for Lady Blessington's feeble twaddle, to say that she was not worse than the average writer of her time who delighted our grandmothers. Lord Normanby was a fashionable author in 1830, and who could now read Contrasts ? So too with Mrs Gore's tedious novels, full of aristocratic ladies speaking slip-slop French. I doubt if anyone could get through The Wild Irish Girl without an enormous amount of skipping. Miss Edgeworth's fashionable tales are some- what prosy, and yet these works excited a furore on their first appearance. For many years Lady Blessington continued to fill the shelves of the circulating library. She wrote The Confessions of an Elderly Lady, The Sorrows of a Governess, and The Memoirs of a Fenime de Chamhre, besides Grace Cassidy, Lionel Deerhurst, Country Quarters, The Repealers, etc. Most of these portrayed the follies and vices of people in high life, the characters being supposed to be portraits of persons well-known in society. This gave them a peculiar zest, especially as what was called a key was handed about privately. This would seem to have been hardly necessary, as the disguised names were singularly transparent. Take, for instance, Lord Rey for Earl Grey, Lady Yesterfield — Lady Chesterfield, Lady Lacre — Lady Dacre. Her ladyship likewise contributed largely to the flood of Keepsakes and other Annuals which flooded the market, and took the place that society pajDers and periodicals now fill. Being, however, costly, they could be only purchased by the upper ten. They were of all sizes — Friendship's offering was small ; the Keepsakes larger, and Findens Tableaux and other Annuals full size. The illustrations were by the best artists. Chalon's especially are worthy of notice. One of these publications, The Belle of the Season, with several beautiful illustrations, bound in red silk, and letterpress by Lady Blessington, lies before me now. It is the story of a young girl, written in exceedingly sloppy verse. But then, it was the hand of a countess which wrote the lines — and so a guinea was cheerfully paid to read such twaddle as, — Marguerite Power, Countess of Blessing ton 163 " Your daughter's charming, on my word, While you — I vow I heard Lord Lyster, Say — you looked like her elder sister. My son has just come from the East, But has not suffered in the least. Well, Lady Mary's, quite a belle And dressed, 1 must say, k merveille. Any attachment ? entre nous ! Too young — ha, ha ! that's so like you. All revoir chkre amie. Adieu." This feeble production had, nevertJieless, an extraordinary success, for the reason that under her usual thin disguises Lady Blessington introduced the Marchionesses of Conyug- ham and Anglesea, Lady Charlemont, Mrs Norton, the Duke of Leinster, Sir Robert Peel and Mr Shell. We have Jerdan's' authority for stating that her literary work brought her in at one time from two to three thousand a-year. This amount was, he adds, due more to her title than to her merit as an authoress, w^hich, viewed critically, cannot be considered as even near the first rank. He and Greville both credit her well-arrang-ed parties as being the great factor in her literary success. Having her publisher now^ and then, says Jerdan, to meet folks of a style unusual to him, had something to do with the acceptance of her novels. Greville, who is always " nasty," lays bare " the springs and the machinery which sustain her artificial character as an authoress — first and foremost, her magnificent house, her luxurious dinners — acting, he seems to insinuate, on the weak minds of Messrs Colburn and Longman." If this somewhat exaggerated statement is true, one can but applaud Lady Blessington for laying out hospitality to such good account. Three thousand a-year is great interest for a few dinners ! There is no doubt that Lady Blessington had recourse to her pen to keep up such an establishment as Gore House, Kensington Gore, whither she had removed in 1836. Gore House had already a literary record, having belonged to 1 Jerdan was a man of exceptional power. He was the editor of the Literary Gazette, in which he wielded a critical flail of unexampled severity. He was said to have been the lover of the unfortunate L. E. L. 164 Some Fair Hibernians Wilberforce. It was a delightful mansion, with the addi- tional charm of an old-fashioned, walled-in garden, with terraces and mulberry trees. Here Lady Blessington was joined by her two nieces, Marguerite and Ellen Power, the daughters of her brother Michael. Count D'Orsay had his own studio and apartments as in Seamore Place close at hand. Lady Blessington's name is more intimately associated with Gore House than with any of her previous residences. Here she and Count D'Orsay realised a long-cherished wish of collecting round them a circle of the most brilliant, artistic and literary men in London. Of this circle Lady Blessington was undoubtedly the centre — Jike Madame de Stael, she had the art of conversation, and, like Madame de Swetchine, the tact to make others feel that they were contributing their best gifts to the entertainment. " She was unsurpassed," says j?.Ir Molloy, " in eliciting from even the most modest tyro what- ever there was within his shell of reserve that could add to the general enjoyment." Greville bears testimony to the splendour of the house, the excellence of the dinners, and the frankness and cordiality with which Count D'Orsay did the honours ; he adds, however, that the society " is not so agreeable as, from its composition, it ought to be. There is a constant coming and going, eating and drinking, with a corresponding amount of noise, hnt little or no Conversation, discussion or interchange of ideas and opinions, ensuring a perennial flow of conversation." This want, according to Greville, was, " that the woman herself who must give the tone to her own society is vulgar, ignorant and commonplace. Nothing can be more dull and unattractive than her conversation, which is never enriched by a particle of knowledge, or enlivened by a ray of genius or imagination." Greville's editor, Mr Reeve, makes an effort to soften this sweeping judgment by suggesting that Mr Greville probably mistook Lady Blessington's Irish cordiality for vulgarity. He likewise gives his own impression of her insuperable tact and skill in drawing out the best qualities of her visitors. N. P. Willis, the American author of Pencillimjs by the Way, Marguerite Poiver, Co2intess of Blessington 165 gives lis a far pleasanter account of an evening- at Lady Blessington's. He describes Lytton Bulwer, whose Pelham luid just made a sensation, coming in at midnight, and rush- ing up to Lad}' Blessington, with tlie heartiness of a boy out of school. '■ I liked his manner extremely, and he was welcomed as the best fellow in the world. There was a Ger- man prince, with a star on his breast, Tom Moore, Horace Smith and others. Lady Blessington was the only lady present. She looked on the sunny side of thirty (she was close on forty). She wore blue satin, cut low, and folded across her bosom, showing her exquisite shoulders, while her hair was dressed close to her head, parted simply on her fore- head, with a rich ferronniere of turquoise. Her features are regular, and her mouth, the most expressive of them, has a ripe fulness and freedom of play peculiar to the Irish physiognomy and expressive of the most unsuspicious good humour. Add to this a voice merry and sad by turns, but always musical, and manners of the most unpretending elegance, and you have the prominent traits of one of the most lovely and fascinating women I have ever seen." He goes on to say that it would be impossible to convey an idea of the evanescent spirit of a conversation of wits. It was carried on into the small hours, Horace Smith getting on his crutches some time after three in the morning. Another writer described her "seated in her arm-chair talking in her soft Irish voice, with her sweet Irish laugh rippling like a little brook. Her conversation was not very witty nor exceedingly wise, but it was in good tone and taste, mingled with humour, which escaped everything vulgar or bordering on it." Dr Parr was another of her admirers. He talks of her luxurious laugh, quite ineffable ; that her eyes were meteors, not stars, however bright. This was the woman as the world saw her in society, or in the Park driving in her green chariot, gracefully built and lightly hung, the panels gorgeously emblazoned with arms and supporters. The horses were a pair of superb bay chestnuts. The coachman was in velvet breeches, 1 66 Some Fair Hibernians fine, full-bottomed, well powdered wi^-, his burly legs in silk stockings ; two footmen standing behind of equal height and equal calves. It was a sight to look at, and to watch the raising of the hats, and the clustering of men round her ladyship and her pretty nieces. But never a woman ! either abroad or at home. Some there were who came in the morn- ing hours on business of their own — to get help with editors, for subscriptions and so forth — but even those who were under obligations for her ever-generous assistance would not risk putting in an appearance at the evening gathering, as this might possibly militate against being invited elsewhere. We know how Johnson held forth to his circle of listeners at Streatham, how Horace Walpole fluttered about Mrs Vesey's, picking up the best crumbs of conversation, to retail them in his admirable letters, but would it be worth while nowadays to have a note-book as Boswell had. There are no crumbs to pick up. Fifty years ago we should have had our aprons full. There was a keen encounter of wits at Holland House and Gore House.^ There were smaller gatherings at Lady Charleville's in Cavendish Square, at Lady Cork's in Bur- lington Street, and breakfasts at Roger's, where the wit was of the best. There was this difference between Holland House and Gore House, that everyone luaiited to go to the first, and everyone went to the last. As to the popularity of the rival hostesses, the balance of opinion favoured Lady Blessington. She had much of the esprit of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, and a great deal of the Jinesse of those ladies of the great world so vividly pourtrayed by Horace Walpole. No doubt, the Bohemian element which pervaded her salon lent to it a certain charm. The coldness with which Lady Blessington was regarded by ladies, " the whispers and the open talk," says Sir Walter Besant, " did not make the house less delightful, but they placed it ' outside ' society." 1 A good authority, writing on this subject, says : — "One was not unfrequently reminded by the wit combats at Gore House of tlie days of the Chevalier de Grammont, when the whole band of wits— Dorset, Sedley, Etherege — diverted the beau monde with their sallies, repartees, quaint observations and sharply- pointed epigrams brought to bear on striking peculiarities of well-known persons of quality within the category oi jpricieuses ridicules." Marguerite Poiver, Countess of Blessinqtofi 167 Amongst the shifting crowd of visitors at Gore House wo find all shades of politics, every sort and condition of profes- sional man — literary, artistic, lawyer and physician, scribblers, journalists, draughtsman and dramatist. Here came Lords Normanb}", Carlisle and Strangford, the D'Israelis, father and son, Landseer, Theodore Hook, Tom Moore, Macready, Charles Dickens, John Forster, Walter Savage Landor, Samuel Rogers, and Prince Louis Napoleon. The list would fill a book. Both Lady Blessington and Count D'Orsay had undertaken as a sort of mission the duty of bringing together all who were rivals in the same pursuits, and for this purpose they laboured assiduously, it may be with too much effort. Their aim was some- what akin to that pernicious system pursued by Mrs Leo Hunter — ever}" lion, native or foreign, being eagerly sought out and brought to roar at Gore House, Lively spirits and the amusement of the moment were cultivated more than at Holland House, where the wits had it all their own way. The handsome, irresistible D'Orsay, with his good humour and liveliness, kept the ball rolling. It has been conceded on all sides that D'Orsay 's wit and powers of facetiousness were unrivalled. He abounded in humour, and excelled in repartee. His air of aristocratic nonchalance lent piquancy to the grave irony of his remarks. He was also an adept in the art of quizzing those who offered them- selves to ridicule through some trick of voice or peculiarit}' of any kind ; his singular composure of mien and manner gave a zest to these performances, which were for the rest highly to the taste of Lady Blessington, who enjoyed, as only an Irish nature can, banter and quizzing. The holding up to ridicule the peculiarities of an invited guest, is a decided outrage on good taste and feeling, and cannot be excused by any amount of fun to be got out of the situation or by any elegances of " mien and manner," which, in fact, rather increase the offence. Take, for instance, the making a butt of Count Julien le Jeune, which was a stock piece at Gore House. It may have been amusing — we are told it afforded infinite merriment — but such a scene could hardly bear much 1 68 Sonie Fai)' Hibernians repetition. This gentleman (an intimate friend of the host and hostess) had figured in the French Revolution, and for political reasons was exiled from his own country. It seems to us somewhat of a poor joke that this old man should be invited night after night to recite for the company the story of his political afflictions, which he had embodied in a poem of considerable length. This he would do with all the diffident airs of a 3'oung lady dying to sing and protest- ing she cannot. At last persuaded, he would place himself at a table with wax lights, pull the roll of paper from his pocket, and begin his recital of his " Chagrins Politiques " in a lugubrious voice, like Mdlle. Duchesne's pleiirs dans la voix. The salon would be crowded with distinguished guests; on the left hand of the poet was Lady Blessing- ton, in her well-known arm-chair, looking most intently, and with apparent solicitude, full in the face of the dolorous reciter. On the other side of Monsieur Julien, somewhat in front, sat Count D'Orsay, with a handkerchief occasionally lifted to his eyes, and ever and anon an exclamation of pain was uttered by him at the recital of some particular Chagrin. At the very instant when the accents of the reciter were becoming most lugubrious and ludicrous, and the difficulty of refraining from laughter was at its height, D'Orsay was heard to whisper as he leaned his head over the back of the nearest chair, " Pleurez done ! " Doctor Quin, a well-known figure of the da}-, added his quota to the general effect. Whenever D'Orsay seized upon some particular passage, and exclaimed, "Ah, que c'est beau," then Quin's " Magnijique, superhe, vrairtient beau" would be heard in solemn accents, and a call for that moving passage over again preferred and complied with. At the conclusion of les Chagrins Julien's eyes would be bathed in tears, and in this melting mood was he con- ducted by Count D'Orsay to the fauteuil of Lady Blessing- ton, and there received compliments and consolations. Custom had probably hardened Lady Blessington to ostracism by her own sex, but no use could accustom her to the ever-increasing necessity for work if she was to keep Marguerite Poiver, Countess of Blessington 169 up the extravagant household, the green chariot and the expensive society. She got, says her biographer, no sleep at night, knowing tliat there was nothing to meet the large expenses going on but her two thousand a-year which was a drop in the big ocean of extravagance. To add to her troubles, her literary success, to which she looked as a means of rescue, was beginning to wane. It had been mainly due to adventitious circumstances, her name being so much in people's mouths, her friendship with editors, and many causes. An enigma, Greville calls it in his biting cynicism, but nevertheless acknowledges that liundreds were paid for her books ; that they were trans- lated into French and German and made popular in the States. All this was now to cease. The public had suddenly tired, and publishers were beginning to fight shy of her ladyship's three-volume dulness. The poor lady could not read aright the reluctance shown by Colburn and Longman to continue the supply, and kept on pestering them with manuscripts which cost her many a sleepless night when the lights were out and the guests departed to their downy pillows. To add to her difficulties, she had in an evil hour allowed lierself to be drawn into accepting the post of editor or editress of Heath's Boole of Beauty, one of the many annuals then in fashion, " trashy things for which all the beauty, taste and talent of London were laid under contribution, and by means of notoriety, puffing and stuffing, and untiring industry, and practising on the vanity of some and the good- nature of others the end is advanced." The rage for these books was, however, at one time equal to any run of the present day. The public could not get enough of them until the demand created a glut, and then came the inevitable decline which was probably due to the appearance of the periodicals. Heath's Booh of Beauty, whicli was a really charming pro- duction, lasted until 1846. The portraits of the fashionable beauties were illustrated in a manner we could not now have at any price. There were contributions from some good writers, poetry, stories, imaginary conversations. There was plenty of material, printed on lovely satin paper and bound elegantly in silk, either blue or brown. I have some volumes 170 Some Fair Hibernians of these books before me now, one for 1837, another for 1843, etc. The first is tlie best, but it is wonderful to note the contrast in the appearance and dress of the women to those of the present day. How sweet and feminine they were, with their pretty, gentle faces and soft curls. Their dress, too, so modest and airy with the clouds of tulle and lace. It was not wonderful that they made conquests so easily. There were no complaints then that men wouldn't marry, they were only too eager to secure these sweet creatures. If, however, the portraits are most of them charming, so much praise cannot be given to the letterpress. The amount of silliness and vapid nonsense written in prose and verse in these elegant annuals is appalling. Nor is this astonishing — fifty-three contributions had to be supplied ! As may be imagined, they could not all be good. In the early volumes there are some fugitive pieces by Barry Cornwall, Moore, Dr Beattie, stories by Lytton Bulwer, and other excellent writers ; but even these seem to feel lialf ashamed of the company they are in. While Lady Blessington occupied the editor's chair, she made unceasing applications to every literary man, woman and child of her acquaintance to furnisli copy for the Book of Beauty. Every new acquaintance was put under requisition, the principal quality necessary being not the merit of the writers but the quality of their station. In the volume for 1843 seventeen titled authors and authoresses con- tributed their noble names. Amongst them we find two marquises and a marchioness. Who would grudge a guinea a year to have such a galaxy ? When any of her recruits failed. Lady Blessington fell back upon her nieces. Marguerite and Ellen Power,^ who were always ready to turn off" at a moment's notice any amount of '• lines " on Lady Mary's angelic fea- tures or the Honourable Jane's transcendant loveliness ; while for stories she could rely on her own facile pen. An end, how- ever, came to these vapid productions; even the aristocratic authors grew stale. The public would have no more of the ^ Ellen Power married Mr Henderson. Marguerite died unmarried. In the volume of letters published after his death, Charles Dickens pays a high tribute to the sweet disposition and generous character of Marguerite, whose early death pained him much. Marguei^ite Poivcr, Co2tntess of Blessington 171 Imaginary Conversations or of Mrs S. C. Hall's Irish donkey boys, and the whole thing collapsed. Heath died insolvent, heavily in debt to Lady Blessington. So far as she was in question it was all round a failure, involving her in great pecuniar}^ loss and all manner of annoyance, quarrels with publishers, jealousy of rival authors and authoresses, enormous correspondence, and much ill will. Her life in fact was rendered miserable. Another means of adding to her income had now to be found, and for the moment this was supplied by the pro- prietors of the Daily News, a paper just started (1846), under excellent management — Charles Dickens as editor, John Forster in the literary department, while Lady Blessington was entrusted with the doings of fashionable society. For this she asked £800 per year, which was thought too much, and she was offered and accepted £260 for six months. Dickens threw up the editorship, to which Forster suc- ceeded. His straightforward character was adverse to job- bing of any kind, even when it was to help a friend. And although it pained him sorely, he cancelled the engagement with Lady Blessington at the end of the six months. All this time Count D'Orsay had been pursuing his course of fashionable frivolity : his coats were the admiration of the dandies ; his horses were as well groomed, his tilbury as well appointed as if no duns were daily clamouring for payment at the doors of Gore House. In 1841 his liabilities had reached the enormous sum of £107,000, of which about £80,000 was secured on the Blessington estate. The utmost patience had been shown towards him by Stulz, to whom he owed a fabulous sum, as also to Hoby, whose fame in a certain pattern of boot he had made. It was this last, however, who had the ingratitude to arrest his benefactor as he was walking in a pair of the identical Bluchers. Having done this much, Hoby relented, and allowed his debtor to remain at large on the condition of giving up certain securities. After this warning as to the perfidy of those he had benefited bj^ his custom, the Count considered it would be wiser to remain in the safe seclusion of Gore 172 So?J!c Fat?' Hihcrinans House, whither he removed from liis apartments. The doors were kept safely locked except on Sundays, and the Count took his daily exercise in the garden, until that day came round, when he once more appeared in the Park, in all the elegance of a perfect and unpaid-for costume. Some ill-natured person had, however, the malice to hint that time was beginning to tell upon the handsome Adonis. He was reminded in Framri^ Magazine " that a dozen years or more had passed since Byron had called him a cupidon dechaine, and that he was nearer to that bourne whence no traveller returns, by what Tacitus would call inffens spatium Inimanae vitae." '' Uelieve uie, dear Count, that twelve years do not pass. And leave not some signs as they go : They may fly with the wings of the hawk— but, alas I They are marked by the feet of the crow." One good result was attained by the -Count's imprison- ment. For the first time in his life this incarnation of selfishness realised that he must put his shoulder to the wheel if he wanted to regain the dear delights of the outer world. Unfortunately he found, as many others have done, that while he was sipping the flowers of pleasure, his chance of the tangible goods of life had escaped him. He was too old for diplomacy ; too fine a gentleman for a states- man's secretary — even a consulship was refused. Failing these genteel employments, our Count turned his attention to modelling and painting, and in the last he made his mark. In a short time he executed one hundred and fifty portraits of his friends and celebrities, including some of undoubted merit. One of the best was of the Duke of ^^'ellington. It was too late, however, for. even this source of income to be of any real use in stemming the crash which was close at hand. Troubles came faster and thicker on the doomed household. In 1848 the terrible Irish famine put the crowning touch to Lady Blessington's ruin. Since 1847 she had earned nothing by her pen ; the doors had to be locked ao-ainst her creditors as well as the Count's, and she too only Marguerite Poiver, Coitntess of Blessington 173 went abroad on a Sunday. In the spring of 1849 a sheriff's officer succeeded in making good his entrance, and put in an execution at the suit of Howell & James for a comparatively small sum. This was, however, only the beginning. Credi- tors flocked in on all sides, bills were overdue at the bank and bonds were out in all directions. Count D'Orsay fled precipitately, leaving Lady Blessington to bear the brunt of the storm. A few hurried arrangements were made. The sacrifice of Gore House and its contents was insisted uj)on, and as soon as this was agreed to Lady Blessington and her nieces took farewell of all their former greatness. A few faithful friends, the true-hearted John Forster amongst the number, came at night-time to say farewell, and to help, as far as in their power, the needs of these forlorn ladies, who were only allowed to take a few necessary articles of clothing with them on their journey. What a contrast to Lady Blessington's luxurious progresses of former days. Their destination was Paris, where they joined the Count, who had taken rooms. Soon the papers announced the sale of the costly effects. " Magnificent furniture, rare porcelain, marble, bronzes, jewellery, services of rich-chased silver and silver-gilt plate, superbly-fitted dressing-case, collection of ancient and modern pictures,^ fine engravings, extensive library of upwards of 5000 volumes and other useful effects, the pro- j^erty of the Right Hon. the Countess of Blessington, retiring to the Continent." The auction, which took place May 10th, 1849, was an event in the world of fashion. The rooms were crowded. The arm-chair in which the hostess used to sit was occupied by some Jew broker, " busily engaged in examining a marble hand extended on a book," the fiugers of which were modelled from a cast of those of the now absent mistress.- Everywhere were to be seen the friends who had been habitiies of the house and enjoyed its profuse hospitalit}'. . ' Lady Blessington's ijortrait by Lawrence (as here shewn) was sold to Lord Hertford for £33t). It had originally cost £80. Lord Blessington's jJortrait brought £68. - Mr Madden, who was present at the auction, comments on the want of feeling shown. '• People poked the furniture, pulled about the objects of art and some made jokes on the scene." 1 74 Some Fair Hibernians Lady Blessington's French man servant wrote to her that the only person who seemed to be at all afieetcd was Mr Thackeray — '' il avait les larmes dans les yeux." This indifference on the part of the former guests was after all but natural, such friendships being mere social con- tracts of mutual entertainment which cease with the circumstances which call them into existence ; nor can promiscuous hospitality, such as prevailed at Gore House, ever expect more than a passing recognition. Each invited guest feels the feast has been made not for him but for everyone, and treats his host accordingly. Both Lady Blessington and Count D'Orsay knew their world thoroughly, and expected but little from it. In her Night TJwughts there occurp^ these passages, " When the sun shines on you, you see your friends. It requires sunshine to be seep by them to advantage — while it lasts we are visible to them, when it is gone and our horizon is overcast, they are invisible to us." Again, " Friends are the thermometers by which we may judge the temperature of our fortunes." If Lady Blessington had ever doubted the truth of this fact, she experienced full con- firmation of its accuracy from the hand of Louis Napoleon, who in his days of adversity had received the most exten- sive hospitality and assistance from both the Count and her- self. His return was now a lukewarm reception and an invitation to dinner. In spite of this douche from the President, as he then w^as, Lady Blessington's mercurial spirits revived in " frivolous Paris." This was in a measure due to the good result the auction had on her affairs — the sum of eleven thousand pounds net being realised, while her whole liability was fifteen. There was a hope that, given some prudence and the re-establishment of rents in Ireland, her embarrassment might only be temporary. With revived spirits she took an apartment in the Rue du Cirque, Champs Elysees, into which she intended to remove, accompanied by her nieces and the Count, when, without much preparation, she was summoned to another life. The sudden seizure resembled, curiously, that of Lord Blessington some twenty years previous. She had returned from dining with the Due MargueiHte Power, Countess of Blessington 175 and Duchesse de Guiclie,^ and went to rest without com- plaining ; early next morning she was seized with spasms of the heart, and died in a few hours. It does not appear that, beyond much hysterical demonstration, D'Orsay was affected. His vapourings over his loss are somewhat disgusting. She was to me a mother, he would- say — perhaps he meant mother- in-law, but his wife had long since made ties of another sort for herself, so efforts in that direction would have been more than useless. He lingered on in Paris, trying vainly to induce Louis Napoleon to give him an appointment of some sort, but in vain. After a little he was overtaken by a malady which precluded all hope of recovery. The loss of his limbs must have been a sad trial to this weak, frivolous being ; but in his time of need women who had filled up his hours of ease ministered to his wants. He was tenderly nursed by the Duchesse de Grammont (his sister) and by Marguerite Power, who devoted herself to his service. Thackeray saw the Count before this illness seized upon him and has left a lively sketch of the " cupidon dechaine" in his apartment, which served for atelier and sleeping-room. " I went to see poor D'Orsay yesterday. He has got an atelier not far from his sister's house, and he has filled it with pictures, looking-glasses, trophies, and a thousand gimcracks. His bed is in the corner, surmounted by a medallion of Lady Blessington, a view of her tomb, the star and sword of the Emperor Napoleon, and a crucifix. He sleeps as a child, and looks with a happy admiration at the most awful pictures hung up of his own painting, and at his statues and busts, in which he possibly has some assistance. He has done one of Laniartine, who has composed a copy of verses to his own bust, of which he says that the passer-by regarding it — (it is to be on his own tomb) — will ask, Who is that ? Is he a statesman ? Is he a warrior ? Is he a prophet ? Is he a priest? Is he a tribune of the people? Is he an Adonis? Meaning that he is every one of these things. And these mad verses written by a madman, D'Orsay says, are the finest verses that ever were written in the world. Marguerite ^ Ne^jhew to Count D'Oraay. 1 "^6 Some Fair Hibe7^nians has translated them in the finest translation ever made, and the bust is the grandest that ever ivasn'f made by an amateur. Are we mad too, I wonder ? " Lady Blessington was buried temporarily in the vaults of the Madelaine, but later removed to the churchyard of Chambourcey, St Germain en Laye. Here she reposes. In the mausoleum upon which Count D'Orsay devoted so much of his time for more than two years, there is a spacious chamber containing two sarcophagi, for D'Orsay lies there also. The portraits of Lady Blessington were legion — -almost every painter of note in her time wished to " limn " her lovely face and form. Lawrence, whose presentment is here repro- duced, gives us a charming representation ; Chalon's is full of grace, and Borall's portrait, as Francesca, was lovely as either. Besides these there are endless sketches and minia- tures; Maclise's spirited drawing in the Fraserian Gallery must not be fornrotten. SYDNEY OWEXSOX (LAI)Y MOROAX). [From a Miniature by Belines in the possession of her niece. Mrs Geale. SYDNEY OWENSON, LADY MORGAN (Born 1774— died 1859.) AND OLIVIA OWENSON, LADY CLARKE (Bom 1779— died 1859.) The name of Sydney Owenson, Lady Morgan, is to the reading public, familiar as a household word. The story of her life has been told many a time in endless variety, in large and small volumes, long and short articles. It would seem there was no need for repeating so well-worn a theme, which, through so much handling, must have acquired somewhat of a chest- nutty flavour. Such an atmosphere of romance, however, surrounds the story of both Sydney and her more beautiful sister, Olivia, there is such a dramatic ring in many of the incidents, that like a rich mine it may be dug over and over again without exhausting the supply of rich matter. The literary side of Sydney's life presents great attractions for those who are interested in studying the changes which have taken place, during the last half century, in the literature of the day. The childhood of Sydney resembled, in some points, that of Marguerite Power. Like her, debts and difficulties sur- rounded the cradle of the future authoress. Her father, Robert Owenson, the gentleman player, as he was called (whose own story has a tinge of romance), had adopted the stage as a profession, with a fair share of possible success. He was a handsome man, with extraordinary versatility, and was drawn to the stage by an irresistible impulse, which led him to give up the tangible advantages afforded by his M 178 Some Fair Hibernians wealthy patron, Mr Blake. Like all young actors, his goal was London, where his kinsman, O'Grady, introduced him to Garrick, who, however, did not engage him. He excelled in Irish parts, such as Major 0' Flaherty in " The West Indian," and the Irish always quoted him as their best actor. His popularity was unbounded. " Visions of old Owenson," says one who knew him well, " why float ye before our eyes ? Years have passed, a long segment of human life has gone since last we saw you, but your goodly figure rises in white-headed, red-nosed beauty before our mental optics, fresh as a daisy in spring ; still ring in our ears the glorious choruses of your songs — amatory, convivial, political, jocular and uproarious — in all the dialects of Ireland, from the antique JMilesian down to the disguised English of Connaught. Various and miscellaneous were your stores." One of his most popular songs ran : — " I lave my pate to Darby Tate, My face to the O'Grady s ; And I lave my legs to Daniel Beggs, To flaunt among the ladies. So Modereen a-roo, a-roo, a-roo — Modereen a-roo — a-roo, afandy. " Fortune smiled fitfully ujoon the young actor, who was eager to mount the ladder of fame. In an evil hour he allowed himself to undertake the management of a music- hall, or place of entertainment, in Dublin, and with the usual result — debts, dithculties, followed by lawsuits, which dis- sipated any profits, soon plunged him into a hopeless struggle, which lasted many years, crushing the very life of the poor, quiet Mrs Owenson^ who had run away from her Shropshire home with the handsome young actor. We first make the ac- quaintance of the two little girls in the rambling, old-fashioned house in Dublin where poor Mrs Owenson spent her sad days. The whole scene is so instinct with life as to be almost a living picture. "My sister and myself," writes Lady Morgan, " were one day playing in the court in front 1 She was Jane Mill of the family of the Mills of Hawkesley. Lady Morgan and Lady Clarke 179 of our dreary house when a noddy ^ drove up to the gate and a parson stepped out, carrying a green bag under one arm, and a huge book and a little portmanteau in the other. We ran on before him as he advanced, and the noddy man ran after him, holding out an English sixpence between his thumb and finger, and crying, ' Is it wid a tester •you jDut mc oft' \ And I come from Stoneybatter wid ye . . . and that is worth the hould thirteen '^ any day in the year, and you a parson, reverend sor.' ' I'll give you no more,' said the reverend sor, while x^'e paused with our hands behind our backs and our eyes raised to the parson. ' Then I'll have ye before the court of conscience,' was the reply, when his reverence, accidentally crushing the bag under his arm, a sound was emitted from a pair of bagpipes. Fear- ing the pipes were injured, he drew them from the bag, and played a few notes of Moloney's jig, which struck the man and the children as magic music. ' Will ye give us a little more af ye plaze ? ' His reverence complied. The children danced, the noddy man fell in, the servants rushed out and began to dance too. When the music stopped the ecstatic charioteer held out the sixpence, saying, ' Plaze, your reverence, take it ; by the piper that played before Moses, I could not touch a far thin'. Sure I would drive ye back to Stoneybatter for nothin' at all save a tune on your beautiful pipes.' " Says Thackeray, " Is not this like a bit of Sterne ? " The poor Shropshire lady found the struggle too hard for her quiet nature, and while her husband was fighting against the buffets of evil fortune, she slowly faded out of life, her one sorrow the leaving of her two friendless little girls. She could not have had much confidence in an erratic genius like Owenson fulfilling the difficult position of guardian to a child such as Sydney had already shown herself, but at first he did the best thing in placing both children at an excellent school kept by a French Huguenot lady, Madame Terson, at Clontarf, ' Noddy was the vehicle used in Dublin. It was in shape something like a phaeton, having a flap in front. There was a stand of noddys in College Green, round King William's statue. '■^ The English shilling was thirteen -pence. 1 80 Some Fair Hibernians near Dublin. Unfortunately, after a few years, this lady dying, they were removed to another, and finally taken home. Troubles were coming fast and thick upon the poor gentle- man player. He had been driven from Fishamble Street by Daly, the rival manager, and had engaged in a disastrous speculation at Kilkenny, with the result that he had, in the phrase then common, to go into " hiding," leaving his two daughters and their maid, the faithful Molly, who had been their nurse, to bear the brunt of angry creditors, and the humili- ation of being refused re-admittance to IMrs Anderson's school. This condition of affairs, which would have crushed most girls of her age, seems to have roused all the energy latent in Sydney's character, and brought out all that was best in her nature. Her letters to her father, encouraging and consoling him, her tender, motherly care for her young sister who is to be shielded from all "rougli work," her humorous sketches of Molly — all this fills the reader with admiration for this young creature, barely sixteen, who sets herself up as the saviour of the family. Aide toi le del t'aiderxi is an old motto which perhaps Sydney Owenson had written in her copybook at Madame Terson's, and now was to prove. An old friend of the family, an excellent clergyman, was touched by the generous spirit of the girl. He exerted himself in her behalf, and procured her a situation as governess in the family of Mrs Featherstonehaugh,^ of Brackiin Castle, in the County Westmeath. In a letter to her father she describes her first introduction to the family. It is a delightful picture, graphic- ally touched off. A farewell dance was given by her French dancing-master, Monsieur Fontaine, in her honour, at which she danced until the horn of the coach which was to convey her to Westmeath was heard sounding at the top of the street ; then all was hurry and confusion. She had no time to change her short white muslin skirt, nor her white shoes with sandals. A cloak was thrown over her finery, a bonnet was crushed upon her head, and she and her bundle were handed in charge to the guard. Her appearance must ^ The name can he spelt either Featherstone or Feathcrstouehaugh. — Lady Morgan's Mcmoirn. Lady Morgan and Lady Clarke i8i certainly have startled Mrs Featlierstonehaugh, but it seems to have made no impression unfavourable to the new arrival ; she was received most kindly, and from that time treated quite as one of the family. The Featherstonehaughs always moved to Dublin for the winter season. They had a handsome house in Dominic Street, and saw much society, both fashionable and literary. The friends Sydney made under their roof were excellent rungs in the ladder she was beginning already to ascend. She was not of a nature that would be content with taking a back seat, and her powers of fascination soon were re- cognised. Few governesses, indeed, are endowed with her social talents, and it is possible that, in a steady-going English family, they would not have been allowed scope for so much display. Her experiences are in curious contrast with those of Charlotte Bronte. Sydney, however, had the rare gift of knowing how to accept kindness and to be grateful for good intentions. In living with others, especially in a more or less dependent situation, this is a grand secret for happiness. Mr Owenson, who had a great deal of Irish pride in his nature, was hurt at seeing his child in what he considered an inferior position. He obtained her a post more worthy of her talents, as companion and reader to the Dowager Lady Moira. Sydney, however, would not accept the post. She was attached to her pupils, a favourite with everyone, and per- fectly happy. Moreover, she had already entered upon her real vocation. Fired by reading an account of Miss Burney's clandestine publication of Evelina, Sydney resolved to emu- late so excellent an example. The result, in the first instance, was somewhat disappointing. Her first novel, 8t Clair} did not, like Evelina, take the world by storm ; but then we must remember she had not a father to secretly pull the wires. All things taken into consideration, it was surprising how, with no one to help her, Sydney succeeded in finding a pub- lisher willing to undertake the risk. It is true she derived no advantage beyond a few copies. Still she had made the first step, and, as she was a quick writer, she followed it up ' St Clair was published in 1803. 1 82 So}3ie Fair Hibernians by a second venture, which was more successful. Tlie Novice of St Dominic, which was published by subscription, was brought out by Sir Richard Philips, of St Paul's Churchyard, a well-known bibliopole. It made a certain mark, was well received, and when he was dying, Pitt had it read to him three times over. It would not repay perusal now. Miss Owenson having finally determined to adopt literature as her profession, and finding that leisure to carry out her intention was absolutely necessary, she, with much sorrow on both sides, took leave of her kind friend, Mrs Feather- stonehaugh, and the pupils, to whom she had never been a governess in the true sense of the word. tShe returned to her father's house, and occupied herself diligently with the production of the book with which her name is principally associated — The Wild Irish Girl. Sydney Owenson, at this period of her life, before the world and flattery had spoiled her, seems to have been a very attractive girl. Thackeray, with a gallantry rather unusual in his utterances towards the nation, declares that it is easy for an Irishwoman to be charming ; he adds, " and this young Irishwoman was good-looking, quick, impulsive, not without a streak of genius, desirous of pleasing and of being pleased, singing Irish songs, playing the Irish harp, telling droll stories, amusing society by her vivacity and harmless vanity, and overshadowing no one by any eminent superiority." " We cannot but admire," adds Thackeray, and praise from his sharp pen is worth having, " the prudence and energy with which this mere girl first goes out as a governess, then resolves to imitate Miss Burney to relieve her improvident father ; how she does not allow the flattery of social and literary success to enervate her and cause her to relapse into idleness, because she has the facile luxury of great houses open to her." Thackeray, who seems to have studied Sydney's character closely, admits that she flirted freely, but kept out of scrapes. Her prudent conduct in this regard he ascribes altogether to her having an English mother. Wherever the prudence came from, the flirting was of Irish growth. Except the Spanish, no women flirt so prettily as do Irishwomen. " They begin," Lady Morgan a^td Lady Clarke 183 says an EnoHsh writer, " in their cradles ; it comes, in fact, as second nature, and forms part of the desire to be all things to all men which predominates in the Celtic nature." Sydney had been coquetting all her life. She was a mere school-girl when Dermody, the crazy, handsome, rhyming 'protege of her father, fell madly in love witii her. It is said she returned his affection, but that his wild, fantastic notions as to the marriage tie, or rather no tie, presented an insuperable ob- stacle, and in the end drove the poet to the solace of the native beverage. Sydney, if she were in love with him, soon recovered. She flirted with everyone — from the Viceroy to the crossing-sweeper. Even over the dry, English publisher, Sir Richard Philips, she at once threw her lasso, and drew him into her net. Their correspondence is all veiled flirting ; her letters full of brightness and coquetry, his somewhat anti- quated. He addresses her, in a tone of high-flown gall an tr}^, as " a dear, bewitching, deluding syren." Sydney, however, was not to be caught by sweet words. She had a very keen eye to her own interest, and when Sir Richard hesitated as to accepting Thr. Wild Irish Girl on the score of its decidedly advanced national tendency (Lady Morgan was all her life a staunch patriot), the plucky authoress lost no time in applying to Johnson (Miss Edge- worth's publisher), who offered three hundred pounds for the book. When Sir Richard heard this his hesitation vanished. He put forward his prior claim, and secured the right of publishing, but he had to advance his terms, or his bewitch- ing syren would have deserted him. The book caused a furore. It went to seven editions, was translated into French, and praised to excess. " Books," says Miss Julia Kavanagh, " have their youth like women and men — a youth which is always enchanting." The Wild Irish Girl possessed this charm. It was full of faults, yet its romantic interest, its improbabilities and its enthusiasm gained it a popularity far better written books could not command. Its phenomenal success was due more to the fact that the Irish question was one of supreme interest than to its own 184 Some Fair Hibernians intrinsic merits. It has not borne the test of time, and it is almost impossible now to read it without weariness. T)ie ^Yild Irish G irl, ho wevev, quite satisfied the generation for which it was written, and placed its writer at once in the coveted position of a fashionable novelist. When she went to London, which she did at the instance of her publisher, she was made the lion of the moment, and was invited here, there and everywhere by persons of rank and fashion. At that time there was flourishing in society a certain animated little old lady, who gave Sunday parties in Burling- ton Street, who was a link between the eighteenth and nine- teenth centuries. Lady Cork, as Miss Monckton, had been one of Mrs Montagu's Blue-stocking Club, had known Mrs Delany and Fanny Burney, Oliver Goldsmith and the Homecks, been called a pretty little dunce by Dr Johnson, and had been painted by Sir Joshua in a pastoral attitude, seated in a o-arden, a dog at her feet. This remarkable old lady had retained her ardour for company and the enjoyments of life, and her zest for society was as keen as when, sixty years previous, she had gone to a fancy ball as an Indian Sultana, attended by four blacks.^ Mr Luttrell, the wit, likened her to a shuttlecock, " all cork and feathers," while others specu- lated in an unfeeling fashion upon her great age. - This 1 At Mi-s Cornely's masquerade, February 26th, 1770, Miss Monckton, Lord Galway's daughter, appeared in the character of an Indian Sultana^ in a robe of cloth of gold, and a rich veil. The seams of her habit were embroidered with precious stones, and she had a magnificent cluster of diamonds on her head. The jewels she wore were valued at £30,000. - .John Wilson Croker, who had an ill-natured fancy for convicting women of suppressing or falsifying their ages (in them not an unpardonable failing), gave himself endless trouble to investigate the actual truth as to Lady Cork's age. In 1835 he discovers that in Lodge's Peerage* the date has been mis-stated, and in 1836, when she wrote him a most charming little note inviting him to dinner on her ninetieth birthday, this captious critic's only idea was to convict her idea. ■• I found," he says, " by the register of St James's Parish, that she had understated her age by one year." Lady Morgan is likewise accused by Cyrus Redding of concealing her age, as if that were a heinous offence. "I never could get at it," he says, and then he describes how he fished to elicit some clue. One day, when visiting Lady Morgan, she told him the Countess of Morley had just left. " I wish I had seen her," remarked Redding. " I knew her when she was Lady Boringdon. She must be about your age." " I don't know her age." "Older than you ?" " I don't know." "The time I speak of was between 1811 and 1814." "I don't know her age.'" So he adds, "I could make nothing by the motion." And why should he ? * Lodge gives the date of her birth 1747 ! Lady Morgan and Lady Clarke 185 lady invited to her house all sorts and conditions of men and women, no matter what was their creed, party or calling. Provided they could contribute in any way to the general amusement, they were free of her hospitality, and most diverting stories ran round society as to her pursuit of lions, and her methods of making them perform. ^ Her gatherings were somewhat of an olla podrida, as it was well known she would have invited a half-naked savage to her parties if by so doing she could make people talk. For the rest, she was a most interesting personality, liaving such a distinct connection with the past century. She had often been to the Court of Marie Antoinette, and had never forgotten what the old Princesse de Joinville had told her, that la pro'preU was the beauty of old age. She therefore always dressed in white, wearing a white crape cottage bonnet and a white satin shawl, trimmed with the finest point lace. She was never seen with a cap, and although so old, her complexion, which was really white and pink, not put on but her own, was most beautiful. The first time that Sydney presented herself at Lady Cork's assembly, she was so overcome with nervousness as to be hardly able to ascend the marble staircase with its gilt balus- trades. She felt, she said, like Maurice Quill at the battle of Vittoria, who wished some of his greatest enemies were kicking him down Dame Street. The kind reception of her hostess soon dispelled this feeling, and made her quite at home. She was presented to one great personage after another with a flourish which savoured somewhat of the show-woman exhibiting a dancing dog or monkey. " Allans, mademoiselle, parlez done. Vous allez voir, mesdames, comme elle parle. Now, my dear, fancy you are at home, and take off' the Irish brogue for us. She does it inimitably. Ah, where is Sheridan ? Let someone go and find Sheridan. That's Monk Lewis over there. You ^ A very amusing story is that of Lady Cork hearing, on the morning of one of her assemblies, that Sir Anthony Carlisle, the fashionable surgeon of the day, had just dissected and preserved the female dwarf, Coechenie. The news sug- gested to her ladyship that this might afford amusement for her guests of a totally novel description. She posted off to Sir Andrew, who was out. Lady Cork then asked the servant for the little child. " There's no child here, ma'am." '■ But I mean the child in the bottle." " Oh, this is not the place where we bottle the children, ma'am ; that's in the luaster's workshop." 1 86 Some Fair Hibernians have heard of him, but you mustn't read his books. Tliey are exceedingly naughty." After this Sydney's Irish harp was brought in, and she was asked to exhibit. Her nervousness had, however, returned. The large pier glasses which lined the walls of the room reflected her solitary little figure surrounded by a gaping crowd of strangers, all waiting for her Irish howl. ^ She was on the brink of tears, and the howl was a failure. At supper, however, she revived. Mr Kemble, who came late, addressed her (drawing at the same time a copy of T]ie Wild Irish Girl from his pocket), — " Little girl, why did you write such nonsense, and where did you get those d d hard words ? " This extraordinary rudeness roused the Celtic nature, and with a flash of her blue eyes, Sydney answered, — " Sir, I wrote as well as I could, and I got the hard words out of Johnson's dictionary." Sydney, who by the way was not a little girl but a fully-fledged young lady, scored by this quickness of repartee, and the stor}^ was repeated at all the clubs, adding greatly to her prestige. She had more invita- tions than she could accept ; Lady Charleville, the Marchioness of Abercorn, and her first patroness, Lady Cork, made much of her, and their example was followed by the lion hunters of the day, who vied with each other in paying her every attention, so that it would have required a head of marble to keep cool upon her young shoulders. Nevertheless, we find her letters to home most natural in her enjoyment of these honours — and who would not have enjoyed such distinctions as compliments from royalty itself ? — and at the same time there is the same warm interest in every household detail, the same loving care of sister Livy, and respectful attentions to her father, which proves her heart was untouched by her rise in the world. One of the most charming features in Sydney Owenson's character was her intense affection for her sister Livy, untinged as it was by one spark of jealousy of ^ Lady Cork's drawing-room was cliarmiugly arranged ; it was literally filled with flowers and large looking-glasses, which reached from the top of the room to the bottom. At the base was a brass railing, within which were flowers, which, reflected in the glass, had a very pretty effect. Recollections of Lauy Clementina Dacres. Lady Morgan and Lady ClaiLce 187 her very superior attractions. The younger Miss Owenson was both beautiful and highly gifted. Her delicate health, sensitive nature and remarkable beauty unfitted her for making the same struggle for success as did Sydney, vs^ho was eminently suited for the more rough-and-ready work of life. It was, therefore, fortunate that the more retiring younger sister, early in her career, secured the affections of an excel- lent man with ample means to give her ever}'^ comfort, and what to her affectionate natui'e was especially welcome — a home for her father. As the wife of Sir Arthur Clarke, there was no more harassing cares for " Livy's future," and a great anxiety was shifted off Sydney's shoulders. She had, how- ever, trials on her own account. Mention has already been made of the flirting propensities which amused without touch- ing the heart of the volatile authoress. In the words of the old ballad, " All men were to her like shadows " ; the suffer- ings of her victims troubled her in no wise. Her day, how- ever, came at last. There is no doubt that her affections were given to Sir Charles Ormsby, a man of position fortune and family, and that a marriage with him would have gratified her ambition and satisfied her heart. That she fully expected an offer from her lover is evident ; that he did not make it is inexplicable, as there is strong evidence that he was deeply attached to her. Seeing that Sir Charles, after going to the extreme verge of flirtation either would not, or could not, cross the brink, she most wisely determined to break off" all intimacy with a man who possessed so faint a spirit ; but this effort cost her much, and left traces through her life. It was when smarting under this disappointment that a proposal of a very different character was made to her, and that she listened to it for a moment was no doubt due to the wish she had to escape from the scene of her mortification. Lady Abercorn, one of her newly-made friends, was fascinated by the brightness and cleverness of the Irish authoress. She and Lord Abercorn thought it would be de- lightful to have her as a perpetual visitor. Their children were all married, and this young lady would help them to get through their lonely hours. They were very great people, and 1 88 Some Fair Hibernians very kind people, and the offer was no doubt a good one ; but Sydney, after some reflection, did not fall in with the pro- posal ; the idea of being an appendage to a great man's house- hold did not suit her. She was making an independent income, and liked her liberty better than hanging on to a noble patron ; but in the end her scruples were overcome. The Abercorns altered their proposal to one less irksome. She was asked to spend a portion of each year either at Baronscourt or Stanmore Priory. Her friends persuaded her to accept this ; her father especially urged her to do so. He belonged to the time when patrons were necessary stepping- stones to fortune, and he was more of a snob than his clever, plucky daughter. He wished with all his heart to see his child in such a fine position, and his wish was gratified. Still, to say the truth, it was a mistake, this taking up of a gilded servitude, and Sydney soon tired of it. The position was accompanied by a thousand vexatious circumstances. The noble pair bickered constantly, and Miss Owenson w-as ex- pected to sit in the cross fire of their humours, and to find good spirits and sprightly conversation when they were dull. There were, of course, compensations. She had the advan- tage of the very best society, not alone courtly, but literary, and it was under Lady Abercorn's auspices, and very much through her gentle ministrations, that Sydney at last landed in the safe harbour of matrimony. That she was a consum- mate flirt her best friend cannot deny. The taste had grown since her disappointment, and she felt a pleasure in making the race suffer for the fault of one man. Sir Charles Morgan, however, was too much in earnest to allow this game to be played with him. " I cannot let you make a shuttlecock of my heart for your amusement," he says in one of his letters, and this earnestness prevailed much with the coquette. But it would have gone hard with him had he not been helped by such an able all}^ Reading between the lines of the biography, one can see that from the first Lady Abercorn had set her heart on the marriage of her two 'proteges. At first Sydney took the matter much as a joke, and although she accepted the doctor she led him such a tantalising dance that he probably would Lady Aforgaji and Lady Clarke 189 have broken away altogether only for her ladyship, who took the affair into her hands and settled it in a very summary manner. One January morning the young lady was sitting in her room at Baronscourt, when to her entered Lady Abercorn, and told her " to come upstairs and be married, for there must be no more trifling, my dear Glorvina. ..." And so Glorvina was led away to her patroness's dressing-room, where everything was prettily arranged for the ceremony — parson surpliced, bridegroom waiting, no possible chance of escape ; and in this wise was the Irish girl caught and caged.^ Once married, the flighty little authoress made an excel- lent wife, and in all essential points the pair were admirably suited to one another. Sir Charles was sensible, clever and quiet ; his solid qualities were of infinite use in tempering her too redundant vivacity, which he kept in check. He advised her in all points, and occasionally overawed her. Her attach- ment to him was decidedly strong and sincere, and they were a pleasant, hospitable, happy couple, eminently social especially after they cut the Gordian knot which bound them to their distinguished patrons, and set up house for themselves in Dublin, having a small house in Kildare Street, which soon became known as a centre where society gathered. At that time there was a touch of foreign life in the little Irish capital, and a pleasant interchange of fun and frivolity, as when Lady Morgan, wishing to give an evening party, threw up the windows of her drawing-room and invited her friends as they passed to join the revel. We hear of her at the Viceregal gaieties, where she scorned to appear in the necessary uniform of train and feathers, " preferring to glide about with her luxuriant hair bound by a solid gold fillet, her face all anima- tion, and with a witty word for everyone." She was exceedingly vain of her toilet, being addicted to very prononce colours, bright blue satins, and much adornment of lace. Neither did she disdain to abandon the pen for the needle, and generally made her own dresses. As may be imagined, she soon 1 The wedding ring was too large, and before the evening the bride had lost it. It was never found. Sydney would not hear of Sir Charles replacing it, by what she maintained would be a sham wedding ring. igo Some Fair Hibernians became a well-known character in Dublin, and always received an enthusiastic cheer when she appeared in the dress-circle at the theatre. Thackeray has immortalised hei" in his " with Lady Morgan drinking tea," and Moore has chronicled different pleasant dinners with Curran, Shiel, Edward Moore and the Clarkes. Lady Clarke was the chief attraction of the Kildare Street gatherings. The prettiness of the girl had developed into the beauty of the woman, to which she added conversational powers so superior to those of her novel-writing sister, that one cannot help suspecting that the work which went in the name of one was a joint production. A visitor to Dublin a few years later gives the following amusing account of the Morgan household : — " A number of pleasant people used to assemble of an evening in what has been called ' Lady ]\Iorgan's snug little nutshell in Kildare Street.' When I first made the acquaintance of the lady of the house she was in the height of her popu- larity. I found her occupied in preparing for the Press her novel of The O'Briens and the O'Flahertys. In this work, as she told me, I am made to figure as a certain Count — a great traveller — who made a trip to Jerusalem for the sole object of eating artichokes in their native country." The same writer^ goes on to say :— "I once joined a group at a masquerade in which both sisters figured. Lady Morgan was a Marquise of the Court of Louis XV., a character which, from habit of her inter- larding her conversation with French epithets, became quite natural to her. Lady Clarke enacted the part of an Irish lady of the last century on whom the Pope had bestowed the title of Countess of the Holy Empire. She wore a high- crowned hat, and that description of riding-habit called a ' Joseph.' It was of a bright snuft' colour, and had metal buttons as large as crown pieces down the front. I personated a Macaroni of the same period, fresh from Italy ; but I did not do justice to my part, from the desire I had to catch some of the pleasantries which the Irish countess was dealing out to all around. ' Recollections of the Earl of Albemarle. t)LlVIA OWENSON (lAJ)Y CLAKKE). [From the Original Miniature by Belu possession of Mrs Geale. Lady Morgan and Lady Clarke 191 " Lady Clarke used to sing some charming Irish songs. They were for the most part squibs on the Dublin society of the day. I find, from inquiries I have made, that not a copy of any of them is to be found. A verse of one of them, giving a sketch of the Irish metropolis of my day, runs somewhat thus : — ' We're swarming alive, Like bees in a hive, With talent and janious, and beautiful ladies. We've a Duke in Kildare, And a Donnybrook Fair, And if that wouldn't plaze yez, wliy nothing would plaze yez. We've poets in plenty. But not one in twenty Will stay in Ould Ireland to keep her from sinking ; They say they can't live, Where there's nothing to give. Och ! what business have poets with ating and dlirinking.' " The authoress of Tlie Wild Irish Girl, justly proud of her gifted sister Olivia, was in the habit of addressing every new-comer with, ' I must make you acquainted with my Liv3^' She once used this form of words to a gentleman who had just been worsted in a fierce encounter of wits with the lady in question. ' Yes, ma'am,' was the reply, ' I happen to know your Livy, and I would to heaven your Livy was Tacitus.' " Sir John JMalcolm says that without having the preten- sions of her better-known sister, she was far more witty, and quite as agreeable. " I was never so entertained," he writes, " as by this little, shy -looking woman playing and singing her own funny songs. One, a parody of Miss Stephens' " Home, Sweet Home," was made by Lady Clarke on Home, the celebrated pastry-cook of Dublin, his name naturally lending itself to the parody, — ' No one makes pastry — makes pastry like Home. " She sang it," Sir John Malcolm declares, " delightfully, and was especially happy in the last verse. ' All the sweets of this world are centred in Home,'' 192 Some Fair Hibernians " She has a thousand others of the same kind ; in one she most funnily describes her clever sister : — ' She is, though I say it, an elegant artist, A Radical . . . and a great Buonapartist.' " In a notice in the AtJienceum, mention is also made of Lady Clarke entertaining the company with snatches of old Irish songs, and reminiscences of the " Beggar's Opera." She had a fund of good spirits, and much dramatic talent. As her daughters grew up, she cultivated their musical gifts, and originated a series of clever performances by marionettes or puppets, who performed operettas sung by the Misses Clarke. These were highlj^ popular, the Viceroy and his staff always attending. Lady Clarke occasionally wrote the prologue for ' The Royal Operatic Marionette Theatre,' and excelled in this class of versification, which owes much to the aprupus of the illusions which are not so well understood by another generation. She had undoubtedly a talent of this sort. When the British Association visited Dublin in 1838, a most elaborate account of what was, in fact, a most brilliant gathering of savants appeared in the pages of the Athevxeiim, which also chronicled the wise speeches of Drs Lardner and Coulter, Sir John Franklin and Professor Agassiz from Neufchatel. It seemed, however, there was another side to all this philosophy, and that the learned doctors were not insensible to the charms of the Irish ladies. Their surreptitious flirta- tions were very humorously described in a short poem called " Fun and Philosophy," which appeared in the Athenoauiin when all was over. It was from the pen of Lady Clarke, and gives the " popular view " of the intellectual gathering : — Heigh for Ouhl Ireland ! Oh, wuiild you require a land, Where men by nature are all quite the thing, Where pure his peroration has taught the whole nation To light, love and reason, talk politics, sing 1 'Tis Pat's mathematical, chemical, tactical, Knowing and practical, fanciful, gay. Fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry, There's nothing in life that is out of his way Lady Morgan and Lady Clarke 193 He makes light of optics, and sees through dioptrics, He's a dab at projectiles, — ne'er misses his man ; He's complete in attraction, and quick at reaction By the doctrine of chances he squares every plan. In hydraulics so frisky, the whole Bay of Biscay, But if it flowed with whisky, he'd stow it away. Fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry, There's nothing in life that is out of his way. To him cross over, savant and philosopher, Thinking, God help them ! to bother us all ; But they'll find that for knowledge, His at our oum college Themselves must inquire for — beds, dinners or ball. ^ There are lectures to tire, and good lodgings to hire. To all who require and have money to pay ; While fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry. Ladies and lecturing fill up the day. Here's our dejeiiner ; put down your shilling, pray, See all the curious bastes after their feed.- Lovely lips, Moore has said, must evermore be fed, So this is but suiting the word to the deed; Perhaps you'll be thinking that eating and drinking, Where wisdom sits blinking is rather too gay. But fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry. Are all very sensible things in their way. So at the Rotundo, we all sorts of fun do. Hard hearts and pig-iron we melt in one flame. For if love blows the bellows, our tough college fellows Will thaw into rapture at each lovely dame. There, too, sans apology, tea tarts, tautology. Are given with zoology to grave and gay. Thus fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry, Send all to England home, happy and gay. From the time of her marriage, Lady Morgan's literary career assumed a different aspect. Her union with a man of the undoubted ability of Sir Charles, who was a writer of much refinement and elegance, had a distinct influence as regarded ^ A notice to this effect was posted on the walls of the college. ^ The breakfast was given in Glasnevin Gardens to more than 1400 persons. An essay was read by Professor Agassiz. The ladies were not admitted until after the philosophers (i.e., the bastes) had been fed. N 1 94 Some Fair Hibernians the improvement of her somewhat slip-shod style.^ From the time of her marriage her position as an authoress grew more assured. It was Sir Charles's office to act as his erratic little wife's amanuensis, correcting her wanderings into divers tenses and other feminine aberrations, while, at the same time, he took care not to interfere with the fidelity of her pictures of existing life, or to curb the vivacity of her fancy. 0' Doiinell, which she published in 1814, two years after her marriage, shows evidence of this careful pruning. It lacks, however, much of the charm tliat distinguished The Wild Irish Girl. The authoress, in her preface, says it deals with the flat realities of life. The hero is, nevertheless, genuinely romantic. Sir Walter Scott, in his diary, mentions having " amused my- self very pleasantly reading Lady Morgan's novel, O'Donnell, which has some striking and beautiful passages, and in its comic parts is rich and cultivated ; there is, however," he adds, " a want of story always fatal to a book on the first reading, and it is well if it has a second chance, poor novel." ^ O'Donnell was published by the new fashionable pub- lisher, Henry Colburn, who had inaugurated an entirely new system of publishing. In the year 1814 the publishing busi- ness was in the hands of Murray, Longman and Colburn, who later on was joined by Richard Bentley. Murray's position was unchallenged ; as " the Prince of Bibliopoles " he drew round him talent of no ordinary kind, and deserved the con- fidence of the public. Colburn, on the other hand, was a new man. He was said to be of a mean, pettifogging spirit, a 1 Sir Charles contributed to the Athenceuiii as well as to the Examiner, and gave to both papers " a considerable amount of backbone," as Mr Grote was wont to say. " After his marriage, Sir Charles gave up almost altogether medical practice, and devoted himself exclusively to political and literary pursuits. The Monthly Alcvgazine contains some of his pleasantest contributions, and up to the week of his death he wrote in a celebrated literary review. On the coming in of the Whigs, he was made one of the Commissioners of Irish Fisheries, and his reports were remarkable for their cleverness. He was also the author of two valuable works, which have undergone translation in French and Italian — The Philosophy of Life, and The Philosophy of Morals. To Lady Morgan's books of travel in France and Italy he contributed the chapters on Law, Medical Science and Statistics, and the last joint-publication of the devoted couple was The Book loith- ont a Name. Sir Charles was very accomplished — a writer of much ability, an honest politician, an amiable and enlightened man. He was never at a loss for a witty or wise passage from Rabelais or Bayle." — From the Examine?: ^ This remark of Sir Walter Scott's was repeated by a young lady to Lady Morgan. She answered good-humouredly, " Yes ! I have not much invention." Lady Moi'gan and Lady Clarke 195 dealer in petty arts and small stratagems which ensured success where no intrinsic merit existed. The arts he resorted to were then considered unworthy, because they were un- known. He ma}'- be said to have invented the art of in- fluencing the public by the means of extensive puffing and advertisements. Advertise, advertise was his motto, and, judged by the standard of to-day, an excellent method. It did not however, lind favour with the uncompromising critics of Colburn's time. In an article in Fraser's Magazine, entitled, " The Art of Puffing," Mr Henry Colburn and the small fry of authors composing the Tag-rag and Bobtail Club, headed by Thomas Campbell, the bard of hope, are very roughly handled. "Literary puffers and trumpeting booksellers should form themselves into a special guild and choose Henry Colburn for their head, for it is he who has not only invented, but brought the present art and mystery of puff manufacture to its existing condition and consistence. Does he not keep clerks and writers, whose exclusive employment is, as he says, ' Solely to look after the papers and the advertise- ments ; ' and does not the little man boast of being able to stuff his inconceivable trash down the reluctant maws of the public ? . . . This achievement is of easy execution for the manly shoulders of Henry Colburn. He is proprietor of the Court Journal, the New Monthly Magazine, the Naval and Military. He has a share in the Literary Gazette, and every newspaper opens its columns for the puffs of this clean- Itanded gentleman, save only the Times and the Morning Herald. 'Mister Henry Colburn,' however, continues to put money into his pockets (and very fast he keeps it there), and Mr Richard Bentley means to do so likewise, reasoning, as he does, that there are more fools than wise people in the world, and that, if even half his trash were to be sent to the candle and snuff shops, the other half would find a sufficiently ample market, for the odds are in favour of the gullibleness of fools. The secret of success, therefore, is involved in the right use of one grand cabalistic word — Puff Ay, Puff! Puff! Puff!" 1 96 Some Fair Hibernians Another writer is even fiercer in his attack upon the successful publishers. " Have ye ever perused one of the compositions of Messrs Bentley and Colburn, known, ye gods, men and booksellers, by the name of 'puffs,' in which the 'denounced,' or the 'dis- owned,' or the ' d d,' or any other of the admirable pro- ductions of that class and order are depicted as works of superhuman genius — talent more than mortal energy can devise. Price, one pound, one shilling. N.B. — None are genuine unless they have the mark of Colburn & Bentley on the title-page. And being enticed in the simplicity of your heart by these flattering pictures, you are handed, for your sovereign and its silvery attendant, the volumes, with the certain fate of discovering that the book so beplastered is stupid beyond belief, ignorant and abominable, and with affectation not to be endured." " Here are three examples out of a hundred puffs which Messrs Colburn and Bentley have manufactured for the pur- pose of carrying off their editions of this egregious stuff." The Morning Chronicle leads the way : — "The new fashionable poem, Mr Bulwer's 'Siamese Twins,' has become the most popular phrensy since the publication of ' Don Juan.' The first edition is, we under- stand, already exhausted. We have not heard whether any alterations are to be made in the second, or whether that singular passage describing the introduction of the tivins at Almack's by Lady Jersey's ticket is retained." The article goes on to describe the manufacture of the fashionable novel then in vogue, with its elaborate system of Keys'^ to the real names of the titled personages who 1 In the recollections of Cyrus Redding a curious story is told of the use made by Colburn of the Key system : — " 'Authors and publishers,' says the writer, 'were in those days much more a unity than they are now.' Calling one day upon Colburn, who published Disraeli's first book, Vivian Grey, he said to me, — 'I have a capital book out, Vivian Grey. The authorship is a great secret — a man of high fashion — very high — keeps the first society. I can assure you it is a most piquant and spirited work, quite sparkling.' Colburn always regarded, in IDublishing, the fashionable taste, no matter how absurd, for the fashionable was a buying taste, and no Lintot looks farther. I remarked that the characters were not drawn from life, for I had already run my eyes over the work. 'Two or three characters might,' I said, 'be from the life, but they were exaggerated, or almost wholly imaginary.' This Colburn did not like, but remarked that Lady Morgan and Lady Clarke 197 figure as dramatis personcG, an invention, this, of "the two princes paramount of puffers and quacks, Messrs Colburn and Bentley." All this vituperation boded well for the commercial success of Colburn. For years he commanded an extensive share of public favour, and published the works of the best writers. He did not care what price he gave, provided he could keep certain authors like Lytton Bulwer and Harrison Ainsworth to himself, and prevent other publishers getting hold of them. He gave Lady Morgan £600 for O'JDonnell and double that sum for Florence McCarthy. The first named was attacked fiercely in the Quarterly Review, the writer being supposed to be John Wilson Croker, a countryman of Lady Morgan's. Later on it was well known to be the work of the venomous GifFord.^ The extraordinary license allowed to reviewers at people of fashion might read, and would understand them for realities. Three or four days after this, walking down Oxford Street, I saw one of Colburn's estab- lishment coming out of Marsh's, in Oxford Street. It was here that Mr Disraeli published incog, a periodical paper called the Star Chamber, in the columns of which the author had extolled his own book. The messenger had a number of pamphlets under his arm ' What have you there ? ' The pamphlets were in yellow covers, about twenty pages of matter. The word ' key ' was signified by a wood-cut of a key, and below the cut were the w-ords 'to Vivian Grey — being a complete exposition of the royal, noble and fashionable characters who figure in this most extraordinary work.' There was a second wood-cut of a curtain, partly drawn aside, displaying in the perspective a drawing-room filled with company attitudm- ising. ' Oh,' said I, ' why did not Mr Colburn publish this as well as the book itself?' 'That would not answer," was the reply. I did not on the instant remember that Marsh was the publisher of Mr Disraeli's Star Chamber. I took away one of the pamphlets, and found it filled with extracts from Vivian Grey, and remarks, some of feigned censure, to give critical verisimilitude, others were puffs of the work, highly laudatory. At the end of the key there was a clue to living personages, whose names were affixed to the real and imaginary characters in the work, all extracted from Mr Disraeli's Star Chamber, which affected great mystery as to the authorship, the aim of which was obvious. ' We know,' so it ran, 'who the author of Vivian Grey really is.' Then in the before-mentioned paper followed the names of living characters. Mr Foaming Fudge, JNIr B m ; Lord Alhambra, Lord P ; Colonel Dalmington, Colonel L n. All this was intermingled with a little critical censure here and there, and above all sur- passing wonderment at the noise the extraordinaiy work was making in the world. " Such were some of the artifices made use of to get the book into notoriety, and they were successful." ^ Hazlitt, who suffered terribly from Gifford's attacks, wrote in scathing terms of his enemy: — "There cannot be a greater nuisance than a dull, envious, pragmatical, low-bred man who is placed, as you are, in the situation of editor to such a work as the Quarterly Review. He exults over unsuccessful authors, he hates successful ones ; he is angry at the faults of a work, more angry at its excellence." Here is a sample of how the unfortunate writers were treated: — "In these days of cant and humbug, of fraud, folly and foppery, of idle words, vast pretensions of vain and blatent hollowness, of Robert Montgomeryism, Lytton Bulwerism, Colburn and Bentleyism ; in these days when Thomas Campbell passes iqS Some Fail'' Hibernians the beginning of this century, and the paramount importance accorded to their opinions, is a marked feature in the history of literature. That such turgid, unsparing criticism was not without good effect upon the writers of the day is incontro- vertible ; nevertheless, its influence for good was seriously impaired by the offensive character of many of these reviews — the personal animosity which it thinly veiled, and the decided political bias which was the ruling motive of many a virulent attack. In the attacks made on Lady Morgan during her literary career, this party bias has to be taken into account. She was a staunch, uncompromising patriot ; an advocate for emancipation, civil and religious. And although, strangely enough, tliese well-known principles did not interfere with her friendship with the most aristocratic of the upper ten, it drew down upon her the wrath of the Tory party, who were the principal up- holders of the Conservative Quarterly and Frasers Macju- cine. From these papers Lady Morgan got no quarter. The intrepid lady faced her adversaries boldly. A few 3"ears later, in the May number of Frasers Magazine for 1833, she made a spirited remonstrance to Mr Fraser on his omission of her name in the essay on female character : — "Oh, fie, Mr Fraser ! 'tis shameful, 'tis scandalous, shocking and spiteful, To think, in your Essay on Females, that else had been perfect delightful ! You have falsified all your pretensions to gallantry, gi-ace and gentility, Or the chivalrous spirit that honours every gem of true female nobility ; You have forfeited credit and character, fitting a popular organ, By omitting the name of matchless moi-mhne, Ladi Morgan. Only think what a wrong to the fair sex, who hail me their pride and their glory ; Only think what a loss to mankind ! but this comes of your being a Tory, for a Greek scholar, Thonicas Babington Macaiilay for an enemy to quacks, and James Mackintosh for an historian, modesty is imlooked for, and so novel, that an approach should be hailed with joy." S. C. Hall draws down the flail upon liis unfortunate person by annoimcing that the first sheet of the Amulet (one of the many periodicals) was reserved "for my friend Mr Bulvver," afterwards Sir PMward Lytton Bulwer. " Hear ye this, readers of annuals and poetical books, and let the words sink deeply into your ears. Bulwer, ay, Bulwer ipsissimus, postpones his aid until next year. He must have the, first sheet, forsooth," etc. Lady Morgan and Lady Clarke 199 For yon know that the Duke, Peel and Eldon, and others on whom you're dependency, All declare " they have no chance of power while my lady maintains the ascendency." And so I shrewdly suspect my Lord Roden or Sir Richard Vyvyan Have prevailed on you, Mr Fraser, to bury my name in oblivion." But if Lady Morgan could put such a good face upon her annoyance, Sir Charles was by no means so plucky. In 1830 we find him writing to Cyrus Redding of the false, calumnious and diabolical attack upon Lady M in the Times. " What is he to do ? Is it wise or prudent to answer, or to let it alone — four columns in the Times? At such a moment could it have been purchased, and if so, by whom ? " Ida of Athens followed O'BonneU. It was severely handled in the Quarterly. Ida was succeeded by France, which appeared in 1817, and met with great success, but again the Quarterly flew at her throat, treating the work with a severity quite unjustifiable, and which would not be tolerated nowadays. This persecution of a woman roused great indignation. Lady Morgan's suspicions fell upon Croker. Mr Peel, afterwards Sir Robert, who then held ofiice in Dublin, writes to Croker, "Lady Morgan vows vengeance against you as the supposed author of the article in the Quarterly. You are to be TJie liero of some novel of which she is about to be delivered. One of her warm friends has been trying to extract from me whether you were the author of this obnoxious article or not, but I disclaimed all knowledge, and only did not deny that it was to be attributed to you because I thought you would be very indiff"erent to Lady JMorgan's hostility. I was excessively amused by hearing that the female circle of Dublin generallj^ attribute the article to Vesey (Fitzgerald)." . From a subsequent letter it is pretty evident that a great portion of these " obnoxious reviews " were written by Gifibrd. Lady Morgan, however, having no suspicion of this, fulfilled her threat in regard to holding up her supposed enem}^, 200 So?ne Fair Hibernians Croker, to the derision of the world. Her portrait of him as Crawley in Florence M'Carthy was at once recognised, and his tough withers were wrung with mortification. The amount of literature turned out in the little house in Kildare Street was truly surprising, and supports the idea, suggested by a recent writer, that Lady Clarke, who had a charming facility with her pen, sometimes assisted in the process of manufacture. France ^ was successful, running into several editions in spite of the hostile attitude assumed by the press, which had, to use a vulgar expression, " rounded on " Lady Morgan. An amusingly- written, but unkind and satirical review, appeared in Fraser's Magazine, in which great capital is made of her ladyship's innocent vanity. The tone may be gathered from the following, which is a fair sample of the personal nature of reviews in those days : — " This late book is decidedly your (Lady Morgan's) best, be- cause it may be in some sort considered the mirror of your iconic nature. We have clearly before us the charming arts by which you bewitched Lafayette the General and Careene the cook, Rothschild the banker and Beranger the chansonnier, David the sculptor and Gelliers the executioner, the romanticist with the open shirt collar, and the classicist with no collar." All through her literary career Lady Morgan seems to have been exposed to the most insulting, coarse, ungentlemanlike attacks. Her age, her personal appearance, her dress, her domestic affairs were commented upon in a manner which fortunately is absent from the criticism of to-day. It was cruelly unjust and yet not inexplicable ! Lady Morgan had an aggressive character, which showed itself in her writings. She was fear- less; she braved sarcasm and slander, and kept good her stand against her enemies ; she was not to be put down. At one time she had the Quarterly, the Times, the Age and Fraser's all assailing her, but she was equal for them all. When a ^ France appeared in 1817. It excited considerable interest abroad. Lebrun translated it. The Baron F. P. C. Dupin, addressed a letter to Lady Morgan. " La France telle qu'elle est, ct non la France de Lady Morgan " was the title of another pamphlet ; also, Observations sur l'ouvra