QfarnBll Mmuerattg Slihrary 
 
 atljata, Hem f nrk 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 18S4.1919 
 
 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
 JOSEPH M^DOMOUCH 
 RARE BOOKS 
 
n« c:o. Cornell University Library 
 DA 538.A35A2 1895 
 
 iimSMi! »?.„!?! •'^'y Robinson. 
 
 3 1924 028 048 860 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this bool< is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028048860 
 
MARY ROBINSON 
 
^^If'fff^f 
 
 JF this Edition of the Memoirs of 
 Mary Robinson One Hundred and 
 'Twenty-Fife Copies are printed for 
 England and America, 
 
 cA>M 
 
 i 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 ARY 
 
 OBINSON 
 
 "PERDITA" 
 
 FROM THE EDITION EDITED BY HER DAUGHTER 
 fyiTH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY 
 
 J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF EDMUND KEAN,'* 
 *' COURT LIFE BELOW STAIRS," &C. 
 
 WriH PORTRAITS 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GIBBINGS AND COMPANY, Ld. 
 PHILADELPHIA : J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO. 
 
 1895 
 
 
 T 
 
INTRODUCTION TO THE ORIGINAL 
 EDITION. 
 
 HE following brief Memoirs or a 
 beautiful, engaging, and, in many 
 respects, highly gifted woman re- 
 quire little in the way of introduc- 
 tion. While we may trace some 
 little negative disingenuousness in 
 the writer, in regard to a due admission of her own 
 failings, sufficient of uncoloured matter of fact remains 
 to show the exposed situation of an unprotected beauty 
 — or, what is worse, of a female of great personal and 
 natural attraction, exposed to the gaze of libertine rank 
 and fashion, under the mere nominal guardianship of a 
 neglectful and profligate husband. Autobiography of 
 this class is sometimes dangerous ; not so that of Mrs. 
 Robinson, who conceals not the thorns inherent in the 
 paths along which vice externally scatters roses. For 
 the rest, the arrangement of princely establishments in 
 the ■ way of amour is pleasantly pourtrayed in this 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 brief volume, which in many respects is not without 
 its moral. One at least is sufficiently obvious, and 
 it will be found in the cold-hearted neglect which a 
 woman of the most fascinating mental and personal 
 attractions may encounter from those whose homage 
 is merely sensual, and whose admiration is but a snare. 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 g 
 
 2 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 HE author of these Memoirs, Mary 
 Robinson, was one of the most 
 prominent and eminently beautiful 
 women of her day. From the 
 description she furnishes of her 
 personal appearance we gather that 
 her complexion was dark, her eyes large, her features 
 expressive of melancholy ; and this verbal sketch 
 corresponds with her portrait, which presents a face 
 at once grave, refined, and charming. Her beauty, 
 indeed, was such as to attract, amongst others, the 
 attentions of Lords Lyttelton and Northington, 
 Fighting Fitzgerald, Captain Ayscough, and finally 
 the Prince of Wales ; whilst her talents and con- 
 versation secured her the friendship and interest of 
 David Garrick, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Charles 
 James Fox, Joshua Reynolds, Arthur Murphy, the 
 dramatist, and various other men of distinguished 
 talent. 
 
viii EDITOI^S PREFACE. 
 
 Though hei- Memoirs are briefly sketched, they are 
 sufficiently vivid to present us with \'arious pictures 
 of the social life of the period of which she was the 
 centre. Now we find her at the Pantheon, with its 
 coloured lamps and brilliant music, moving amidst a 
 fashionable crowd, where large hoops and high feathers 
 abounded, she herself dressed in a habit of pale pink 
 satin trimmed witli sable, attracting the attention of 
 men of fashion. Again she is surrounded bv friends at 
 Vauxhall Gardens, and barely escapes from a cunning 
 plot to abduct her — a plot in which loaded pistols and 
 a waiting coach prominently figure ; whilst on another 
 occasion she is at Ranelagh, where, in the course of 
 the evening, half a dozen gallants " evinced their 
 attentions"; and ultimately she makes her first appear- 
 ance as an actress on the stage of Drury Lane before 
 a brilliant house, David Garrick, now retired, watching 
 her from the orchestra, whilst she played Juliet in 
 pink satin richly spangled with silver, her head 
 ornamented with white feathers. 
 
 The face of her becoming an actress brought about 
 the turning-point in her life ; it being whilst she 
 played Perdita in The Winter's Tale before roj^ty 
 that she attracted the Prince of Wales, afterwards 
 George IV., who was then in his eighteenth year. 
 The incidents which followed are so briefly treated in 
 the Memoirs that explanations are necessary to those 
 who would follow the story of her life. 
 
 The performance of the play in which the Prince 
 saw her, probably for the first time, took place on the 
 
EDITORS PREFACE. ix 
 
 3rd of December, 1779. It was ndt until some 
 months later, during which the Prince and Perdita 
 corresponded, that she consented to meet him at Kew, 
 where his education was being continued and strict 
 guard kept upon his conduct. During 1780 he 
 urged his father to give him a commission in the 
 army, but, dreading the liberty which would result 
 from such a step, the King refused the request. It 
 was, however, considered advisable to provide the 
 Prince with a small sep>arate establishment in a wing 
 of Buckingham House ; this arrangement taking place 
 on the 1st of January, 1781. 
 
 Being now his own master, the Prince became a 
 man about town, attended routs, masquerades, horse- 
 races, identified himself with politicians detested by 
 the King, set up an establishment for Mrs. Robinson, 
 gambled, drank, and in a single year spent ten 
 thousand pounds on clothes. He now openly appeared 
 in the company of Perdita at places of public resort 
 and amusement ; she, magnificently dressed, driving a 
 splendid equipage which had cost him nine hundred 
 guineas, and surrounded by his friends. We read 
 that — " To-day she was a paysanne with her straw hat 
 tied at the back of her head. Yesterday she perhaps 
 had been the dressed belle of Hyde Park, trimmed, 
 powdered, patched, painted to the utmost power of 
 rouge and white lead ; to-morrow she would be the 
 cravated Amazon of the riding house ; but, be she 
 what she might, the hats of the fashionable promenaders 
 swept the ground as she passed." 
 
X EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 This life lasted about two years, when just as the 
 Prince, on his coming of age, was about to take 
 possession of Carlton House, to receive ^^30,000 from 
 the nation towards paying his debts, and an annuity 
 of ^^63,000, he absented himself from Perdita, leaving 
 her in ignorance of the cause of his change, which 
 was none other than an interest in Mrs. Grace 
 Dalrymple Elliott. 
 
 In the early fervour of his fancy he had assured 
 Mrs. Robinson his love would remain unchangeable 
 till death, and that he would prove unalterable to his 
 Perdita through life. Moreover, his generosity being 
 heated by passion, he gave her a bond promising to 
 pay her j^20,ooo on his coming of age. 
 
 On the Prince separating from her, Perdita found 
 herself some ^^7,000 in debt to tradespeople who 
 became clamorous for their money, whereon she wrote 
 to her royal lover, who paid her no heed ; but presently 
 she was visited by his friend, Charles James Fox, when 
 she agreed to give up her bond in consideration of 
 receiving an annuity of ^^500 a year. 
 
 She would now gladly have gone back to the stage, 
 but that she feared the hostility of public opinion. 
 Shortly after she went to Paris, and on her return to 
 England devoted herself to literature. It was about 
 this time she entered into relations with Colonel — 
 afterwards Sir Banastre — Tarleton, who was born in 
 the same year as herself, and had served in the 
 American army from 1776 until the surrender of 
 Yorktown, on which he returned to England. For 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. xi 
 
 many years he sat in Parliament as the representative 
 of Liverpool, his native town ; and in 1817 he gained 
 the grade of Lieutenant-General, and was created a 
 baronet. His friendship with Mrs. Robinson lasted 
 some sixteen years. 
 
 It was whilst undertaking a journey on his behalf, 
 at a time when he was in pecuniary difficulties, that 
 she contracted the illness that resulted in her losing the 
 active use of her lower limbs. This did not prevent 
 her from working, and she poured out novels, poems, 
 essays on the Condition of Women, and plays. A 
 communication written by her to John Taylor, the 
 proprietor of the Sun newspaper and author of various 
 epilogues, prologues, songs, &c., gives a view of her 
 life. This letter, now published for the first time, is 
 contained in the famous Morrison collection of auto- 
 graph letters, and is dated the 5th of October, 1 794. 
 
 " I was really happy to receive your letter. Your 
 silence gave me no small degree of uneasiness, and I 
 began to think some demon had broken the links of 
 that chain which I trust has united us in friendship 
 for ever. Life is such a scene of trouble and dis- 
 appointment that the sensible mind can ill endure the 
 loss of any consolation that renders it supportable. 
 How, then, can it be possible that we should resign, 
 without a severe pang, the first of all human blessings, 
 the friend we love ? Never give me reason again, I 
 conjure you, to suppose you have wholly forgot me. 
 
 "Now I will impart to you a secret, which must not 
 be revealed. I think that before the loth of Decern- 
 
xii EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 ber next I shall quit Englandyffr ever. My dear and 
 valuable brother, who is now in Lancashire, wishes to 
 persuade me, and the unkindness of the world tends 
 not a little to forward his hopes. I have no relations 
 in England except my darling girl, and, I fear, few 
 friends. Yet, my dear Juan, I shall feel a very severe 
 struggle in quitting those paths of fancy I have been 
 childish enough to admire — false prospects. They 
 have led me into the vain expectation that feme would 
 attend my labours, and my country be my pride. 
 How have I been treated ? I need only refer you to 
 the critiques of last month, and you will acquit me of 
 unreasonable instability. When I leave England — 
 adieu to the muse for ever — I will never publish 
 another line while I exist, and even those manuscripts 
 now finished I will destroy. 
 
 " Perhaps this will be no loss to the world, yet I 
 may regret the many fruitless hours I have employed 
 to furnish occasions for malevolence and persecution. 
 
 " In every walk of life I have been equally unfor- 
 tunate, but here shall end my complaints. 
 
 " I shall return to St. James's Place for a few days 
 this month to meet my brother, who then goes to 
 York for a very short time, and after his return (the 
 end of November) I depart. This must be secret.^ 
 for to my other misfortunes jjecuniary derangement 
 is not the least. Let common sense judge how I can 
 subsist upon ;^500 a year, when my carriage (a 
 necessary expense) alone costs me ;^200. My mental 
 labours have foiled through the dishonest conduct of 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. xiii 
 
 my publishers. My works have sold handsomely, but 
 the profits have been theirs. 
 
 " Have I not reason to be disgusted when I see 
 him to whom I ought to look for better fortune 
 lavishing favours on unworthy objects, gratifying the 
 avarice of ignorance and dulness, while I, who sacri- 
 ficed reputation, an advantageous profession, friends, 
 patronage, the brilliant hours of youth, and the 
 conscious delight of correct conduct, am condemned 
 to the scanty pittance bestowed on every indifferent 
 page who holds up his ermined train of ceremony ? 
 
 " You will say, ' Why trouble me with all this ? ' I 
 answer, ' Because when I am at peace you may be in 
 possession of my real sentiments and defend my cause 
 when I shall not have the power of doing it.' 
 
 " My comedy has been long in the hands of a 
 manager, but whether it will ever be brought forward 
 time must decide. You know, my dear friend, what 
 sort of authors have lately been patronised by 
 managers ; their pieces ushered to public view, with 
 all the advantages of splendour ; yet I am obliged to 
 wait two long years without a single hope that a trial 
 would be granted. Oh, I am tired of the world 
 and all its mortifications. I promise you this shall 
 close my chapters of complaints. Keep them, and 
 remember how ill I have been treated." 
 
 Eight days later she wrote to the same friend : 
 " In wretched spirits I wrote you last week a most 
 melancholy letter. Your kind answer consoled me. 
 The balsam of pure and disinterested friendship never 
 
xiv EDITORS PREFACE. 
 
 fails to cure the mind's sickness, particularly when it 
 proceeds from disgust at the ingratitude of the world." 
 
 The play to which she referred was probably that 
 mentioned in the sequel to her Memoirs, which was 
 unhappily a failure. It is notable that the principal 
 character in the farce was played by Mrs. Jordan, who 
 was later to become the victim of a royal prince, who 
 left her to die in poverty and exile. 
 
 The letter of another great actress, Sarah Siddons, 
 written to John Taylor, shows kindness and com- 
 passion towards Perdita. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to Mrs. Robinson," says 
 Mrs. Siddons, " for her polite attention in sending me 
 her poems. Pray tell her so with my compliments. 
 I hope the poor, charming woman has quite recovered 
 from her fall. If she is half as amiable as her writings, 
 I shall long for the possibility of being acquainted with 
 her. I say the possibility^ because one's whole life is 
 one continual sacrifice of inclinations, which to 
 indulge, however laudable or innocent, would draw 
 down the malice and reproach of those prudent people 
 who never do ill, ' but feed and sleep and do obser- 
 vances to the stale ritual of quaint ceremony.' The 
 charming and beautiful Mrs. Robinson : I pity her 
 from the bottom of my soul." 
 
 Almost to the last she retained her beauty, and 
 delighted in receiving her friends and learning from 
 them news of the world in which she could no longer 
 move. Reclining on her sofa in the little drawing- 
 room of her house in St. James's Place she was the 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. xv 
 
 centre of a circle which comprised many of those who 
 had surrounded her in the days of her brilliancy, 
 amongst them being the Prince of Wales and his 
 brother the Duke of York. 
 
 Possibly, for the former, memory lent her a charm 
 which years had not utterly failed to dispel. 
 
 August^ 1894. J. F. M, 
 
LIST OF PLATES. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson. From an Engraving by J. R. Smith, 
 after Romney. ' {Frontispiece) 
 
 Mrs. Robinson. Engraved by Roffe, after Cosway. 
 
 Face page I 
 Mrs. Robinson. Engraved by Roffe, after Cosway. 
 
 Face page 48 
 
 Mrs. Robinson. From the Engraving by Dickenson, 
 
 after Reynolds. Face page 82 
 
 Duchess of Devonshire. From the Engraving by Barto- 
 
 lozzi, after J. Nixon. Face page 116 
 
 Miss Farren. From the Engraving by Knight, after 
 
 Lawrence Face page 140 
 
 Mrs. Robinson and the Prince of Wales. From the 
 
 Engravings by Sherwin and Burke. Face page 162 
 Mrs. Robinson. From the Engraving by Daniell, after 
 
 Dance. Face page 192 
 
 Mrs. Robinson. From the Engraving by Burke, after 
 
 Reynolds. Face page 208 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 MARY ROBINSON. 
 
 T the period when the ancient 
 city of Bristol was besieged by 
 Fairfax's army, the troops being 
 stationed on a rising ground in 
 the vicinity of the suburbs, a 
 great part of the venerable 
 minster was destroyed by the cannonading 
 before Prince Rupert surrendered to the enemy ; 
 and the beautiful Gothic structure, which at this 
 moment fills the contemplative mind with 
 melancholy awe, was reduced to but little more 
 than one-half of the original fabric. Adjoining 
 to the consecrated hill, whose antique tower 
 resists the ravages of time, once stood a monas- 
 
 2 
 
2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tery of monks of the order of St. Augustine. 
 This building formed a part of the spacious 
 boundaries which fell before the attacks of the 
 enemy, and became a part of the ruin, which 
 never was repaired or re-raised to its former 
 Gothic splendours. 
 
 On this spot was built a private house, partly 
 of simple, and partly of modern architecture. 
 The front faced a small garden, the gates of 
 which opened to the Minster Green (now called 
 the College Green) ; the west side was bounded 
 by the cathedral, and the back was supported 
 by the ancient cloisters of St. Augustine's 
 monastery. A spot more calculated to inspire 
 the soul with mournful meditation can scarcely 
 be found amidst the monuments of antiquity. 
 
 In this venerable mansion there was one 
 chamber whose dismal and singular constructure 
 left no doubt of its having been a part of the 
 original monastery. It was supported by the 
 mouldering arches of the cloisters, dark, Gothic, 
 and opening on the minster sanctuary, not only 
 by casement windows that shed a dim mid-day 
 gloom, but by a narrow winding staircase, at 
 the foot of which an iron-spiked door led to the 
 long gloomy path of cloistered solitude. This 
 place remained in the situation in which I de- 
 
MAJi y ROBINSON. 3 
 
 scribe it in the year 1776, and probably may, 
 in a more ruined state, continue so to this hour. 
 
 In this awe-inspiring habitation, which I 
 shall henceforth denominate the Minster House, 
 during a tempestuous night, on the 27th of 
 November, 1758, I first opened my eyes to this 
 world of duplicity and sorrow. I have often 
 heard my mother say that a more stormy hour 
 she never remembered. The wind whistled 
 round the dark pinnacles of the minster tower' 
 and the rain beat in torrents against the case- 
 ments of her chamber. Through life the tem- 
 pest has followed my footsteps, and I have 
 in vain looked for a short interval of repose 
 from the perseverance of sorrow. 
 
 In the male line I am descended from a 
 respectable family in Ireland, the original name 
 of which was MacDermott. From an Irish 
 estate, my great-grandfather changed it to that 
 of Darby. My father, who was born in 
 America, was a- man of strong mind, high spirit, 
 and great personal intrepidity. Many anec- 
 dotes, well authenticated, and which, being 
 irrefragable, are recorded as just tributes to his 
 fame and memory, shall, in the course of these 
 memoirs, confirm this assertion. 
 
 My mother was the grandchild of Catherine 
 
4 MFMOIRS OF 
 
 Sevs, one of the daughters and co-heiresses ol^ 
 Richard Seys, Esq., of Boverton Castle, in 
 Glamorganshire. The sister of my great-grand- 
 mother, named Anne, married Peter, Lord King, 
 who was nephew, in the female line, to the 
 learned and truly illustrious John Locke — a name 
 that has acquired celebrity which admits of no 
 augmented panegvric 
 
 Catherine Seys was a woman of great piety 
 and virtue — a character which she transferred to 
 her daughter, and which has also been acknow- 
 ledged as justly due to her sister Lady King.' 
 She quitted this life when my grandmother was 
 yet a child, leaving an only daughter, whose 
 father also died while she was in her inlancy. 
 By this privation of paternal care my grand- 
 mother became the elc-ve of her mother's father, 
 and passed the early part of her Hfe at the 
 family castle in Glamorganshire. From this 
 period till the marriage of my mother I can give 
 but a brief account. All I know is, that my 
 
 ' Collins's Peerage gives the following account of this 
 lady : " Peter, Lord Ring married Anno, daughter of 
 Richard Seys, Esq., of Boverton, in Glamorganshire, with 
 whom he lived to the day of his death in perfect love and 
 happiness, and left by her four sons and two daughters " 
 (vol. vii. p. 273). 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 5 
 
 grandmother, though wedded unhappily, to the 
 latest period of her existence was a woman of 
 amiable and simple manners, unaffected piety, 
 and exemplary virtue. I remember her well ; 
 and I speak not only from report, but from my 
 own knowledge. She died in the year 1780. 
 
 My grandmother Elizabeth, whom I may, 
 without the vanity of consanguinity, term a 
 truly good woman, in the early part of her life 
 devoted much of her time to botanic study. 
 She frequently passed many successive months 
 with Lady Tynt, of Haswell, in Somersetshire, 
 who was her godmother, and who was the Lady 
 Bountifiil of the surroimding villages. Ani- 
 mated by so distinguished an example, the young 
 Elizabeth, who was remarkably handsome,' 
 took particular delight in visiting the old, the 
 indigent, and the infirm, resident within many 
 miles of Haswell, and in preparing such medi- 
 cines as were useful to the maladies of the 
 peasantry. She was the village doctress, and, 
 with her worthy godmother, seldom passed a 
 day without exemplifying the benevolence of her 
 nature. 
 
 ' A portrait of my grandmother, when a girl, was seen 
 by my mother at Haswell, in Somersetshire, the seat of 
 Sir C. K. Tynt, many years after I was bom. 
 
6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 My mother was born at Bridgwater, in 
 Somersetshire, in the house near the bridge, 
 which is now occupied by Jonathan Chub, Esq., 
 a relation of my beloved and lamented parent, 
 and a gentleman who, to acknowledged worth 
 and a powerflil understanding, adds a superior 
 claim to attention by all the acquirements of a 
 scholar and a philosopher. 
 
 My mother, who never was what may be 
 called a handsome woman, had nevertheless, in 
 her youth, a peculiarly neat figure, and a vivacity 
 of manner which obtained her many suitors. 
 Among others, a young gentleman of good 
 family, of the name of Storr, paid his addresses. 
 My father was the object of my mother's choice, 
 though her relations rather wished her to form 
 a matrimonial alliance with Mr. S. The con- 
 flict between affection and duty was at length 
 decided in favour of my father, and the rejected 
 lover .set out in despair for Bristol. From 
 thence, in a few days after his arrival, he took 
 his passage in a merchantman for a distant part 
 of the globe ; and from that hour no intelligence 
 ever arrived of his fate or fortune. I have often 
 heard my mother speak of this gentleman with 
 regret and sorrow. 
 
 My mother was between twenty and thirty 
 
MAHy ROBINSON. 7 
 
 years of age at the period of her marriage. The 
 ceremony was performed at Dunyatt, in the 
 county of Somerset. My father was shortly 
 after settled at Bristol, and during the second 
 year after their union a son was born to bless 
 and honour them." 
 
 Three years after my mother gave birth to a 
 daughter, named Elizabeth, who died of the 
 small-pox at the age of two years and ten 
 months. In the second winter following this 
 event, which deeply afflicted the most affection- 
 ate of parents, I was born . She had afterwards 
 two sons : "William, who died at the age of six 
 years ; and George, who is now a respectable 
 merchant at Leghorn, in Tuscany. 
 
 All the offspring of my parents were, in 
 their infancy, uncommonly handsome, excepting 
 myself. The boys were fair and lusty, with 
 auburn hair, light blue eyes, and countenances 
 peculiarly animated and lovely. I was swarthy; 
 my eyes were singularly large in proportion to 
 my face, which was small and round, exhibiting 
 
 ' I may with truth, and without vanity, make this 
 remark. The estimable being here mentioned was named 
 John ; he died on the 7th of December, 1790, at Leghorn, 
 in Tuscany, where he had been many years established 
 as a merchant of the first respectability. 
 
8 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 features peculiarly marked with the most pen- 
 sive and melancholy cast. 
 
 The great difference betwixt my brothers 
 and myself, in point of personal beauty, tended 
 much to endear me to my parents, particularly 
 to my father, whom I strongly resembled. The 
 early propensities of my life were tinctured with 
 romantic and singular characteristics ; some of 
 which I shall here mention, as proofs that the 
 mind is never to be diverted from its original 
 bent, and that every event of my life has more 
 or less been marked by the progressive evils of 
 a too acute sensibility. 
 
 The nursery in which I passed my hours of 
 infancy was so near the great aisle of the 
 minster, that the organ, which re-echoed its 
 deep tones, accompanied by the chaunting of the 
 choristers, was distinctly heard both at morning 
 and evening service. I remember with what 
 pleasure I used to listen, and how much I was 
 delighted whenever I was permitted to sit on 
 the winding steps which led from the aisle to 
 the cloisters. I can at this moment recall to 
 memory the sensations I then experienced — the 
 tones that seemed to thrill through my heart, 
 the longing which I felt to unite my feeble 
 voice to the full anthem, and the awful though 
 
MAE V HOBINSON. 9 
 
 sublime impression which the church service 
 never failed to make upon my feelings. While 
 my brothers were playing on the green before 
 the minster, the servant who attended us has 
 often, by my earnest entreaties, suffered me to 
 remain beneath the great eagle which stood in 
 the centre of the aisle, to support the book 
 from which the clergyman read the lessons of 
 the day ; and nothing could keep me away, 
 even in the coldest seasons, but the stern looks 
 of an old man, whom I named Black John from 
 the colour of his beard and complexion, and 
 whose occupations within the sacred precincts 
 were those of a bell-ringer and sexton. 
 
 As soon as I had learned to read my great 
 delight was that of learning epitaphs and 
 monumental inscriptions. A story of melan- 
 choly import never failed to excite my atten- 
 tion ; and before I was seven years old I 
 could correctly repeat Pope's Lines to the 
 Memory of an Unfortunate Lady ; Mason's 
 Elegy on the Death of the beautiful Countess 
 of Coventry, and many smaller poems on 
 similar subjects. I had then been attended 
 two years by various masters. Mr. Edmund 
 Broadrip taught me music, my father having 
 presented me with one of Kirkman's finest 
 
10 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 harpsichords, as an encitement to emulation. 
 Even there my natural bent of mind evinced 
 itself. The only melody which pleased me was 
 that of the mournful and touching kind. Two 
 of my earliest favourites were the celebrated 
 ballad by Gay, beginning, " 'Twas when the sea 
 was roaring," and the simple pathetic stanzas 
 of " The Heavy Hours," by the poet Lord 
 Lyttelton. These, though nature had given 
 me but little voice, I could at seven years 
 of age sing so pathetically that my mother, 
 to the latest hour of her life, never could bear 
 to hear the latter of them repeated. They 
 reminded her of sorrows in which I have since 
 painflilly learned to sympathise. 
 
 The early hours of boarding-school study I 
 passed under the tuition of the Misses More, 
 sisters to the lady of that name whose talents 
 have been so often celebrated.' The education 
 of their young pupils was undertaken by the 
 five sisters. " In my mind's eye " 1 see them 
 now before me ; while every circumstance of 
 
 ' Hannah More, with her sisters, at this time kept a 
 boarding-school for young ladies. Later she became 
 famous as the author of tragedies which gained popu- 
 larity. — Ed. 
 
MAH Y HOBINSON. 1 1 
 
 those early days is minutely and indelibly im- 
 pressed upon my memory. 
 
 I remember the first time I ever was present 
 at a dramatic representation : it was the benefit 
 of that great actor ' who was proceeding rapidly 
 towards the highest paths of fame, when death 
 dropped the oblivious curtain, and closed the 
 scene for ever. The part which he performed 
 was King Lear ; his wife, afterwards Mrs. 
 Fisher, played Cordelia, but not with sufficient 
 eclat to render the profession an object for her 
 future exertions. The whole school attended ; 
 Mr. Powel's two daughters being then pupils 
 of the Misses More. Mrs. John Kemble, then 
 Miss P. Hopkins, was also one of my school- 
 fellowSj as was the daughter of Mrs. Palmer, 
 formerly Miss Pritchard, and afterwards Mrs. 
 Lloyd. I mention these circumstances merely 
 to prove that memory does not deceive me. 
 
 In my early days my father was prosperous, 
 and my mother was the happiest of wives. She 
 adored her children ; she devoted her thoughts 
 and divided her affections between them and 
 the tenderest of husbands. Their spirits now, 
 I trust, are in happier regions, blest, and re- 
 united for ever. 
 
 ' Mr. Powel. 
 
12 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 If there could be found a fault in the con- 
 duct of my mother towards her children, it was 
 that of a too unlimited indulgence, a too tender 
 care, which but little served to arm their breast 
 against the perpetual arrows of mortal vicissi- 
 tude. My father's commercial concerns were 
 crowned with prosperity. His house was 
 opened by hospitality, and his generosity was 
 only equalled by the liberality of fortune : 
 every day augmented his successes ; every hour 
 seemed to increase his domestic felicity, till I 
 attained my ninth year, when a change took 
 place as sudden as it was unfortunate, at a 
 moment when every luxury, every happiness, 
 not only brightened the present, but gave 
 promise of future felicity. A scheme was sug- 
 gested to my father, as wild and romantic as it 
 was perilous to hazard, which was no less than 
 that of establishing a whale fishery on the coast 
 of Labrador, and of civilising the Esquimaux 
 Indians, in order to employ them in the ex- 
 tensive undertaking. During two years this 
 eccentric plan occupied his thoughts by day, 
 his dreams by night : all the smiles of pros- 
 perity could not tranquillise the restless spirit, 
 and while he anticipated an acquirement of 
 fame he little considered the perils that would 
 attend his fortune. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 1 3 
 
 My mother (who, content with affluence and 
 happy in beholding the prosperity of her 
 children, trembled at the fear of endangering 
 either), in vain endeavoured to dissuade my 
 father from putting his favourite scheme in 
 practice. In the early part of his youth he 
 had been accustomed to a sea life, and, being 
 born an American, his restless spirit was ever 
 busied in plans for the increase of wealth and 
 honour to his native country, whose fame and 
 interest were then united to those of Britain. 
 After many dreams of success and many con- 
 flicts betwixt prudence and ambition, he re- 
 solved on putting his scheme in practice; the 
 potent witchery possessed his brain, and all the 
 persuasive powers of reason shrunk before its 
 magic. 
 
 Full of the important business, my misguided 
 parent repaired to the metropolis, and on his 
 arrival laid the plan before the late Earl of 
 Hilsborough, Sir Hugh Palliser, the late Earl 
 of Bristol, Lord Chatham (father to the present 
 Mr. William Pitt), the chancellor Lord North- 
 ington, who was my godfather, and several 
 other equally distinguished personages ; who all 
 not only approved the plan but commended 
 the laudable and public spirit which induced 
 
14 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 my father to suggest it. The prospect appeared 
 full of promise, and the Labrador whale fishery 
 was expected to be equally productive with that 
 of Greenland. My parent's commercial con- 
 nections were of the highest respectability, 
 while his own name for worth and integrity 
 gave a powerful sanction to the eccentric 
 undertaking. 
 
 In order to facilitate this plan my father 
 deemed it absolutely necessary to reside at least 
 two years in America. My mother, who felt 
 an invincible antipathy to the sea, heard his 
 determination with grief and horror. All the 
 persuasive powers of affection failed to detain 
 him ; all the pleadings of reason, prudence, a 
 fond wife, and an infant family, proved ineffec- 
 tual. My father was determined on departing, 
 and my mother's unconquerable timidity pre- 
 vented her being the companion of his voyage. 
 From this epocha I date the sorrows of my 
 family. 
 
 He sailed for America. His eldest son, John, 
 was previously placed in a mercantile house at 
 Leghorn. My younger brothers and myself 
 remained with my mother at Bristol. Two 
 years was the limited time of his absence, and, 
 on his departure, the sorrow of my parents was 
 
AfAJl J' JtOBAXStW. 1 5 
 
 reciprocal. My mother's heart was ahnost 
 bursting with anguish ; but even death would 
 to her have been preferable to the horrors of 
 crossing a tempestuous ocean and quitting her 
 cluldren, my father having resolved on leaving 
 my brothers and myself in England for educa- 
 tion. 
 
 Still the comforts, and even the luxuries of 
 life distinguished our habitation. The tender- 
 ness of my mother's aflfection made her lavish 
 of every elegance ; and the darlings of her 
 bosom were dressed, waited on, watched, and 
 indulged with a d^ree of fondness bordering 
 on folly. My clothes were sent for firom Lon- 
 don ; my fancy was indulged to the extent of 
 its caprices ; I was flattered and praised into a 
 belief that I was a being of superior order. To 
 ang, to play a lesson on the harpsichord, to 
 recite an elegy, and to make do^erel verses, 
 made the extent of my occupations, while my 
 person improved, and my mother's indulgence 
 was almost imexampled. 
 
 My father, several years before his departure 
 for America, had removed fix)m the Minster 
 House, and resided in one larger and more con- 
 venient for his increased family. This habita- 
 tion was elegantly arranged ; all the luxuries of 
 
1 6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 plate, silk furniture, foreign wines, &c., evinced 
 his knowledge of what was worth enjoying, and 
 displayed that warm hospitality which is often 
 the characteristic of a British merchant. This 
 disposition for the good things of the world 
 influenced even the disposal of his children's 
 comforts. The bed in which I slept was of 
 the richest crimson damask ; the dresses which 
 we wore were of the finest cambric ; during the 
 summer months we were sent to Clifton Hill 
 for the advantages of a purer air ; and I never 
 was permitted to board at school, or to pass a 
 night of separation from the fondest of mothers. 
 
 Many months elapsed, and my mother con- 
 tinued to receive the kindest letters from that 
 husband whose rash scheme filled her bosom 
 with regret and apprehension. At length the 
 intervals became more frequent and protracted. 
 The professions of regard, no longer flowing 
 from the heart, assumed a laboured style, and 
 seemed rather the efforts of honourable feeling 
 than the involuntary language of confidential 
 affection. My mother felt the change, and her 
 affliction was infinite. 
 
 At length a total silence of several months 
 awoke her mind to the sorrows of neglect, the 
 torture of compunction ; she now lamented the 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 7 
 
 timidity which had divided her from a hus- 
 band's bosom, the natural fondness which had 
 bound her to her children ; for while her heart 
 bled with sorrow and palpitated with apprehen- 
 sion, the dreadful secret was unfolded, and the 
 cause of my father's silence was discovered to 
 be a new attachment — a mistress, whose resist- 
 ing nerves could brave the stormy ocean, and 
 who had consented to remain two years with 
 him in the frozen wilds of America. 
 
 This intelligence nearly annihilated my 
 mother, whose mind, though not strongly or- 
 ganised, was tenderly susceptible. She resigned 
 herself to grief. I was then at an age to feel 
 and to participate in her sorrows. I often wept 
 to see her weep ; I tried all my little skill to 
 soothe her, but in vain : the first shock was 
 followed by calamities of a different nature. 
 The scheme in which my father had embarked 
 his fortune failed, the Indians rose in a body, 
 burnt his settlement, murdered many of his 
 people, and turned the produce of their toil 
 adrift on the wide and merciless ocean. The 
 noble patrons of his plan deceived him in their 
 assurances of marine protection, and the island 
 of promise presented a scene of barbarous deso- 
 lation. This misfortune was rapidly followed 
 
 3 
 
i8 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 by other commercial losses ; and to complete 
 the vexations which pressed heavily on my 
 mother, her rash husband gave a bill of sale of 
 his whole property, by the authority of which 
 we were obliged to quit our home, and to 
 endure those accumulated vicissitudes for which 
 there appeared no remedy. 
 
 It was at this period of trial that my mother 
 was enabled to prove, by that unerring touch- 
 stone, adversity, who were her real and 
 disinterested friends. Many, with affected 
 commiseration, dropped a tear — or rather 
 seemed to drop one — on the disappointments 
 of our family ; while others, with a malignant 
 triumph, condemned the expensive style in 
 which my father had reared his children, the 
 studied elegance which had characterised my 
 mother's dress and habitation, and the hos- 
 pitality, which was now marked by the ungrate- 
 fiil epithet of prodigal luxuriance, but which 
 had evinced the open liberality of my father's 
 heart. 
 
 At this period my brother William died. 
 He was only six years of age, but a promising 
 and most lovely infant. His sudden death, in 
 consequence of the measles, nearly deprived my 
 mother of her senses. She was deeply affected ; 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 9 
 
 but she found, after a period of time, that con- 
 solation which, springing from the bosom of an 
 amiable friend, doubly solaced her afflictions. 
 This female was one of the most estimable of 
 her sex ; she had been the widow of Sir Charles 
 Erskine, and was then the wife of a respectable 
 medical man who resided at Bristol. 
 
 In the society of Lady Erskine my mother 
 gradually recovered her serenity of mind, or 
 rather found it soften into a religious resigna- 
 tion. But the event of her domestic loss by 
 death was less painful than that which she felt 
 in the alienation of my father's affections. She 
 frequently heard that he resided in America 
 with his mistress, till, at the expiration of 
 another year, she received a summons to meet 
 him in London. 
 
 Language would but feebly describe the vary- 
 ing emotions which struggled in her bosom. 
 At this interesting era she was preparing to 
 encounter the freezing scorn, or the contrite 
 glances, of either an estranged or a repentant 
 husband ; in either case her situation was re- 
 plete with anticipated chagrin, for she loved 
 him too tenderly not to participate even in 
 the anguish of his compunction. His letter, 
 which was coldly civil, requested particularly 
 
20 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that the children might be the companions of 
 her journey. We departed for the metropolis. 
 
 I was not then quite ten years old, though so 
 tall and formed in my person that I might have 
 passed for twelve or thirteen. My brother 
 George was a few years younger. On our 
 arrival in London we repaired to my father's 
 lodgings in Spring Gardens. He received us, 
 after three vears' absence, with a mixture of 
 pain and pleasure ; he embraced us with tears, 
 and his voice was scarcely articulate. My 
 mother's agitation was indescribable ; she re- 
 ceived a cold embrace at their meeting — it was 
 the last she ever received from her alienated 
 husband. 
 
 As soon as the first conflicts seemed to sub- 
 side, my father informed my mother that he 
 was determined to place my brother and myself 
 at a school in the viciriity of London ; that he 
 purposed very shortly returning to America, 
 and that he would readily pay for my mother's 
 board in any private and respectable family. 
 This information seemed like a death-blow to 
 their domestic hopes. A freezing, formal, pre- 
 meditated separation from a wife who was guilt- 
 less of any crime, who was as innocent as an 
 angel, seemed the very extent of decided misery. 
 
MAHY ROBINSON. 2 1 
 
 It was in vain that my mother essayed to 
 change his resolution, and influence his heart 
 in pronouncing a milder judgment ; my father 
 was held by a fatal fascination ; he was the slave 
 of a young and artful woman, who had availed 
 herself of his American solitude, to undermine 
 his affections for his wife and the felicity of his 
 family. 
 
 This deviation from domestic faith was the 
 only dark shade that marked my father's 
 character. He possessed a soul brave, liberal, 
 enlightened and ingenuous. He felt the im- 
 propriety of his conduct. Yet, though his 
 mind was strongly organised, though his under- 
 standing was capacious, and his sense of honour 
 delicate even to fastidiousness, he was still 
 the dupe of his passions, the victim of an un- 
 fortunate attachment. 
 
 Within a few days of our arrival in London 
 we were placed for education in a school at 
 Chelsea. The mistress of this seminary was 
 perhaps one of the most extraordinary women 
 that ever graced, or disgraced, society ; her 
 name was Meribah Lorrington. She was the 
 most extensively accomplished female that I 
 ever remember to have met with ; her mental 
 powers were no less capable of cultivation than 
 
22 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 superiorly cultivated. Her father, whose name 
 was Hull, had from her infancy been the master 
 of an academy at Earl's Court, near Fulham ; 
 and early after his marriage losing his wife, he 
 resolved on giving this daughter a masculine 
 education. Meribah was early instructed in 
 all the modern accomplishments, as well as in 
 classical knowledge. She was mistress of the 
 Latin, French, and Italian languages; she 
 was said to be a perfect arithmetician and 
 astronomer, and possessed the art of painting 
 on silk to a degree of exquisite perfection. 
 But, alas ! with all these advantages she was 
 addicted to one vice, which at times so com- 
 pletely absorbed her faculties as to deprive her 
 of every power, either mental or corporeal. 
 Thus, daily and hourly, her superior acquire- 
 ments, her enlightened understanding, yielded 
 to the intemperance of her ruling infatuation, 
 and every power of reflection seemed lost in 
 the unfeminine propensity. 
 
 All that I ever learned I acquired from this 
 extraordinary woman. In those hours when 
 her senses were not intoxicated, she would 
 delight in the task of instructing me. She had 
 only five or six pupils, and it was my lot to be 
 her particular favourite. She always, out of 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 23 
 
 school, called me her little friend, and made no 
 scruple of conversing with me (sometimes half 
 the night, for 1 slept in her chamber), on 
 domestic and confidential affairs. I felt for her 
 a very sincere afi^ection, and I listened with 
 peculiar attention to all the lessons she inculcated. 
 Once I recollect her mentioning the particular 
 failing which disgraced so intelligent a being. 
 She pleaded, in excuse of it, the immitigable 
 regret of a widowed heart, and with com- 
 punction declared that she flew to intoxication 
 as the only refuge from the pang of prevailing 
 sorrow. I continued more than twelve months 
 under the care of Mrs. Lorrington, during 
 which period my mother boarded in a clergy- 
 man's family at Chelsea. I applied rigidly to 
 study, and acquired a taste for books, which has 
 never, from that time, deserted me. Mrs. 
 Lorrington frequently read to me after school 
 hours, and I to her. I sometimes indulged my 
 fancy in writing verses, or composing rebuses, 
 and my governess never feiled to applaud the 
 juvenile compositions I presented to her. Some 
 of them, which I preserved and printed in a 
 small volume shortly after my marriage, were 
 written when I was between twelve and thirteen 
 years of age ; but as love was the theme of my 
 
24 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 poetical phantasies, I never showed them to my 
 mother till I was about to publish them. 
 
 It was my custom, every Sunday evening, to 
 drink tea with my mother. During one or 
 those visits a captain in the British navy, a 
 friend of my father's, became so partial to my 
 person and manners that a proposal of marriage 
 shortly after followed. My mother was as- 
 tonished when she heard it, and, as soon as she 
 recovered from her surprise, inquired of my 
 suitor how old he thought me ; his reply was, 
 " About sixteen." My mother smiled, and 
 informed him that I was then not quite thirteen. 
 He appeared to be sceptical on the subject, till 
 he was again assured of the fact, when he took 
 his leave with evident chagrin, but not with- 
 out expressing his hopes that, on his return 
 to England — for he was going on a two years' 
 expedition — I should be still disengaged. His 
 ship foundered at sea a few months after, and 
 this amiable gallant officer perished. 
 
 I had remained a year and two months with 
 Mrs. Lorrington, when pecuniary derangements 
 obliged her to give up her school. Her father's 
 manners were singularly disgusting, as was his 
 appearance ; for he wore a silvery beard which 
 reached to his breast ; and a kind of Persian 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 25 
 
 'robe which gave him the external appearance 
 of a necromancer. He was of the Anabaptist 
 persuasion, and so stern in his conversation that 
 the young pupils were exposed to perpetual 
 terror. Added to these circumstances, the failing 
 of his daughter became so evident, that even 
 during school hours she was frequently in a 
 state of confirmed intoxication. These events 
 conspired to break up the establishment, and I 
 was shortly after removed to a boarding-school 
 at Battersea. 
 
 The mistress of this seminary, Mrs. Leigh, 
 was a lively, sensible, and accomplished woman ; 
 her daughter was only a few years older than 
 myself, and extremely amiable as well as lovely. 
 Here I might have been happy, but my father's 
 remissness in sending pecuniary supplies, and 
 my mother's dread of pecuniary inconvenience, 
 induced her to remove me ; my brother, never- 
 theless, still remained under the care of the 
 Reverend Mr. Gore, at Chelsea. 
 
 Several months elapsed, and no remittance 
 arrived from my father. I was now near four- 
 teen years old, and my mother began to foresee 
 the vicissitudes to which my youth might be 
 exposed, unprotected, tenderly educated, and 
 without the advantages of fortune. My father's 
 
26 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 impracticable scheme had impoverished his 
 fortune and deprived his children of that 
 affluence which, in their infancy, they had been 
 taught to hope for. I cannot speak of my own 
 person, but my partial friends were too apt to 
 flatter me. I was naturally of a pensive and 
 melancholy character ; my reflections on the 
 changes of fortune frequently gave me an air 
 of dejection which perhaps excited an interest 
 beyond what might have been awakened by the 
 vivacity or bloom of juvenility. 
 
 1 adored my mother. She was the mildest, 
 the most unoffending of existing mortals ; her 
 temper was cheerful, as her heart was innocent ; 
 she beheld her children as it seemed fatherless, 
 and she resolved, by honourable means, to sup- 
 port them. For this purpose a convenient 
 house was hired at Little Chelsea, and furnished, 
 for a ladies' boarding-school. Assistants of 
 every kind were engaged, and I was deemed 
 worthy of an occupation that flattered my self- 
 love and impressed my mind with a sort of 
 domestic consequence. The English language 
 was my department in the seminary, and I was 
 permitted to select passages both in prose and 
 verse for the studies of my infant pupils. It 
 was also my occupation to superintend their 
 
MAE Y ROBINSON. 2 7 
 
 wardrobes, to see them dressed and undressed 
 by the servants or half-boarders, and to read 
 sacred and moral lessons on saints' days and 
 Sunday evenings. 
 
 Shortly after my mother had established her- 
 self at Chelsea, on a summer's evening, as I 
 was sitting at the window, I heard a deep sigh, 
 or rather a groan of anguish, which suddenly 
 attracted my attention. The night was ap- 
 proaching rapidly, and I looked towards the 
 gate before the house, where I observed a 
 woman evidently labouring under excessive 
 affliction ; I instantly descended and approached 
 her. She, bursting into tears, asked whether I 
 did not know her. Her dress was torn and 
 filthy ; she was almost naked ; and an old 
 bonnet, which nearly hid her face, so com- 
 pletely disfigured her features that I had not 
 the smallest idea of the person who was then 
 almost sinking before me. I gave her a small 
 sum of money, and inquired the cause of her 
 apparent agony. She took my hand and pressed 
 it to her lips. " Sweet girl," said she, " you 
 are still the angel I ever knew you ! " I was 
 astonished. She raised her bonnet — her fine 
 dark eyes met mine. It was Mrs. Lorrington. 
 I led her into the house ; my mother was not 
 
28 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 at home. I took her to my chamber, and, with 
 the assistance of a lady who was our French 
 teacher, I clothed and comforted her. She 
 refused to say how she came to be in so 
 deplorable a situation, and took her leave. It 
 was in vain that I entreated, that I conjured 
 her to let me know where I might send to 
 her. She refused to give me her address, but 
 promised that in a few days she would call 
 on me again. It is impossible to describe 
 the wretched appearance of this accomplished 
 woman ! The failing to which she had now 
 yielded, as to a monster that would destroy 
 her, was evident even at the moment when 
 she was speaking to me. I saw no more of 
 her ; but to my infinite regret I was informed 
 some years after that she had died, the martyr 
 of a premature decay, brought on by the in- 
 dulgence of her propensity to intoxication, in 
 the workhouse of Chelsea ! 
 
 The number of my mother's pupils in a few 
 months amounted to ten or twelve, and just 
 at a period when an honourable independence 
 promised to cheer the days of an unexampled 
 parent, my father vmexpectedly returned from 
 America. The pride of his soul was deeply 
 wounded by the step which ray mother had 
 
MAJ?y ROBINSON. 29 
 
 taken ; he was offended even beyond the bounds 
 of reason : he considered his name as disgraced, 
 his conjugal reputation tarnished, by the public 
 mode which his wife had adopted of revealing 
 to the world her unprotected situation. A 
 prouder heart never palpitated in the breast of 
 man than that of my father : tenacious of fame, 
 ardent in the pursuit of visionary schemes, he 
 could not endure the exposure of his altered 
 fortune ; while Hope still beguiled him with 
 her flattering promise that time would favour 
 his projects, and fortune, at some fiiture period, 
 reward him with success. 
 
 At the expiration of eight months my mother, 
 by my father's positive command, broke up her 
 establishment and returned to London. She 
 engaged lodgings in the neighbourhood of 
 Marylebone. My father then resided in Green 
 Street, Grosvenor Square. His provision for 
 his family was scanty, his visits few. He had 
 a new scheme on foot respecting the Labrador 
 coast, the particulars of which I do not re- 
 member, and all his zeal, united with all his 
 interest, was employed in promoting its accom- 
 plishment. My mother, knowing that my 
 father publicly resided with his mistress, did 
 not even hope for his returning affection. She 
 
30 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 devoted herself to her children, and endured her 
 sorrows with the patience of conscious rectitude. 
 
 At this period my father frequently called 
 upon us, and often attended me while we 
 walked in the fields near Marylebone. His 
 conversation was generally of a domestic nature, 
 and he always lamented that fatal attachment 
 which was now too strongly cemented by time 
 and obligations ever to be dissolved without an 
 ample provision for Elenor, which was the name 
 of my father's mistress. In one of our morning 
 walks we called upon the Earl of Northington, 
 my father having some commercial business to 
 communicate to his lordship. Lord Northington 
 then resided in Berkeley Square, two doors from 
 Hill Street, in the house which is now occupied 
 by Lord Robert Spencer. We were received 
 with the most marked attention and politeness 
 (I was presented as the god-daughter of the late 
 Chancellor Lord Northington), and my father 
 was requested to dine with his lordship a few 
 days after. From this period I frequently saw 
 Lord Northington, and always experienced from 
 him the most flattering and gratifying civility. 
 I was then a child, not more than fourteen 
 years of age. 
 
 The finishing points of my education I re- 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 3 1 
 
 ceived at Oxford House, Marylebone. I was 
 at this period within a few months of fifteen 
 years of age, tall, and nearly such as my partial 
 friends, ,-the few whose affection has followed 
 me from childhood, remember me. My early 
 love for lyric harmony had led me to a fondness 
 for the more sublime scenes of dramatic poetry. 
 I embraced every leisure moment to write verses; 
 I even fancied that I could compose a tragedy, 
 and more than once unsuccessfully attempted 
 the arduous undertaking. 
 
 The dancing-master at Oxford House, Mr. 
 Hussey, was then ballet-master at Covent 
 Garden Theatre. Mrs. Hervey, the governess, 
 mentioned me to him as possessing an extra- 
 ordinary genius for dramatic exhibitions. My 
 figure was commanding for my age, and (my 
 father's pecuniary embarrassments augmenting 
 by the failure of another American project) my 
 mother was consulted as to the propriety of my 
 making the stage my profession. Many cited 
 examples of females who, even in that perilous 
 and arduous situation, preserved an unspotted 
 fame, inclined her to listen to the suggestion, 
 and to allow of my consulting some master of 
 the art as to my capability of becoming an 
 ornament to the theatre. 
 
32 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Previous to this idea my father had again 
 quitted England. He left his wife with assu- 
 rances of good-will — his children with all the 
 agonies of parental regret. When he took 
 leave of my mother, his emphatic words were 
 these — I never shall forget them — " Take care 
 that no dishonour falls upon my daughter. If 
 she is not safe at my return I will annihilate 
 you ! " My mother heard the stern injunction, 
 and trembled while he repeated it. 
 
 I was, in consequence of my wish to appear 
 on the stage, introduced to Mr. Hull ' of 
 Covent Garden Theatre ; he then resided in 
 King Street, Soho. He heard me recite some 
 passages of the character of Jane Shore, and 
 seemed delighted with my attempt. I was 
 shortly after presented, by a friend of my 
 mother's, to Mr. Garrick 2 ; Mr. Murphy ,3 the 
 
 ' Thomas Hull, deputy manager of Covent Garden 
 Theatre, was founder of the Theatrical Fund for the 
 relief of distressed players. He was an actor, the author 
 and translator of several plays, and a writer of poems and 
 short stories. — Ed. 
 
 " David Garrick, the famous actor and manager of 
 Drury Lane Theatre, made his last appearance on the 
 stage on the loth of June, 1776, he being then in his 
 sixtieth year. — Ed. 
 
 3 Arthur Murphy, an Irishman, began life as a clerk, 
 
MAR I " ROBIXSOy. 33 
 
 celebrated dramatic poet, was one of the party, 
 and we passed the evening at the house of the 
 British Roscius in the Adelphi. This was 
 during the last year that he dignified the 
 profession by his public appearance. Mr. 
 Garrick's encomiums were of the most grati- 
 fying kind. He determined that he would 
 appear in the same play with me on the first 
 night's trial ; but what part to choose for my 
 debut was a diflicult question. I was too young 
 for anything beyond the girlish character ; and 
 the dignity of tragedy afforded but few oppor- 
 tunities for the display of such juvenile talents. 
 After some hesitation my tutor fixed on the 
 part of Cordelia. His own Lear can never be 
 forgotten. 
 
 It was not till the period when everything 
 was arranged for my appearance that the last 
 solemn injunction, so emphatically uttered by 
 mv father, nearly palsied my mother's resolu- 
 tion. She dreaded the perils, the temptations 
 
 then became a journalist and subsequently an actor, 
 but remaining on the stage only for a couple of seasons, 
 he turned dramatist and wrote a number of plays, some 
 of which attained great success. Two years after the 
 death of David Garrick he wrote a life of the famous 
 player, who had been his intimate friend. — Ed. 
 
 4 
 
34 MEMOJJRS OF 
 
 to which an unprotected girl would be exposed 
 in so public a situation ; while my ardent fancy 
 was busied in contemplating a thousand triumphs, 
 in which my vanity would be publicly gratified 
 without the smallest sacrifice of my private 
 character. 
 
 While this plan was in agitation, I was one 
 evening at Drury Lane Theatre with my mother 
 and a small party of her friends, when an officer 
 entered the box. His eyes were fixed on me, 
 and his persevering attention at length nearly 
 overwhelmed me with confusion. The enter- 
 tainment being finished, we departed. The 
 stranger followed us. At that period my 
 mother resided in Southampton Buildings, 
 Chancery Lane, for the protection which a 
 venerable and respectable friend ofi^ered at a 
 moment when it was so necessary. This friend 
 was the late Samuel Cox, Esq., the intimate 
 friend of Mr. Garriclc, and an honour to those 
 laws of which he was a distinguished professor. 
 It was Mr. Garrick's particular request that 
 I would frequent the theatre as much as possible 
 till the period fixed on for my appearance on 
 the stage. I had now just completed my fif- 
 teenth year, and my little heart throbbed with 
 impatience for the hour of trial. My tutor 
 
MAR Y ROBIXSON. 3 5 
 
 was most sanguine in his expectations of my 
 success, and every rehearsal seemed to strengthen 
 his flattering opinion. 
 
 It happened that, several evenings following, 
 the stranger officer, whose name, for motives of 
 dehcacy towards his family, I forbear to men- 
 tion, followed me to and from the theatre. It 
 was in vain that he offered his attentions in the 
 box ; my mother's frown and assiduous care 
 repulsed them efiectually. But the perseverance 
 of a bad mind in the accomphshment of a bad 
 action is not to be subdued. A letter was 
 written and conveyed to me through the hands 
 of a female servant ; I opened it ; I read a 
 declaration of the most ardent love. The writer 
 
 avowed himself the son of Lady , and 
 
 offered marriage ; he was graceful and hand- 
 some. I instantly delivered the letter to my 
 mother, and shortly after he was, by an 
 acquaintance, presented with decorous cere- 
 mony. 
 
 The idea of my appearing on the stage 
 seemed to distract this accomplished suitor. 
 My mother, who but half approved a dramatic 
 life, was more than half inclined to fevour the 
 
 addresses of Captain . The injunction of 
 
 my father every hour became more indeliblv 
 
36 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 impressed on her memory ; she knew his stern 
 and invincible sense of honour too well to 
 hazard the thought of awakening it to ven- 
 geance. 
 
 After a short period the friend who had pre- 
 sented Captain , alarmed for my safety, 
 
 and actuated by a liberal wish to defend me 
 from the artifice of his associate, waited on my 
 mother, and, after some hesitation, informed 
 her that my lover was already married ! that 
 he had a young and amiable wife in a sister 
 kingdom, and that he apprehended some dia- 
 bolical stratagem for the enthralment of my 
 honour. My mother's consternation was in- 
 finite. The important secret was communi- 
 cated to me, and I felt little regret in the loss 
 of a husband when I reflected that a matri- 
 monial alliance would have compelled me to 
 relinquish my theatrical profession. 
 
 I had also at this period another professed 
 admirer ; a man of a splendid fortune, but 
 nearly old enough to be my grandfather. This 
 suit I never would listen to ; and the drama, 
 the delightful drama, seemed the very criterion 
 of all human happiness. 
 
 I now found myself an object of attention 
 whenever I appeared at the theatre. I had 
 
AfA£ Y ROBINSON. 3 7 
 
 been too often in public not to be observed, 
 and it was buzzed about that I was the juvenile 
 pupil of Garrick — ^the promised Cordelia. My 
 person improved daily ; yet a sort of dignified 
 air, which from a child I had acquired, effec- 
 tually shielded me from the attacks of imperti- 
 nence or curiosity. Garrick was delighted with 
 everything I did. He would sometimes dance 
 a minuet with me, sometimes request me to sing 
 the favourite ballads of the day ; but the cir- 
 cumstance which most pleased him was my 
 tone of voice, which he ft«juently told me 
 closely resembled that of his favourite Cibber.^ 
 Never shall I forget the enchanting hours 
 which I passed in Mr. Garrick's society ; he 
 appeared to me as one who possessed more 
 power, both to awe and to attract, than any 
 man I ever met with. His smile was fasci- 
 nating, but he had at times a resdess peevish- 
 ness of tone which excessively affected his 
 
 » Susannah Gibber, who gained considerable fame as a 
 singer in oratorio before becoming an actress. Her hrst 
 success as a player was gained at Covent Garden, bu : in 
 1753 she joined Garrick's company at Drury Lane, of 
 which she remained a member until her death in 1766. 
 Garrick, who greatly admired her genius, on hearing of 
 her demise, declared, " Then tragedy is dead on one side." 
 She lies buried in Westminster Abbey. 
 
38 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 hearers ; at least it affected me so that I never 
 shall forget it. 
 
 Opposite to the house in which I resided 
 lived John Vernon, Esq., an eminent solicitor. 
 I observed a young inmate of his habitation 
 frequently watching me with more than ordinary 
 attention. He was handsome in person, and 
 his countenance was overcast by a sort of 
 languor, the effect of sickness, which rendered 
 it peculiarly interesting. Frequently when I 
 approached the window of our drawing-room 
 this young observer would bow or turn away 
 with evident emotion. I related the circum- 
 stance to my mother, and from that time the 
 lower shutters of our windows were perpetually 
 closed. The young lawyer often excited my 
 mirth, and my mother's Indignation ; and the 
 injunction of my father was frequently repeated 
 by her, with the addition of her wish, that I 
 was " once well married." 
 
 Every attention which was now paid to me 
 augmented my dear mother's apprehensions. 
 She fancied every man a seducer, and every 
 hour an hour of accumulating peril ! I know 
 what she was doomed to feel, for that Being 
 who formed my sensitive and perpetually aching 
 heart knows that I have since felt it. 
 
MAJiY JiO^AVSOAT. 39 
 
 Among other friends who were in the habit 
 of visiting my mother there was one, a Mr. 
 Wayman, an attorney, of whom she entert^ned 
 the highest opinion. He was distinguished by 
 the patronage of Mr. Cox, and his reputation 
 required no other voucher. One evening a 
 party of six was proposed for the following 
 Sunday ; with much persuasion my mother 
 consented to go, and to allow that I should 
 also attend her. Greenwich was the place 
 fixed on for the diimer, and we prepared for 
 the day of recreation. It was then the fashion 
 to wear sUks. I remember that I wore a night- 
 gown of pale blue lustring, with a chip hat 
 trimmed with ribands of the same colour. 
 Never was I dressed so perfectly to my own 
 satisfaction ; I anticipated a day of admiration. 
 Heaven can bear witness that to me it was a 
 day of fatal victory ! 
 
 On our stopping at the "Star and Garter," 
 at Greenwich, the person who came to hand me 
 from the carriage was our opposite neighbour 
 in Southampton Buildings. I was conftised ; 
 but my mother was indignant Mr. Wayman 
 presented his young friend — that friend who 
 was ordained to be my husband ! 
 
 Our party dined, and early in the evening 
 
40 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 we returned to London. Mr. Robinson re- 
 mained at Greenwich for the benefit of the 
 air, being recently recovered from a fit of sick- 
 ness. During the remainder of the evening 
 Mr. Wayman expatiated on the many good 
 qualities of his friend Mr. Robinson : spoke of 
 his future expectations from a rich old uncle ; 
 of his probable advancement in his profession ; 
 and, more than all, of his enthusiastic admira- 
 tion of me. 
 
 A few days after Mr. Robinson paid my 
 mother a visit. We had now removed to 
 Villars Street, York Buildings. My mother's 
 fondness for books of a moral and religious 
 character was not lost upon my new lover, 
 and elegantly bound editions of Hervey's 
 " Meditations," with some others of a similar 
 description, were presented as small tokens of 
 admiration and respect. My mother was be- 
 guiled by these little interesting attentions, and 
 soon began to feel a strong predilection in favour 
 of Mr. Robinson. 
 
 Every day some new mark of respect 
 augmented my mother's favourable opinion ; 
 till Mr. Robinson became so great a favourite 
 that he seemed to her the most perfect of 
 existing beings. Just at this period my brother 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 41 
 
 George sickened for the smallpox ; my mother 
 idolised him ; he was dangerously ill. Mr. 
 Robinson was indefatigable in his attentions, 
 and my appearance on the stage was postponed 
 till the period of his perfect recovery. Day 
 and night Mr. Robinson devoted himself to the 
 task of consoling my mother, and of attending 
 to her darling boy ; hourly, and indeed momen- 
 tarily, Mr. Robinson's praises were reiterated 
 with enthusiasm by my mother. He was 
 " the kindest, the best of mortals ! " the least 
 addicted to worldly follies, and the man, of 
 all others, whom she should adore as a son- 
 in-law. 
 
 My brother recovered at the period when 
 I sickened from the infection of his disease. 
 I felt little terror at the approaches of a 
 dangerous and deforming malady ; for, I know 
 not why, but personal beauty has never been 
 to me an object of material solicitude. It was 
 now that Mr. Robinson exerted all his assiduity 
 to win my affections ; it was when a destruc- 
 tive disorder menaced my features, and the 
 few graces that nature had lent them, that he 
 professed a disinterested fondness ; every day 
 he attended with the zeal of a brother, and 
 that zeal made an impression of gratitude upon 
 
42 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 my heart, which was the source of all my 
 succeeding sorrows. 
 
 During my illness Mr. Robinson so power- 
 fully wrought upon the feelings of my mother, 
 that she prevailed on me to promise, in case 
 I should recover, to give him my hand in 
 marriage. The words of my father were fre- 
 quently repeated, not without some innuendoes 
 that I refused my ready consent to a union 
 with Mr. Robinson, from a blind partiality 
 
 to the libertine Captain . Repeatedly urged 
 
 and hourly reminded of my Other's vow, I at 
 last consented, and the banns were published 
 while I was yet lying on a bed of sickness. 
 I was then only a few months advanced in my 
 sixteenth year. 
 
 My mother, whose affection for me was 
 boundless, notwithstanding her hopes of my 
 forming an alliance that would be productive 
 of felicity, still felt the most severe pain at 
 the thought of our approaching separation. 
 She was estranged from a husband's affections ; 
 she had treasured up all her fondest hopes in 
 the society of an only daughter ; she knew 
 that no earthly pleasure can compensate for 
 the loss of that sweet sympathy which is the 
 bond of union betwixt child and parent. Her 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 43 
 
 regrets were infinite as they were evident, 
 and Mr. Robinson, in order to remove any 
 obstacle which this consideration might throw 
 in the way of our marriage, voluntarily pro- 
 posed that she should reside with us. He 
 represented me as too young and inexperienced 
 to superintend domestic concerns ; and while 
 he flattered my mother's amour propre, he 
 rather requested her aid as a sacrifice to his 
 interest than as an obligation conferred on 
 her. 
 
 The banns were published three successive 
 Sundays at St. Martin's Church, and the day 
 was fixed for our marriage — the twelfth of 
 April. It was not till all preliminaries were 
 adjusted that Mr. Robinson, with much ap- 
 parent agitation, suggested the necessity of 
 keeping our union a secret. I was astonished 
 at the proposal ; but two reasons were given 
 for his having made it, both of which seemed 
 plausible ; the first was, that Mr. Robinson 
 had still three months to serve before his 
 articles to Messrs. Vernon and Elderton ex- 
 pired ; and the second was, the hope which 
 a young lady entertained of forming a matri- 
 monial union with Mr. Robinson as soon as 
 that period should arrive. The latter reason 
 
44 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 alarmed me, but I was most solemnly assured 
 that all the affection was cherished on the lady's 
 part — that Mr, Robinson was particularly 
 averse to the idea of such a marriage, and that 
 as soon as he should become of age his 
 independence would place him beyond the 
 control of any person whatsoever. ' 
 
 I now proposed deferring our wedding-day 
 till that period. I pleaded that I thought 
 myself too young to encounter the cares and 
 important duties of domestic life ; I shrunk 
 from the idea of everything clandestine, and 
 anticipated a thousand ill consequences that 
 might attend on a concealed marriage. My 
 scruples only seemed to increase Mr. Robinson's 
 impatience for that ceremony which should 
 make me his for ever. He represented to my 
 mother the disapprobation which my father 
 would not fail to evince at my adopting a 
 theatrical life in preference to engaging in an 
 honourable and prosperous connection. He so 
 powerfully worked upon the credulity of my 
 beloved parent that she became a decided 
 convert to his opinions. My youth, my 
 person, he represented as the destined snares 
 for my honour on a public stage, where all 
 the attractions of the mimic scene would 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 45 
 
 combine to render me a fascinating object. He 
 also persuaded her that my health would suffer 
 by the fatigues and exertions of the profession, 
 and that probably I might be induced to marry 
 some man who would not approve of a mother s 
 forming a part in our domestic establishment. 
 
 These circumstances were repeatedly urged 
 in favour of the union. Still I felt an almost 
 instinctive repugnance at the thought of a 
 clandestine marriage. My mother, whose 
 parental fondness was ever watchful for my 
 safety, now imagined that my objections pro- 
 ceeded from a fixed partiality towards the 
 
 libertine Captain , who, though he had 
 
 not the temerity to present himself before my 
 mother, persisted in writing to me, and in 
 following me whenever I appeared in public. 
 I never spoke to him after the story of his 
 marriage was repeated to my mother ; I never 
 corresponded with him, but felt a decided and 
 proud indignation whenever his name was 
 mentioned in my presence. 
 
 My appearance on the stage had been put 
 off fi-om time to time, till Mr. Garrick became 
 impatient, and desired my mother to allow of 
 his fixing the night of important trial. It was 
 now that Mr. Robinson and my mother united 
 
46 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 in persuading me to relinquish my project; 
 and so perpetually, during three days, was I 
 tormented on the subject — so ridiculed for 
 having permitted the banns to be published, and 
 afterwards hesitating to fulfil my contract, that 
 I consented — and was married. 
 
 As soon as the day of my wedding was fixed, 
 it was deemed necessary that a total revolution 
 should take place in my external appearance. 
 I had tiU that period worn the habit of a child, 
 and the dress of a woman so suddenly assumed 
 sat rather awkwardly upon me. Still, so juvenile 
 was my appearance, that even two years after 
 my union with Mr. Robinson I was always 
 accosted with the appellation of Miss whenever 
 I entered a shop or was in company with 
 strangers. My manners were no less childish 
 than my appearance ; only three months before 
 I became a wife I had dressed a doll, and 
 such was my dislike to the idea of a matri- 
 monial alliance that the only circumstance 
 which induced me to marry was that of being 
 still permitted to reside with my mother, and 
 to live separated, at least for some time, fi-om 
 my husband. 
 
 My heart, even when I knelt at the altar, 
 was as free fi-om any tender impression as it 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 47 
 
 had been at the moment of my birth. I knew 
 not the sensation of any sentiment beyond that 
 of esteem ; love was still a stranger to my 
 bosom. I had never, then, seen the being who 
 was destined to inspire a thought which might 
 influence my fancy or excite an interest in my 
 mind, and I well remember that even while 
 I was pronouncing the marriage vow my fancy 
 involimtarily wandered to that scene where I 
 had hoped to support myself with eclat and 
 reputation. 
 
 The ceremony was performed by Dr. Saun- 
 ders, the venerable vicar of St. Martin's, who, 
 at the conclusion of the ceremony, declared that 
 he had never before performed the office for so 
 young a bride. The clerk officiated as father ; 
 my mother and the woman who opened the 
 pews were the only witnesses to the union. I 
 was dressed in the habit of a Quaker — a society 
 to which, in early youth, I was particularly 
 partial. From the church we repaired to the 
 house of a female friend, where a splendid 
 breakfast was waiting ; I changed my dress to 
 one of white muslin, a chip hat adorned with 
 white ribbons, a white sarsnet scarf-cloak, and 
 slippers of white satin embroidered with silver. 
 I mention these trifling circumstances because 
 
48 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 they lead to some others of more impor- 
 tance. 
 
 From the house of my mother's friend we set 
 out for the inn at Maidenhead Bridge, Mr. 
 Robinson and myself in a phaeton, my mother 
 in a post-chaise ; we were also accompanied by 
 a gentleman by the name of Balack, a very 
 intimate acquaintance and schoolfellow of my 
 husband, who was not apprised of our wedding, 
 but who nevertheless considered Mr. Robinson 
 as my avowed suitor. 
 
 On his first seeing me, he remarked that I 
 was " dressed like a bride." The observation 
 overwhelmed me with confiision. During the 
 day I was more than pensive — I was melancholy ; 
 I considered all that had passed as a vision, and 
 would scarcely persuade myself that the union 
 which 1 had permitted to be solemnised was 
 indissoluble. My mother frequently remarked 
 my evident chagrin ; and in the evening, while 
 we strolled together in the garden which was 
 opposite the inn, I told her, with a torrent of 
 tears, the vouchers of my sincerity, that I was 
 the most wretched of mortals ! that I felt the 
 most perfect esteem for Mr. Robinson, but 
 that, according to my ideas of domestic happi- 
 ness, there should be a warm and powerful 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 49 
 
 union of soul, to which I was yet totally a 
 stranger. 
 
 During my absence from town a letter was 
 written to Mr. Garrick, informing him that an 
 advantageous marriage (for my mother con- 
 sidered Mr. Robinson as the legal heir to a 
 handsome fortune, together with an estate in 
 South Wales) had induced me to relinquish my 
 theatrical prospects ; and a few weeks after, 
 meeting Mr. Garrick in the street, he congratu- 
 lated me on my union, and expressed the 
 warmest wishes for my future happiness. 
 
 The day after our marriage Mr. Robinson 
 proposed dining at Henley-upon-Thames. My 
 mother would not venture in the phaeton, and 
 Mr. Balack occupied the place which was 
 declined by her. On taking his seat between 
 Robinson and myself, he remarked, " Were you 
 married, I should think of the holy anathema — 
 Cursed is he that parteth man and wife." My 
 countenance was suddenly sufRised with the 
 deepest scarlet ; I cautiously concealed the effect 
 which his remarks had produced, and we pro- 
 ceeded on our journey. 
 
 Descending a ^teep hill betwixt Maidenhead 
 Thicket and Henley, we met a drove of oxen. 
 The comic opera of the Padlock was then in 
 
 S 
 
50 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 high celebrity, and our facetious little friend a 
 second time disconcerted me by saying, in the 
 words of Don Diego, " I don't like oxen, I wish 
 they had been a flock of sheep ! " I now began 
 to discover the variety of unpleasant sensations 
 which, even undesignedly, must arise from con- 
 versation, in the presence of those who were 
 clandestinely married. I also trembled with 
 apprehensionj lest anything disgraceful should 
 attach itself to my fame, by being seen under 
 doubtful circumstances in the society of Mr. 
 Robinson. 
 
 On our return to London, after ten days' 
 absence, a house was hired in Great, Queen 
 Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields. It was a large old- 
 fashioned mansion, and stood on the spot where 
 the Freemasons' Tavern has been since erected. 
 This house was the property of a lady, an 
 acquaintance of my mother, the widow of Mr. 
 Worlidge, an artist of considerable celebrity. 
 It was handsomely furnished, and contained 
 many valuable pictures by various masters, I 
 resided with my mother ; Mr. Robinson con- 
 tinued at the house of Messrs. Vernon and 
 Elderton, in Southampton Buildings. 
 
 The stated time of concealment elapsed, and 
 still my husband was perpetually at chambers in 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 51 
 
 Lincoln's Inn. Still he was evidently under the 
 control of his articles, and still desirous that our 
 marriage should be kept a secret. My mother 
 began to feel a considerable degree of inquietude 
 upon the subject ; particularly as she was in- 
 formed that Mr. Robinson was not exactly in 
 that state of expectation which he had repre- 
 sented. She found that he was already of age, 
 and that he had still some months to serve of 
 his clerkship. She also heard that he was not 
 the nephew and heir, but the illegitimate son of 
 the man from whom he expected a handsome 
 fortune ; though he had an elder brother, now 
 Commodore William Robinson, who was then 
 in India, reaping the fruits of industry under the 
 patronage of Lord Clive. 
 
 It was now for the first time that my mother 
 repented the influence she had used in pro- 
 moting- our union. She informed Mr. Robinson 
 that she apprehended some gross deception on 
 his part, and that she would no longer consent 
 to our marriage being kept a secret. The 
 reputation of a darling child, she alleged, was at 
 stake ; and though during a few weeks the 
 world might have been kept in ignorance of my 
 marriage, some circumstances that had trans- 
 pired, now rendered an immediate disclosure 
 absolutely necessary. 
 
52 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Mr. Robinson, finding my mother inexorable, 
 resolved on setting out for Wales, in order to 
 avow our marriage, and to present me to his 
 uncle, for such he still obstinately denominated his 
 father. My mother wished to avail herself of 
 this opportunity to visit her friends at Bristol, 
 and accordingly we set out on the journey. We 
 passed through Oxford ; visited the different 
 colleges ; proceeded to Blenheim, and made the 
 tour, a tour of pleasure, with the hope of sooth- 
 ing my mother's resentment, and exhilarating 
 my spirits, which were now perpetually dejected. 
 I cannot help mentioning that, shortly after my 
 marriage, I formed an acquaintance with a 
 young lady, whose mind was no less romantic 
 than my own, and while Mr. Robinson was 
 occupied at chambers we almost daily passed 
 our morning hours in Westminster Abbey. It 
 was to me a soothing and a gratifying scene of 
 meditation. I have often remained in the 
 gloomy chapels of that sublime fabric till I 
 became as it were an inhabitant of another 
 world. The dim light of the Gothic windows, 
 the vibration of my footsteps along the lofty 
 aisles, the train of reflections that the scene 
 inspired, were all suited to the temper of my 
 soul ; and the melancholy propensities of my 
 
MAR Y ROBI-\S02^'. 53 
 
 earliest infancy seemed to revive with an instinc- 
 tive energy, which rendered them the leading 
 characteristics of my existence. Indeed the 
 world has nustaken the character of my mind ; 
 I have ever been the reverse of volatile and dis- 
 sipated. I mean not to write my own eulogy, 
 though with the candid and sensitive mind I 
 shall, I trust, succeed in my vindication. 
 
 On our arrival at Bristol Mr. Robinson 
 thought it most advisable to proceed towards 
 Tregunter, the seat of his uncU, alone, in order 
 to prepare him for my cordial reception, or to 
 avoid the mortification I should experience, 
 should he refuse to sanction our union. Mr. 
 Robinson left me a few guineas, and promis«i 
 that his absence should be short and his affection 
 increasing. 
 
 I had now been married near four months ; 
 and, though love was not the baas of my 
 fidelity, honour, and a refined sense of ieminine 
 rectitude, attached me to the interest as well 
 as to the person of my husband. I considered 
 chastity as the brightest ornament that could 
 embellish the female mind, and I regulated 
 my conduct to that tenor which has principle 
 more than aflection to strengthen its progress. 
 
 At Bristol mv mother experienced the most 
 
54 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 gratifying reception ; all her former friends 
 rejoiced to see her ; I was invited daily to 
 feasts of hospitality, and I found that fortune 
 was to common minds a never-failing passport. 
 Mr. Robinson was represented as a young man 
 of considerable expectations, and his wife was 
 consequently again received as the daughter of 
 Mr. Darby, The house in which I first opened 
 my eyes to this world of sorrow, the minster, 
 its green, the school-house where I had passed 
 many days, the tomb of my lost relatives in 
 the church of St. Augustine were all visited 
 by me with a sweet and melancholy interest. 
 But the cathedral, the brass eagle in the middle 
 aisle, under which, when an infant, I used to 
 sit and join in the loud anthem, or chant the 
 morning service, most sensibly attached me. I 
 longed again to occupy my place beneath its 
 expanding wings, and once I went before the 
 service began to gratify my inclination. 
 
 Language cannot describe the sort of sensa- 
 tion which I felt when I heard the well-known, 
 long-remembered organ flinging its loud peal 
 through the Gothic structure. I hastened to 
 the cloisters. The nursery windows were dim 
 and shattered ; the house was sinking to decay. 
 The mouldering walk was gloomy, and niy 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 55 
 
 spirits were depressed beyond description : I 
 stood alone, rapt in meditation. " Here," said 
 I, " did my infant feet pace to and fro ; here 
 did I climb the long stone bench, and swiftly 
 measure it at the peril of my safety. On those 
 dark and winding steps did I sit and listen to 
 the full-toned organ, the loud anthem, and the 
 bell which called the parishioners to prayer." 
 I entered the cathedral once more ; I read and 
 re-read the monumental inscriptions ; I paused 
 upon the grave of Powell ; I dropped a tear 
 on the small square ground tablet which bore 
 the name of Evelyn. Ah ! how little has the 
 misjudging world known of what has passed 
 in my mind, even in the apparently gayest 
 moments of my existence ! How much have 
 I regretted that ever I was born, even when 
 I have been surrounded with all that could 
 gratify the vanity of woman ! 
 
 Mr. Robinson on his arrival at Tregunter 
 despatched a letter informing me that his uncle 
 seemed disposed to act handsomely, but that 
 he had only ventured to avow an intention to 
 marry, fearfixl of abruptly declaring that he 
 had been already some months a husband. Mr. 
 Harris, for that was the name of my father-in- 
 law, replied that "he hoped the object of his 
 
S6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 choice was not too young I " At this question 
 Mr. Robinson was somewhat disconcerted. " A 
 young wife," continued Mr. Harris, " cannot 
 mend a man's fortune. How old is the girl 
 you have chosen ? " 
 
 " She is nearly seventeen ! " 
 
 I was then only fifteen and a few months.' 
 
 " I hope she is not handsome," was the second 
 observation. " You say she is not rich ; and 
 beauty without money is but a dangerous sort 
 of portion." 
 
 " Will you see her ? " 
 
 " I have no objection," said Mr. Harris. 
 
 " She is now with her mother at Bristol — 
 for," continued Mr. Robinson, with some 
 hesitation, " she is my wife!' 
 
 Mr. Harris paused, and then replied, "Well ! 
 stay with me only a few days, and then you 
 shall fetch her. If the thing is done, it cannot 
 be undone. She is a gentlewoman you say, and 
 I can have no reason to refuse seeing her." 
 
 The same letter which contained this in- 
 telligence also requested me to prepare for my 
 
 ' At the time when the banns of her marriage were 
 published she admits to being " a few months advanced 
 in her sixteenth year" ; and she had been four months 
 married when the journey to Bristol was made, — Ed. 
 
MAR V ROBINSON. 5 7 
 
 journey, and desired me to write to a person 
 whom Mr, Robinson named in London, and 
 whom I had seen in his company, for a sum 
 of money which would be necessary for our 
 journey. This person was Mr. John King, 
 then a money-broker in Goodman's Fields ; 
 but I was an entire stranger to the transaction 
 which rendered him the temporary source of 
 my husband's finances. 
 
 One or two letters passed on this subject, 
 and I waited anxiously for my presentation at 
 Tregunter. At length the period of Mr. 
 Robinson's return arrived and we set out 
 together, while my mother remained with her 
 friends at Bristol. Crossing the old passage to 
 Chepstow in an open boat, a distance, though 
 not extended, extremely perilous, we found the 
 tide so strong and the night so boisterous that 
 we were apprehensive of much danger. The 
 rain poured and the wind blew tempestuously. 
 The boat was full of passengers, and at one 
 end of it were placed a drove of oxen. My 
 terror was infinite ; 1 considered this storm as 
 an ill omen, but little thought that at future 
 periods of my life I should have cause to 
 regret that / had not ■perished! 
 
 During our journey Robinson entreated me 
 
S8 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 to overlook anything harsh that might appear 
 in the manners of his uncle — for he still denied 
 that Mr. Harris was his father. But above 
 all things he conjured me to conceal my real 
 age, and to say that I was some years older 
 than he knew me to be. To this proposal 
 I readily consented, and I felt myself firm in 
 courage at the moment when we came within 
 sight of Tregunter. 
 
 Mr. Harris was then building the family 
 mansion, and resided in a pretty little decorated 
 cottage which was afterwards converted into 
 domestic offices. We passed through a thick 
 wood, the mountains at every break meeting 
 our eyes covered with thin clouds, and rising 
 in a sublime altitude above the valley. A 
 more romantic space of scenery never met the 
 human eye ! I felt my mind inspired with 
 a pensive melancholy, and was only awakened 
 from my reverie by the postboy stopping at 
 the mansion of Tregunter. 
 
 Mr. Harris came out to receive me. I wore 
 a dark claret-coloured riding habit, with a white 
 beaver hat and feathers. He embraced me with 
 excessive cordiality, while Miss Robinson, my 
 husband's sister, with cold formality led me 
 into the house. I never shall forget her looks 
 
MARi ROFIXSOX. -.^ 
 
 or her manner. Had her brother presented 
 the most abject bring to her, she could not 
 have taken my hand with a more frigid de- 
 meanour. Miss Robinson, though not more 
 than twenty years of age, was Gothic in her 
 apf>earince and stiflF in her deportment; she 
 was of low stature and clumsy, with a counte- 
 nance j^eculiarlv formed for the expression of 
 sarcasr.c ^-ulgaritv — a short snub nose, turned 
 up at the point, a head thrown back with an 
 air of hau:i:t »• ; a gaudy-coloured chintz gown, 
 a thrice-bordered cap, with a profusion of 
 ribbons, and a counrer-ance somewhat more 
 ruddy than was consistent with even pure 
 health, presented the personage whom I was 
 to know as mv future companion and kins- 
 woman ! 
 
 Mr. Harris looked Uke a venerable Hsw- 
 ih^rn ; a brown msriaa coat, a scarlet waistcoat 
 edged with narrow j^ild. a pair of woollen 
 spatter-dashes, and a gold-laced hat, formed 
 the dress he gaieraUv wore. He alwavs rode 
 a small Welsh pony, and was seldom in the 
 house except at earing-dme from sunrise to 
 the close of the evening. 
 
 There was ver another personage in the 
 domestic establishment, who was by Mr. 
 
6o MEMOIRS Of 
 
 Harris regarded as of no small importance : 
 this was a venerable housekeeper of the name 
 of Mary Edwards. Mrs. Molly was the female 
 Mentor of the family ; she dined at the table 
 with Mr. Harris ; she was the governess of 
 the domestic department; and a more over- 
 bearing, vindictive spirit never inhabited the 
 heart of mortal than that which pervaded the 
 soul of the ill-natured Mrs. Molly. 
 
 It may easily be conjectured that my time 
 passed heavily in this uninteresting circle. I 
 was condemned either to drink ale with " the 
 squire," for Mr. Harris was only spoken of by 
 that title, or to visit the Methodistical seminary 
 which Lady Huntingdon had established at 
 Trevecca, another mansion house on the estate 
 of Mr. Harris. Miss Robinson was of this 
 sect ; and though Mr. Harris was not a 
 disciple of the Huntingdonian school, he was 
 a constant church visitor on every Sunday. 
 His zeal was indefatigable ; and he would 
 frequently fine the rustics (for he was a justice 
 of the peace, and had been sheriff of the 
 county) when he heard them swear, though 
 every third sentence he uttered was attended 
 by an oath that made his hearers shudder. 
 I soon became a considerable fevourite of 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 6i 
 
 " the squire," but I did not find any yielding 
 qualities about the hearts of Miss Betsy or Mrs. 
 Molly. They observed me with jealous eyes ; 
 they conadered me as an interloper, whose 
 manners attracted Mr. Harris's esteem, and 
 who was likely to diminish their divided 
 influence in the family. I found them daily 
 growing weary of my society ; I perceived 
 their side-long glances when I was compli- 
 mented by the visiting neighbours on my good 
 looks or taste in the choice of my dresses. 
 Miss Robinson rode on horseback in a camlet 
 safeguard, with a high-crowned bonnet ; I 
 wore a fashionable habit, and looked like 
 something human. Envy at length assumed 
 the form of insolence, and I was taunted 
 perpetually on the folly of appearing like a 
 woman of fortune ; that a lawyer's wife had 
 no right to dress like a duchess ; and that, 
 though I might be very accomplished, a good 
 housewife had no occasion for harpsichords and 
 books — they belonged to women who brought 
 wherewithal to support them. Such was the 
 language of vulgar, illiberal natures ! Yet for 
 three weeks I endured it patiently. 
 
 Knowing that Mr. Harris was disposed to 
 think favourably of me — that he even declared 
 
62 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 he should " have liked me for his wife, had 
 I not married Tom," though he was then 
 between sixty and seventy years of age, I 
 thought it most prudent to depart, lest through 
 the machinations of Miss Betsy and Mrs. Molly 
 I should lose the share I had gained in his 
 affections. My mother was still at Bristol ; 
 and the morning of our departure being arrived, 
 to my infinite astonishment Mr. Harris pro- 
 posed accompanying us thither. It was in vain 
 that Molly and Miss interfered to prevent him ; 
 he swore that he would see me safe across the 
 channel, whatever might be the consequence of 
 his journey. We set out together. 
 
 On our arrival at Bristol Mr. Harris was 
 presented to my mother, and by her introduced 
 to many respectable friends. He was con- 
 sequently invited to several dinner parties. I 
 was his idol ; he would dance with me ; when 
 he had taken the evening draught he would 
 sing with me, and I was to him the most 
 delightful of beings. Many embellishments 
 for Tregunter House were submitted to my 
 taste and choice ; and I remember, on his 
 giving orders for the marble chimney-pieces, 
 he said, " Choose them as you like them, Mrs. 
 Robinson, for they are all for you and Tom 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 63 
 
 when I am no more." Indeed he frequently 
 assured me, while I was at Tregunter, that the 
 estate should be my husband's. 
 
 After passing many days at Bristol Mr. 
 Harris returned to Wales, and our party set 
 out for London. Mr. Robinson's mind was 
 easy, and his hopes were confirmed by the kind- 
 ness of his uncle ; he now considered himself 
 as the most happy of mortals. We removed 
 from Great Queen Street to a house. No. 13, 
 in Hatton Garden, which had been recently 
 built. Mr. Robinson hired it, and furnished 
 it with peculiar elegance . I frequently inquired 
 into the extent of his finances, and he as often 
 assured me that they were in every respect 
 competent to his expenses. In addition to 
 our domestic establishment Mr. Robinson 
 purchased a handsome phaeton, with saddle 
 horses for his own use ; and I now made my 
 debut, though scarcely emerged beyond the 
 boundaries of childhood, in the broad hemi- 
 sphere of fashionable folly. 
 
 A new face, a young person dressed with 
 peculiar but simple elegance, was sure to 
 attract attention at places of public entertain- 
 ment. The first time I went to Ranelagh my 
 habit was so singularly plain and Quaker-like 
 
64 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that all eyes were fixed upon me, I wore a 
 gown of light brown lustring with close round 
 cufFs (it was then the fashion to wear long 
 ruffles) ; my hair was without powder, and 
 my head adorned with a plain round cap and 
 a white chip hat, without any ornaments what- 
 ever. 
 
 The second place of polite entertainment to 
 which Mr. Robinson accompanied me was the 
 Pantheon concert, then the most fashionable 
 assemblage of the gay and the distinguished. 
 At this place it was customary to appear much 
 dressed ; large hoops and high feathers were 
 universally worn. My habit was composed 
 of pale pink satin, trimmed with broad sable ; 
 my dear mother presented me a suit of rich 
 and valuable point lace, which she had received 
 from my father as a birthday gift, and I was 
 at least some hours employed in decorating my 
 person for this new sphere of fascination : I say 
 some hours, because my shape at that period 
 required some arrangement, owing to the visible 
 increase of my domestic solicitudes. 
 
 As soon as I entered the Pantheon rotunda, 
 I never shall forget the impression which my 
 mind received : the splendour of the scene, the 
 dome illuminated with variegated lamps, the 
 
MAJiY ROBINSON. 65 
 
 music, and the beauty of the women, seemed 
 to present a circle of enchantment. I recollect 
 that the most lovely of fair forms met my 
 eyes in that of Lady Almeria Carpenter. The 
 countenance which most pleased me was that 
 of the late Mrs. Baddeley.' The first Countess 
 of Tyrconnel also appeared with considerable 
 eclat. But the buzz of the room, the unceasing 
 murmur of admiration, attended the Mar- 
 chioness Townshend. I took my seat on a 
 sofa nearly opposite to that on which she was 
 sitting, and I observed two persons, evidently 
 men of fashion speaking to her, till one of 
 them, looking towards me, with an audible 
 voice inquired of the other, " Who is she ^ " 
 Their fixed stare disconcerted me ; I rose, 
 and, leaning on my husband's arm, again 
 mingled in the brilliant circle. The inquiries 
 followed us ; stopping several friends, as we 
 walked round the circle, and repeatedly de- 
 manding of them, " Who is that young lady 
 in the pink dress trimmed with sable } " My 
 manner and confusion plainly evinced that I 
 was not accustomed to the gaze of impertinent 
 high breeding. I felt uneasy, and proposed 
 
 ' Mrs. Sophia Baddeley, who was a very beautiful 
 woman, and the heroine of many amorous adventures. — Ed. 
 
 6 
 
66 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 returning home, when I perceived that our 
 two followers were joined by a third, who, on 
 looking at me, said, " I think I know her." 
 It was the late Earl of Northington.i 
 
 We had now to pass the group in order to 
 quit the rotunda. Lord Northington, leaving 
 his companions, approached me. " Miss Darby, 
 or I am mistaken," said he, with a bow of 
 marked civility. I replied that my name was 
 now changed to that of Robinson, and, to 
 prevent any awkward embarrassment, presented 
 my husband, on whose arm I was still leaning. 
 Lord Northington continued to walk round 
 the Pantheon with us, made many inquiries 
 after my father, complimented me on the 
 improvement of my person, and " hoped that 
 he should be permitted to pay his respects to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Robinson." 
 
 We now entered the tea-room ; there was 
 not a seat vacant ; I was considerably fatigued, 
 and somewhat faint with the heat of the 
 
 ' Robert Henley, who, in 1772, succeeded his father 
 as second Earl of Northington. Previous to this date he 
 had been made an LL.D. of Cambridge, and had held the 
 offices of Teller of the Exchequer, and Master of the 
 Hanaper Office in Chancery. The year after his succes- 
 sion he was made Knight of the Thistle, and in 1783 was 
 appointed Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. — Ed. 
 
MAH Y ROBINSON. 67 
 
 rotunda. I quitted the tea-room, and seated 
 myself on a sofa near the door. In a few 
 minutes Lord Northington brought me a cup 
 of tea, for Mr. Robinson did not like to leave 
 me alone, and at the same time presented his 
 two inquisitive friends, Lord Lyttelton and 
 Captain Ayscough.' 
 
 I now proposed departing. Mr. Robinson 
 
 ' Thomas, second Baron Lyttelton, known as " the 
 wicked Lord Lyttelton," in distinction to his father, who 
 in his lifetime had been styled " the good Lord Lyttel- 
 ton." Thomas, Baron Lyttelton, was a man of parts and 
 fashion ; a politician, a writer of verses, an artist whose 
 paintings were supposed to contain the combined ex- 
 cellencies of Salvator Rosa and Claude, and withal one 
 of the greatest profligates of the age. This is the Lord 
 Lyttelton who, in his thirty-fifth year, and whilst in 
 perfect health, dreamt a woman appeared to him and 
 announced he had not three days to live. He spoke 
 lightly of his dream, and on the morning of the third day 
 felt in such good spirits that he declared he should "bilk 
 the ghost." He died suddenly that night, when his friend 
 Miles Peter Andrews dreamt Lyttelton appeared to him 
 and said, " All is over." 
 
 George Edward Ayscough, a captain in the Guards, 
 was cousin to the second Lord Lyttelton. Some years 
 later than the date of his meeting with Mrs. Robinson he 
 produced a version of Voltaire's " Semiramis," which 
 was presented at Drury Lane Theatre in 1776. He is 
 described as " a parasite of Lord Lyttelton," and as " a 
 fool of fashion." — Ed. 
 
68 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 accompanied me to the vestibule, and while 
 he was seeking the carriage Lord Lyttelton 
 offered his services. I had never till that 
 evening heard his name, but there was an 
 easy effrontery in his address that com- 
 pletely disgusted, while his determined gaze 
 distressed and embarrassed me, and I felt inex- 
 pressible satisfaction when Mr. Robinson re- 
 turned to tell me that the carriage was ready. 
 
 On the following morning Lords Northing- 
 ton, Lyttelton, and Colonel Ayscough made 
 their visits of ceremony. Mr. Robinson was 
 not at home, but I received them, though not 
 without some embarrassment. I was yet a 
 child, and wholly unacquainted with the 
 manners of the world ; yet, young as I was, 
 I became the traveller of its mazy and perilous 
 paths. At an age when girls are generally at 
 school, or indeed scarcely emancipated from 
 the nursery, I was presented in society as a 
 wife — and very nearly as a mother. 
 
 Lord Lyttelton, who was perhaps the most 
 accomplished libertine that any age or country 
 has produced, with considerable artifice inquired 
 after Mr. Robinson, professed his earnest desire 
 to cultivate his acquaintance, and, on the 
 following day, sent him a card of invitation. 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 69 
 
 Lyttelton was an adept in the artifices of 
 fashionable intrigue. He plainly perceived 
 that both Mr. Robinson and myself were 
 uninitiated in its mysteries ; he knew that to 
 undermine a wife's honour he must become 
 master of the husband's confidence, and Mr. 
 Robinson was too much pleased with the 
 society of a man whose wit was only equalled 
 by his profligacy, to shrink from such an 
 association. 
 
 Fortunately for me. Lord Lyttelton was uni- 
 formly my aversion. His manners were over- 
 bearingly insolent, his language licentious, and 
 his person slovenly even to a degree that was 
 disgusting. Mr. Robinson was in every respect 
 the very reverse of his companion : he was 
 unassuming, neat, and delicate in his conversa- 
 tion. I had not a wish to descend from the 
 propriety of wedded life, and I abhorred, 
 decidedly abhorred, the acquaintance with Lord 
 Lyttelton. 
 
 In the course of a few days his lordship 
 presented me the works of Miss Aitken ^ (now 
 Mrs. Barbauld). I read them with rapture. I 
 thought them the most beautiful poems I had 
 ever seen, and considered the woman who could 
 ' Anna Lsetitia Aikin (1743-1825). — Ed. 
 
70 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 invent such poetry as the most to be envied of 
 human creatures. Lord Lyttelton had some 
 taste for poetical compositions, and wrote verses 
 with considerable fecility. 
 
 On the following Monday I again visited the 
 Pantheon, My dress was then white and silver. 
 Again I was followed with attention. Lord 
 Lyttelton was my cavaliere servente that 
 evening, though, as usual, his chief attention 
 was paid to Mr. Robinson. During the concert 
 he presented the Count de Belgeioso, the 
 Imperial Ambassador, one of the most accom- 
 plished foreigners I ever remember having met 
 with. Lord Valentia was also introduced, but 
 as his lordship had recently made some eclat by 
 his attentions to the celebrated Mrs. Elliot, 
 I rather avoided than wished to cultivate his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Mr. Robinson's intercourse with the world 
 was now rapidly augmenting. Every day was 
 productive of some new association. Lord 
 Lyttelton presented many of his friends ; 
 among others, Captain O'Byrne, and Mr. 
 William Brereton, of Drury Lane Theatre. In 
 the course of a short time we also became 
 acquainted with Sir Francis Molyneux, Mr. 
 Alderman Sayer, and the late unfortunate 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 7 1 
 
 George Robert Fitzgerald.' Lord Northington 
 was also a constant visitor, and frequently rallied 
 me on what he thought my striking likeness to 
 his family. 
 
 Among my female friends, those for whom I 
 entertained the strongest esteem were Lady 
 Yea, the wife of Sir William Yea, and the 
 sister of Sir John Trevellyan. She was a 
 lovely and accomplished woman. Mrs. Parry, 
 the wife of the Rev. Dr. Parry, and the author 
 of " Eden Vale," a novel, was also one of my 
 most favourite acquaintances. Mrs. Parry was 
 a woman of considerable talents, a wit, and of 
 remarkably pleasing manners. 
 
 Of those who frequented our house Lord 
 Lyttelton was most decidedly my abhorrence ; 
 I knew that he frequently led ray husband from 
 the paths of domestic confidence to the haunts 
 of profligate debasement. Towards me his 
 
 ' George Robert Fitzgerald, commonly known as 
 " Fighting Fitzgerald," from the number of duels in 
 which he took part, was a man of good family, noted 
 alike for his gallantry and recklessness. A fracas which 
 was the result of his distasteful attentions to Mrs. Hartley, 
 a well-known actress, had made him notorious in 1773, 
 some years previous to his introduction to Mrs. Robinson. 
 His life, which was one of singular adventure, ended on 
 the scaffold, he being executed for murder in 1786. — Ed. 
 
72 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 lordship afFected great indifFerence. He has 
 even in my presence declared that no woman 
 under thirty years of age was worth admiring ; 
 that even the antiquity of forty was far prefer- 
 able to the insipidity of sixteen ; and he 
 generally concluded his observations by hoping 
 he had not made " the fretty child angry." 
 
 I soon discovered that his intercourse with 
 Lord Lyttelton produced a very considerable 
 change in Mr. Robinson's domestic deportment. 
 They were constantly together, and the neglect 
 which I experienced began to alarm me. I 
 dedicated all my leisure hours to poetry ; I 
 wrote vei'ses of all sorts ; and Mr. Robinson 
 having mentioned that I had proposed appearing 
 on the stage previous to my marriage in the 
 character of Cordelia, Lord Lyttelton facetiously 
 christened me the Poetess Corry. 
 
 It was with extreme regret, and frequently 
 with uncontrollable indignation, that I endured 
 the neglect of my husband and the tauntings of 
 the profligate Lyttelton. " The child " — for so 
 he generally called me — was deserted for the 
 society of the most libertine men and the most 
 abandoned women. Mr. Robinson became not 
 only careless of his wife, but of his pecuniary 
 finances, while I was kept in total ignorance as 
 
MARY ROBINSON. ■ 73 
 
 to the resources which supported his increasing 
 expenses. 
 
 Among my other friends, Lady Yea fre- 
 quently inquired by what means my husband 
 supported his household disbursements. Our 
 table was elegantly, though not profusely, 
 served. Mr. Robinson seldom attended to his 
 profession, and I was too young, as well as too 
 inexperienced, to look after family aiFairs. My 
 younger brother George, whom upon my 
 marriage Mr. Robinson and myself adopted 
 as our own, now finding his health impaired, 
 my mother attended him at Bristol, so that I 
 had no friend to advise me who felt any real 
 interest in my welfare. Dress, parties, adula- 
 tion, occupied all my hours. Mr. Robinson's 
 easy temper was influenced by the counsel of 
 his friend Lyttelton, and he every hour sunk 
 more deeply in the gulf of dissipation. 
 
 Among the most dangerous of my husband's 
 associates was George Robert Fitzgerald. His 
 manners towards women were interesting and 
 attentive. He perceived the neglect with which 
 I was treated by Mr. Robinson, and the per- 
 nicious influence which Lord Lyttelton had 
 acquired over his mind ; he professed to feel 
 the warmest interest in my welfare, lamented 
 
74 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the destiny which had befallen me in being 
 wedded to a man incapable of estimating my 
 value, and at last confessed himself my most 
 ardent and devoted admirer. I shuddered at 
 the declaration, for, amidst all the allurements 
 of splendid folly, my mind, the purity of my 
 virtue, was still uncontaminated. 
 
 I repulsed the dangerous advances of this 
 accomplished person, but I did not the less feel 
 the humiliation to which a husband's indiiFerence 
 had exposed me. God can bear witness to the 
 purity of my soul, even surrounded by tempta- 
 tions and mortified by neglect. Whenever I 
 ventured to inquire into pecuniary resources, 
 Mr. Robinson silenced me by saying that he 
 was independent ; added to this assurance, Lord 
 Lyttelton repeatedly promised that, through his 
 courtly interest, he would very shortly obtain 
 for my husband some honourable and lucrative 
 situation. 
 
 I confess that I reposed but little confidence 
 in the promises of such a man, though my 
 husband believed them inviolable. Frequent 
 parties were made at his lordship's house in 
 Hill Street, and many invitations pressed for a 
 visit to his seat at Hagley. These I peremp- 
 torily refused, till the noble hypocrite became 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 75 
 
 convinced of my aversion, and adopted a new 
 mode of pursuing his machinations. 
 
 One forenoon Lord Lyttelton called in 
 Hatton Garden, as was almost his daily custom, 
 and, on finding that Mr. Robinson was not at 
 home, requested to speak with me on business 
 of importance. I found him seemingly much 
 distressed. He informed me that he had a 
 secret to communicate of considerable mo- 
 ment both to my interest and happiness. I 
 started. 
 
 " Nothing, I trust in heaven, has befallen 
 my husband ! " said I, with a voice scarcely 
 articulate. 
 
 Lord Lyttelton hesitated. 
 
 " How little does that husband deserve the 
 solicitude of such a wife ! " said he ; " but," 
 continued his lordship, " I fear that I have in 
 some degree aided in alienating his conjugal 
 affections. I could not bear to see such youth, 
 such merit, so sacrificed " 
 
 " Speak briefly, my lord," said I. 
 
 " Then," replied Lord Lyttelton, " I must in- 
 form you that your husband is the most false 
 and undeserving of that name ! He has formed 
 a connection with a woman of abandoned 
 character ; he lavishes on her those means of 
 
76 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 subsistence which you will shortly stand in 
 need of." 
 
 " I do not believe it," said I, indignantly. 
 
 " Then you shall be convinced, ' answered 
 his lordship; " but remember, if you betray me, 
 your true and zealous friend, I must fight your 
 husband ; for he never will forgive my having 
 discovered his infidelity." 
 
 " It cannot be true," said I. " You have 
 been misinformed." 
 
 " Then it has been by the woman who usurps 
 your place in the affections of your husband," 
 replied Lord Lyttelton. " From her I received 
 the information. Her name is Harriet Wilmot ; 
 she resides in §oho. Your husband daily visits 
 her." 
 
 I thought I should have fainted ; but a 
 torrent of tears recalled the ebbing current of 
 my heart, and I grew proud in fortitude, though 
 humbled in self-love. 
 
 " Now," said Lord Lyttelton, " if you are 
 a woman of spirit, you will be revenged] " I 
 shrunk with horror, and would have quitted the 
 room. " Hear me," said he. " You cannot be 
 a stranger to my motives for thus cultivating 
 the friendship of your husband. My fortune is 
 at your disposal. Robinson is a ruined man ; 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 77 
 
 his debts are considerable, and nothing but 
 destruction can await you. Leave him ! 
 Command my powers to serve you." 
 
 I would hear no more — broke from him, and 
 rushed out of the apartments. My sensations, 
 my sufferings were indescribable. 
 
 I immediately took a hackney coach, and 
 proceeded to Prince's Street, Soho — Lord 
 Lyttelton having given me the address of my 
 rival. Language cannot describe what I suffered 
 till I arrived at the lodgings of Miss Wilmot. 
 The coachman knocked, a dirty servant girl 
 opened the door. Her mistress was not at 
 home. I quitted the coach and ascended to the 
 drawing-room, where the servant left me, after 
 informing me that Miss W. would return in a 
 very short time. I was now left alone. 
 
 I opened the chamber-door which led from 
 the drawing-room : a new white lustring sacque 
 and petticoat lay on the bed. While I was 
 examining the room, a loud knocking at the 
 street door alarmed me. I re-entered the front 
 apartment, and waited with a palpitating bosom 
 till the being whose triumph had awakened both 
 my pride and my resentment appeared before 
 me. 
 
 She was a handsome woman, though evidently 
 
8o MEMOIRS OF 
 
 At one of Mrs. Parry's card parties I met 
 Mrs. Abington.i I thought her the most 
 lively and bewitching woman I had ever seen ; 
 her manners were fascinating, and the peculiar 
 tastefulness of her dress excited universal admir- 
 ation. My imagination again wandered to the 
 stage, and I thought the heroine of the scenic 
 art was of all human creatures the most to be 
 envied. 
 
 About this period I observed that Mr. 
 Robinson had frequent visitors of the Jewish 
 tribe ; that he was often closeted with them, 
 and that some secret negotiation was going 
 forward to which I was a total stranger. 
 Among others, Mr. King was a constant 
 visitor ; indeed he had often been with my 
 husband on private business ever since the 
 period of our marriage. I questioned Mr. 
 Robinson upon the subject of these strange 
 and repeated interviews. He assured me that 
 the persons I had seen came merely upon law 
 business, and that in his profession it was 
 necessary to be civil to all ranks of people. 
 
 ' Mrs. Abington, a distinguished actress who, at the 
 age of seventeen, had made her first appearance at the 
 Haymarket Theatre, some six years before the author of 
 these memoirs was born. 
 
MAJiY ROBINSON. 8i 
 
 Whenever I urged a ferther explanation he 
 assumed a tone of displeasure, and requested 
 me not to meddle with his professional occupa- 
 tions. I desisted ; and the parlour of our house 
 was almost as much frequented by Jews as 
 though it had been their synagogue. 
 
 Mr. Robinson's mornings were devoted to 
 his bearded friends, his evenings to his fashion- 
 able associates ; but my hours were all dedicated 
 to sorrow, for I now heard that my husband, 
 even at the period of his marriage, had an 
 attachment which he had not broken, and that 
 his infidelities were as public as the ruin of his 
 finances was inevitable. I remonstrated — I was 
 almost frantic. My distress was useless, my 
 wishes to retrench our expenses ineffectual. Mr. 
 Robinson had, previous to our union, deeply 
 involved himself in a bond debt of considerable 
 magnitude, and he had from time to time 
 borrowed money on annuity — one sum to dis- 
 charge the other — ^tiU every plan of liquida- 
 tion appeared impracticable. During all this 
 time my mother was at Bristol. 
 
 Lord Lyttelton, finding every plan of seduc- 
 tion fail, now rested his only hope of subduing 
 my honour in the certainty of my husband's 
 ruin. He therefore took every step embraced 
 
 7 
 
S-' MIEJfOIJlS OF 
 
 every opportunity of inTolving him more deeply 
 in c-darnitv. Parties were made to Richmond 
 and Salt HilJ, to Ascot Heath ?Jid Epsom 
 races, b all of which Mr. Robinson bore his 
 share of expense, with the addirion of post- 
 horses. "SMieneyer he seemed to shrink from 
 his augmenting indiscretion. Lord L\"tteJron 
 assured hirn that, through his interest^ an ap- 
 pointment of honourable and pecunian,- im- 
 portance should be obtained, though I embraced 
 e%er\- opportunity to :\ssure his lordship that no 
 consideration upon earth should ever make me 
 the \-ict:m of his artifice. 
 
 Mr. Fitz^rer-ild still paid me unremitting 
 attention. His manners ::\csrjs zvsm^n were 
 beaudftdly interesting. He frequently cautioned 
 me against the libertine L\-ttelton, and as fre- 
 quently lamented the misguided confidence 
 which Mr. Robinson reposed in him. Lord 
 Lyttelron's shameless conduct towards an 
 amiable wife, fTX)m whom he was separated, 
 and his cruel neglect of a lady of the name 
 of Dawson, who had lon^ been attached to 
 him, marked the unworthiness of his character. 
 He was the yery last man in the world for 
 whom I ever could have entertained the 
 smallest partiality ; he was to me the most 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 83 
 
 hateful of existing beings. Probably these 
 pages wiU be read when the hand that 
 writes them moulders in the grave, when that 
 God who judges all hearts will know how 
 innocent I was of the smallest conjugal infi- 
 delity. I make this solemn asseveration because 
 there have been malevolent spirits who, in the 
 plenitude of their calumny, have slandered me 
 by suspecting my fidelity even at this early 
 period of my existence. These pages are the 
 pages of truth, unadorned by romance and 
 unembellished by the graces of phraseology, 
 and I know that I have been sufficiently the 
 victim of events too well to become the tacit 
 acquiescer where I have been grossly misrepre- 
 sented. Alas ! of all created beings I have 
 been the most severely subjugated by circum- 
 stances more than by inclination. 
 
 About this time a party was one evening 
 made to Vauxhall. Mr. Fitzgerald was the 
 person who proposed it, and it consisted of six 
 or eight persons. The night was warm and 
 the gardens crowded. We supped in the circle 
 which has the statue of Handel in its centre. 
 The hour growing late — or rather early in the 
 morning — our company dispersed, and no one 
 remained excepting Mr. Robinson, Mr. Fitz- 
 
S4 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 gerald, and myself. Suddenly a noise was 
 heard near the orchestra. A crowd had 
 assembled, and two gentlemen were quarrelling 
 furiously. Mr. R. and Fitzgerald ran out 
 of the box. I rose to follow them, but 
 they were lost in the throng, and I thought 
 it most prudent to resume my place, which I 
 had just quitted, as the only certain way of 
 their finding me in safety. In a moment Fitz- 
 gerald retvirned. " Robinson," said he, " is 
 gone to seek you at the entrance-door. He 
 thought you had quitted the box." 
 
 " I did for a moment," said I, " but I was 
 fearful of losing him in the crowd, and there- 
 fore returned." 
 
 " Let me conduct you to the door ; we 
 shall certainly find him there," replied Mr. 
 Fitzgerald. " I know that he will be 
 uneasy." 
 
 I took his arm, and we ran hastily towards 
 the entrance-door on the Vauxhall Road. 
 
 Mr. Robinson was not there. We proceeded 
 to look for our carriage. It stood at some 
 distance. I was alarmed and bewildered. Mr. 
 Fitzgerald hurried me along. " Don't be 
 uneasy ; we shall certainly find him," said he, 
 "for I left him here not five minutes ago." 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 85 
 
 As he spoke he stopped abruptly. A servant 
 opened a chaise door. There were four horses 
 harnessed to it ; and by the light of the lamps 
 on the side of the footpath I plainly perceived 
 a pistol in the pocket of the door which was 
 open. I drew back. Mr. Fitzgerald placed 
 his arm round my waist, and endeavoured to 
 lift me up the step of the chaise, the servant 
 watching at a little distance. I resisted, and 
 inquired what he meant by such conduct. His 
 hand trembled excessively, while he said in a 
 low voice, " Robinson can but fight me." I 
 was terrified beyond all description. I made 
 him loose his hold, and ran towards the 
 entrance-door, Mr. Fitzgerald now perceived 
 Mr. Robinson. " Here he comes ! " exclaimed 
 he, with easy nonchalance. " We had found 
 the wrong carriage, Mr. Robinson. We have 
 been looking after you, and Mrs. Robinson is 
 alarmed beyond expression." 
 
 " I am indeed ! " said I. Mr. Robinson 
 now took my hand. We stepped into the 
 coach, and Mr. Fitzgerald followed. As we 
 proceeded towards Hatton Garden the sky 
 incessantly flashed lightning. I was terrified 
 by the combination of events, and I was in a 
 situation which rendered any alarm peculiarly 
 
86 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 dangerous, for I was several months advanced 
 in that state which afterwards terminated by 
 presenting to me my only child, my darling 
 Maria. I 
 
 I had often heard of Mr. Fitzgerald's pro- 
 pensity to duelling. I recollected my own 
 delicate situation ; I valued my husband's 
 safety. I therefore did not mention the 
 adventure of the evening, particularly as Mr. 
 Fitzgerald observed, on our way to Hatton 
 Garden, that he had " nearly made a strange 
 mistake, and taken possession of another 
 person's carriage." This remark appeared so 
 plausible that nothing farther was said upon 
 the subject. 
 
 From that evening I was particularly cautious 
 in avoiding Fitzgerald. He was too daring 
 and too fascinating a being to be allowed the 
 smallest marks of confidence. Whenever he 
 called I was denied to him, and at length, 
 perceiving the impracticability of his plan, he 
 desisted, and seldom called, excepting to leave 
 his name as a visitor of ceremony. 
 
 I do not recount these events, these plans 
 for my enthralment, with a view to convey 
 
 ' Later she gave birth to a daughter named Sophia, who 
 lived but six vyeeks. — Ed. 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 87 
 
 anything like personal vanity, for I can 
 with truth afBrm that I never thought 
 myself entitled to admiration that could 
 endanger my security or tempt the libertine 
 to undermine my husband's honour. But I 
 attribute the snares that were laid for me to 
 three causes : the first, my youth and inex- 
 perience, my girlish appearance and simplicity ot 
 manners ; secondly, the expensive style in which 
 Mr. Robinson lived, though he was not known 
 as a man of independent fortune ; and thirdly, 
 the evident neglect which I experienced from 
 my husband, whom Lord Lyttelton's society 
 had marked as a man of universal gallantry, 
 
 I was now known by name at every public 
 place in and near the metropolis. Our circle of 
 acquaintances enlarged daily. My firiend Lady 
 Yea was my constant companion. Mr. Robin- 
 son became desperate, from a thorough con- 
 viction that no effort of economy or profes- 
 sional labour could arrange his shattered finances^ 
 the large debt which he owed previous to his 
 marriage with me having laid the foundation of 
 every succeeding embarrassment. 
 
 The moment now approached when the 
 arcanum was to be developed, and an execution 
 on Mr. Robinson's effects, at the suit of an 
 
88 MEMOmS OF 
 
 annuitant, decided the doubts and fears which 
 had long afflicted me. I was in a great degree 
 prepared for this event by the evident inquietude 
 of my husband's mind and his frequent inter- 
 views with persons of a mysterious description. 
 Indeed this crisis seemed rather consolatory 
 than appalling, for I hoped and trusted that 
 the time was now arrived when reason would 
 take place of folly, and experience point out 
 those thorns which strew the pleasurable paths 
 of dissipation. 
 
 At this period, had Mr. Harris generously 
 assisted bis son, I am fully and confidently per- 
 suaded that he would have pursued a discreet 
 and regular line of conduct. His first involve- 
 ment was the basis of all his misfortunes. The 
 impossibility of liquidating that debt (the motive 
 for which it was contracted is to this hour 
 unknown to me) rendered him desperate. 
 Indeed, how could a )'oung man, well edu- 
 cated,! subsist in such a metropolis without 
 some provision ? Mr. Harris was a man of 
 fortune, and he ought to have known that 
 necessity is the most dangerous associate of 
 youth ; that folly may be reclaimed by kindness, 
 
 ' Mr. Robinson was educated at Harrow, and was a 
 contemporary of Mr. Sheridan. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 89 
 
 but seldom fails to be darkened into vice by 
 the severity of unpitying natures. 
 
 From Hatton Garden we removed to a 
 house which was lent to us by a friend at 
 Finchley. Here I hoped at least to remain 
 tranquil till the perilous moment was passed 
 which was to render me a mother. I here 
 devoted my time to making my infant's little 
 wardrobe; my finest muslin dresses I con- 
 verted into frocks and robes, with my lace 
 I fondly trimmed them. It was a sweetly 
 pleasing' task, and I often smiled when I 
 reflected that only three years before this 
 period I had dressed a waxen doll nearly as 
 large as a new-bom infant. 
 
 Mr. Robinson had much business to transact 
 in London, and I was almost perpetually alone 
 at Finchley. Of our domestic establishment 
 there was only one who did not desert us, 
 and he was a negro ! — one of that despised, 
 degraded race, who wear the colour on their 
 features which too often characterises the 
 hearts of their fair and unfeeling oppressors. 
 I have found, during my journey through life, 
 that the two male domestics who were most 
 attached to my interest and most faithful to 
 my fortunes were both negroes I 
 
go MEMOIRS OF 
 
 My mother now returned from Bristol, and 
 I had the consolation of her society. I divided 
 my time betwixt reading, writing, and making 
 a little wardrobe for my expected darling. 
 I little regretted the busy scenes of life ; I 
 sighed not for public attention. I felt by 
 this change of situation as though a weighty 
 load were taken from my heart, and solaced 
 my mind in the idea that the worst had 
 happened which could befall us. Gracious 
 Heaven ! How should I have shuddered, had 
 I then contemplated the dark perspective of 
 my destiny ! 
 
 Mr. Robinson went almost daily to London, 
 and sometimes my brother George, who was 
 still a boy, accompanied him upon a little pony. 
 One day, after returning from one of their 
 rides, my brother informed me that he had 
 been with Mr. Robinson to Marylebone, and 
 that he had waited and held Mr. Robinson's 
 horse, while he made a morning visit. I had 
 then no acquaintance that resided at Maryle- 
 bone. I questioned my brother as to the 
 place, and he persisted in his original story. 
 " But," added he, " if you say anything about 
 it to Mr. Robinson, I never will tell you where 
 we go in future." I promised not to mention 
 
MAR V ROBINSON. 9 1 
 
 what he had said, and my mind was deeply 
 engaged in a variety of conjectures. 
 
 A few days after Mr. Robinson made 
 another visit, and my brother was introduced 
 to the lady. From the manner and conversa- 
 tion of both parties, even a youth scarcely in 
 his teens could draw conclusions of no favour- 
 able nature. By the side of the chimney hung 
 my watch, which I had supposed lost in the 
 general wreck of our property. It was en- 
 amelled with musical trophies, and very re- 
 markable for a steel chain of singular beauty. 
 The moment my brother described it my 
 suspicions were confirmed ; and Mr. Robinson 
 did not even attempt to deny his infidelity. 
 
 Mr. Robinson, finding his creditors inexor- 
 able, and fearing that he might endanger his 
 personal liberty by remaining near London, 
 informed me that I must, in a few days, 
 accompany him to Tregunter. I felt a severe 
 pang in the idea of quitting my adored mother 
 at a moment when I should stand so much 
 in need of a parent's attentions. My agony 
 was extreme. I fancied that I never should 
 behold her more ; that the harshness and 
 humiliating taunts of my husband's kindred 
 would send me prematurely to the grave ; 
 
92 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that my infant would be left among strangers, 
 and that my mother would scarcely have forti- 
 tude sufficient to survive me. Then I antici- 
 pated the inconvenience of so long a journey, 
 for Tregunter House was within a few miles 
 of Brecon. I dreaded to encounter the scorn- 
 ful vulgarity and the keen glances of Miss 
 Betsy and Mrs. Molly. I considered all these 
 things with horror ; but the propriety of wedded 
 life commanded the sacrifice, and I readily 
 consented to make it. 
 
 With tender regret, with agonising presenti- 
 ments, 1 took leave of my mother and my 
 brother. Such a parting would but mock the 
 powers of language ! My delicate situation, 
 my youth, my affection for my best of mothers, 
 all conspired to augment my sorrow — but a 
 husband's repose, a husband's liberty were at 
 stake, and my Creator can bear witness that, 
 had I been blessed with that fidelity and affec- 
 tion which I deserved, my heart was disposed 
 to the observance of every duty, every claim 
 which would have embellished domestic pro- 
 priety. 
 
 We set out for Tregunter. On our arrival 
 there, I instantly perceived that our misfortunes 
 had outstripped our speed. Miss Robinson 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 93 
 
 scarcely bade us welcome, and Molly was 
 peevish, even to insulting displeasure. 
 
 Mr. Harris was from home when we arrived. 
 But he returned shortly after. His greeting 
 was harsh and unfeeling. " Well ! so you 
 have escaped from a prison, and now you are 
 come here to do penance for your follies.'' 
 Well ! and what do you want .? " I could not 
 reply. I entered the house, and instantly 
 hastened to my old chamber, where my tears 
 gave relief to that heart which was almost 
 bursting with agony. 
 
 Still Mr. Robinson conjured me to bear his 
 uncle's wayward temper patiently. I did, 
 though every day I was taunted with idle and 
 inhuman questions, such as, " How long do 
 you think that I will support you } What is 
 to become of you in a prison ? What business 
 have beggars to marry .? " With many others, 
 equally feeling and high-minded ! 
 
 The mansion of Tregunter presented but 
 few sources of amusement for the female mind. 
 Mr. Harris had acquired a considerable fortune 
 in trade, and, however the art of accumulating 
 wealth had been successfully practised, the 
 finer pursuits of mental powers had been totally 
 neglected. Books were unknown at Tregunter, 
 
MEMOIRS OF 
 
 excepting a few magazines or periodical publi- 
 cations, which at different periods Miss Robin- 
 son borrowed from her juvenile neighbours. 
 There was, however, an old spinnet in one of 
 the parlours. Music had been one of my early 
 delights, and I sometimes vainly endeavoured 
 to draw a kind of jingling harmony from this 
 time-shaken and neglected instrument. These 
 attempts, however, frequently subjected me to 
 insult. " I had better think of getting my 
 bread ; women of no fortune had no right to 
 follow the pursuits of fine ladies. Tom had 
 better married a good tradesman's daughter 
 than the child of a ruined merchant who was 
 not capable of earning a living." Such were 
 the remarks of my amiable and enlightened 
 father-in-law ! 
 
 One day, I particularly remember, Mr. 
 Harris had invited a large party to dinner. 
 John and Charles Morgan, Esqrs., members of 
 Parliament, with an old clergyman of the name 
 of Jones, and several others were present. I 
 was then within a fortnight of my perilous 
 moment. One of the company expressed his 
 satisfaction that I was) come to give Tre- 
 gunter a little stranger ; and turning to Mr. 
 Harris, added — 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 95 
 
 " You have just finished your house in time 
 for a nursery." 
 
 " No, no," replied Mr. Harris, laughing, 
 " they came here because ■prison doors were 
 open to receive them." 
 
 I felt my face redden to scarlet ; every person 
 present seemed to sympathise in my chagrin, 
 and I was near sinking under the table with 
 confiasion. Mr. Robinson's indignation was 
 evident ; but it was restrained by duty as well 
 as by necessity. 
 
 The manor-house was not yet finished ; and 
 a few days after our arrival Mr. Harris in- 
 formed me that he had no accommodation for 
 my approaching confinement. Where was I to 
 go ? was the next question. After many family 
 consultations, it was decided that I should 
 remove to Trevecca House, about a mile and 
 a half distant, and there give to this miserable 
 world my first-born darling. 
 
 I removed to Trevecca ; it was a spacious 
 mansion at the foot of a stupendous mountain, 
 which, from its form, was called the Sugar-loaf. 
 A part of the building was converted into a 
 flannel manufactory, and the inhabitants were 
 of the Huntingdonian school. Here I enjoyed 
 the sweet repose of solitude ; here I wandered 
 
96 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 about woods entangled by the wild luxuriance 
 of nature, or roved upon the mountain's side, 
 while the blue vapours floated round its summit. 
 Oh, God of Nature ! Sovereign of the universe 
 of wonders ! in those interesting moments how 
 fervently did I adore thee ! 
 
 How often have I sat at my little parlour 
 window and watched the pale moonbeams 
 darting amidst the sombre and venerable yew- 
 trees that shed their solemn shade over the 
 little garden ! How often have I strolled down 
 the woody paths, spangled with the dew of 
 morning, and shaken off the briery branches 
 that hung about me ! How tranquil did I feel 
 escaped from kindred tyranny, and how little 
 did I regret the busy scenes of fashionable folly ! 
 Unquestionably the Creator formed me with a 
 strong propensity to adore the sublime and 
 beautiful of His works ! But it has never been 
 my lot to meet with an associating mind, a 
 congenial spirit, who could (as it were abstracted 
 from the world), find an universe in the sacred 
 intercourse of soul, the sublime union of sensi- 
 bility. 
 
 At Trevecca House I was tranquil, if not 
 perfectly happy. I there avoided the low 
 taunts of uncultivated natures, the insolent 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 97 
 
 vulgarity of pride, and the overbearing triumphs 
 of a family, whose loftiest branch was as in- 
 ferior to my stock as the small weed is beneath 
 the tallest tree that overshades it. I had formed 
 a union with a family who had neither senti- 
 ment nor sensibility ; I was doomed to bear the 
 society of ignorance and pride ; I was treated as 
 though I had been the most abject of beings, 
 even at a time when my conscious spirit soared 
 as far above their powers to wound it as the 
 mountain towered over the white battlements of 
 my then solitary habitation. 
 
 After my removal to Trevecca, I seldom saw 
 Miss Robinson or Mrs. Molly ; Mr. Harris 
 never called on me, though I was not more than 
 a mile and a half from Tregunter. At length 
 the expected, though to me most perilous, 
 moment arrived, which awoke a new and tender 
 interest in my bosom, which presented to my 
 fondly beating heart my child — my Maria. I 
 cannot describe the sensations of my soul at the 
 moment when I pressed the little darling to my 
 bosom, my maternal bosom ; when I kissed its 
 hands, its cheeks, its forehead, as it nestled 
 closely to my heart, and seemed to claim that 
 affection which has never failed to warm it. 
 She was the most beautiful of infants ! I 
 
98 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 thought myself the happiest of mothers ; her 
 first smile appeared like something celestial — 
 something ordained to irradiate my dark and 
 dreary prospect of existence. 
 
 Two days after my child was presented to 
 this world of sorrow, my nurse, Mrs. Jones, a 
 most excellent woman, was earnestly desired by 
 the people of the manufactory to bring the 
 infant among them ; they wished to see the 
 " young squire's baby, the little heiress to 
 Tregunter." It was in vain that I dreaded the 
 consequences of the visit, for it was in the 
 month of October ; but Mrs. Jones assured 
 me that infants in that part of the world were 
 very frequently carried into the open air on the 
 day of their birth ; she also hinted that my 
 refusal would hurt the feelings of the honest 
 people, and wear the semblance of pride more 
 than of maternal tenderness. This idea decided 
 my acquiescence ; and my little darling, en- 
 veloped in the manufacture of her own romantic 
 birthplace, made her first visit to her kind but 
 unsophisticated countrywomen. 
 
 No sooner did Mrs. Jones enter the circle 
 than she was surrounded by the gazing throng. 
 The infant was dressed with peculiar neatness, 
 and nothing mortal could appear more lovely. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 99 
 
 A thousand' and a thousand blessings were 
 heaped upon the " heiress of Tregunter," for 
 so they fancifully called her ; a thousand times 
 did they declare that the baby was the very 
 image of her father. Mrs. Jones returned to 
 me ; every word she uttered soothed my heart ; 
 a sweet and grateful glov/, for the first time, 
 bespoke the indescribable gratification which a 
 fond parent feels in hearing the praises of 
 a beloved offspring. Yet this little absence 
 appeared an age ; a variety of fears presented 
 dangers in a variety of shapes, and the object 
 of all my care, of all my affection, was now 
 pressed closer to my heart than ever. 
 
 Amidst these sweet and never-to-be-forgotten 
 sensations, Mr. Harris entered my chamber. 
 He abruptly inquired how I found myself, and, 
 seating himself by the side of my bed, began to 
 converse on family affairs. I was too feeble 
 to say much ; and he had not the delicacy to 
 consider that Mrs. Jones, my nurse, and almost a 
 stranger to me, was a witness to our conversation. 
 
 " Well ! " said Mr. Harris, " and what do 
 you mean to do with your child? " 
 
 I made no answer. 
 
 " I will tell you," added he. " Tie it to 
 your back and work for it." 
 
loo MEMOIRS OF 
 
 , I shivered with horror. 
 
 "Prison doors are open," continued Mr. 
 Harris. " Tom will die in a gaol ; and what 
 is to become of you .f" " 
 
 I remained silent. 
 
 Miss Robinson now made her visit. She 
 looked at me without uttering a syllable ; but 
 while she contemplated my infant's features, 
 her innocent sleeping face, her little dimpled 
 hands folded on her breast, she murmured, 
 " Poor little wretch ! Poor thing ! It would 
 be a mercy if it pleased God to take it ! " My 
 agony of mind was scarcely supportable. 
 
 About three weeks after this period letters 
 arrived, informing Mr. Robinson that his 
 creditors were still inexorable, and that the 
 place of his concealment was known. He was 
 cautioned not to run the hazard of an arrest ; 
 indeed he knew that such an event would 
 complete his ruin with Mr. Harris, from whom 
 he should not receive any assistance. He com- 
 municated this intelligence to me, and at the 
 same time informed me that he must absolutely 
 depart from Trevecca immediately. I was still 
 extremely feeble, for my mental suiFerings had 
 impaired my corporeal strength almost as much 
 as the perils I had recently encountered. But 
 
MARY ROBINSON. loi 
 
 the idea of remaining at Trevecca without my 
 husband was more terrible than the prospect of 
 annihilation, and I replied without a hesitating 
 thought, " I am ready to go with you." 
 
 My good nurse, who was a very amiable 
 woman, and under forty years of age, conjured 
 me to delay my journey. She informed me 
 that it would be dangerous to undertake it in 
 my then weak state. My husband's liberty was 
 in danger, and my life appeared of little 
 importance ; for even at that early period of 
 my days I was already weary of existence. 
 
 On the succeeding morning we departed. 
 Mrs. Jones insisted on accompanying me on 
 the first day's journey, Mr. Robinson, my 
 nurse, and myself occupied a post-chaise ; my 
 Maria was placed on a pillow on Mrs. Jones's 
 lap. The paleness of death overspread my 
 countenance, and the poor honest people of the 
 mountains and the villages saw us depart with 
 sorrow, though not without their blessings. 
 Neither Mr. Harris nor the enlightened females 
 of Tregunter expressed the smallest regret or 
 solicitude on the occasion. We reached Aber- 
 gavenny that evening. My little remaining 
 strength was exhausted, and I could proceed no 
 further. However singular these persecutions 
 
I02 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 may appear, Mr. Robinson knows that they are 
 not in the smallest degree exaggerated. 
 
 At Abergavenny I parted from Mrs. Jones, 
 and, having no domestic with me, was left to 
 take the entire charge of Maria. Reared in the 
 tender lap of affluence, I had learnt but little of 
 domestic occupations ; the adorning part of 
 education had been lavished, but the useful had 
 never been bestowed upon a girl who was con- 
 sidered as born to independence. With these 
 disadvantages I felt very awkwardly situated, 
 under the arduous task I had to perform ; but 
 necessity soon prevailed with the soft voice of 
 maternal affection, and I obeyed her dictates as 
 the dictates of nature. 
 
 Mrs. Jones, whose excellent heart sympathised 
 in all I suffered, would not have parted from me 
 in 80 delicate a moment, but she was the widow 
 of a tradesman at Brecon, and having quitted 
 her home, where she had left two daughters — 
 very pretty young women — to attend me, she 
 was under the necessity of returning to them. 
 With repeated good wishes, and some tears of 
 regret flowing from her feeling and gentle heart, 
 we parted. 
 
 On the following day we proceeded to Mon- 
 mouth. Some relations of my mother residing 
 
MAS Y ROBINSON: 1 03 
 
 there, particularly my grandmother, I wished to 
 remain there till my strength was somewhat 
 restored. We were received with genuine afFec- 
 tion ; we were caressed with unfeigned hospi- 
 tality. The good and venerable object of my 
 visit was delighted to embrace her great-grand- 
 child, and the family fireside was frequently a 
 scene of calm and pleasing conversation. How 
 different were these moments from those which 
 I had passed with the low-minded inhabitants 
 of Tregunter ! 
 
 My grandmother, though then near seventy 
 years of age, was still a pleasing woman ; she 
 had in her youth been delicately beautiful : and 
 the neat simplicity of her dress, which was 
 always either brown or black silk, the piety of 
 her mind, and the mildness of her nature, com- 
 bined to render her a most endearing object. 
 
 As soon as my strength recovered I Vv^as 
 invited to partake of many pleasant entertain- 
 ments. But the most favourite amusement I 
 selected was that of wandering by the river 
 Wye, or of exploring the antique remains of 
 Monmouth Castle, a part of which reached the 
 garden of my grandmother's habitation. I also 
 constantly accompanied my amiable and vene- 
 rable relative to church ; and I have often 
 
104 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 observed, with a mixture of delight, and almost 
 of envy, the tranquil resignation which religion 
 diffused over her mind, even at the very close 
 of human existence. This excellent woman 
 expired of a gradual decay in the year 1780. 
 
 We had resided at Monmouth about a month, 
 when I was invited to a ball. My spirits and 
 strength had been renovated by the change of 
 scenery, and I was persuaded to dance. I was 
 at that time particularly fond of the amusement, 
 and my partial friends flattered me by saying 
 that I measured the mazy figure like a sylph. 
 I was at that period a nurse ; and, during the 
 evening, Maria was brought to an antechamber 
 to receive the only support she had ever yet 
 taken. Unconscious of the danger attendant 
 on such an event, I gave her her accustomed 
 nourishment immediately after dancing. It was 
 agitated by the violence of exercise and the heat 
 of the ball-room, and, on my return home, I 
 found my infant in strong convulsions. 
 
 My distraction, my despair, was terrible ; 
 my state of mind rendered it impossible for me 
 to afibrd any internal nourishment to the child, 
 even when her little mouth was parched, or the 
 fit in the smallest degree abated. I was little 
 less than frantic ; all the night I sat with her on 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 105 
 
 my arms ; an eminent medical man attended. 
 The convulsions continued, and my situation 
 was terrible ; those who witnessed it cautiously 
 avoided informing me that the peril of my infant 
 proceeded from my dancing ; had I known it 
 at that period I really believe I should have 
 lost my senses. 
 
 In this desperate state, with only short inter- 
 vals of rest, my darling continued till the 
 morning. All my friends came to make in- 
 quiries, and, among others, a clergyman who 
 visited at my grandmother's. He saw the child, 
 as it was thought, expiring ; he saw me still 
 sitting where I had taken my place of despair 
 on the preceding night, fixed in the stupor of 
 unutterable affliction. He conjured me to let 
 the child be removed. I was in a raging fever ; 
 the effects of not having nourished my child 
 during twelve hours began to endanger my own 
 existence, and I looked forward to my dissolu- 
 tion as the happiest event that could befall me. 
 
 Still Maria lay upon my lap, and still I 
 resisted every attempt that was made to remove 
 her. Just at this period the clergyman recol- 
 lected that he had seen one of his children 
 relieved from convulsions by a simple experi- 
 ment, and he requested my permission to try 
 
io6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 its effects. The child was given over by my 
 medical attendant, and I replied, "However 
 desperate the remedy, I conjure you to ad- 
 minister it." 
 
 He now mixed a tablespoonful of spirit of 
 aniseed with a small quantity of spermacetti, 
 and gave it to my infant. In a few minutes the 
 convulsive spasms abated, and in less than an 
 hour she sunk into a sweet and tranquil slumber. 
 What I felt may be pictured to a fond mother's 
 fancy, but my pen would fail in attempting to 
 describe it. 
 
 Some circumstances now occurred which gave 
 Mr. Robinson reason to believe that he was 
 not safe at Monmouth, and we prepared for a 
 removal to some other quarter. The day was 
 fixed for commencing our journey, when an 
 execution arrived for a considerable sum, and 
 Mr. Robinson was no longer at liberty to travel. 
 My alarm was infinite ; the sum was too large 
 for the possibility of liquidation, and, knowing 
 Mr. Robinson's desperate fortune, I thought it 
 unjust as well as ungenerous to/attempt the 
 borrowing of it. Fortunately the sheriff for 
 the county was a friend of the family. He was 
 a gentlemanly and amiable man, and offered — 
 to avoid any unpleasant dilemma — to accompany 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 107 
 
 us to London. We set out the same evening, 
 and never slept till we arrived in the metropolis. 
 
 I immediately hastened to my mother, who 
 resided in Buckingham Street, York Buildings, 
 now the Adelphi. Her joy was boundless. 
 She kissed me a thousand times, she kissed my 
 beautiful infant ; while Mr. Robinson employed 
 the day in accommodating the business which 
 had brought him to London. He had been 
 arrested by a friend, with a hope that, so near a 
 father's habitation, such a sum would have been 
 paid — at least such is the reason assigned for 
 such unfriendly conduct ! ' 
 
 The matter was, however, arranged on an ex- 
 planation taking place, and Mr. Robinson en- 
 gaged a lodging near Berners Street, whither we 
 repaired on the same evening. My little col- 
 lection of poems, which I had arranged for 
 publication, and which had been ready ever 
 since my marriage, I now determined to print 
 immediately. They were indeed trifles, very 
 trifles ; I have since perused them with a blush of 
 self-reproof, and wondered how I could venture 
 on presenting them to the public. I trust that 
 
 ' This gentleman's name is Hanway, the person men- 
 tioned in the former part of this work, as Mr. Robinson's 
 earliest friend. 
 
io8 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 there is not a copy remaining, excepting that 
 which my dear partial mother fondly preserved, 
 and which is now in my possession. 
 
 I had been in town a few days, when some 
 female friends persuaded me to accompany a 
 party which they had formed to Ranelagh. Mr. 
 Robinson declined going, but after much en- 
 treaty I consented. I had now been married 
 near two years ; my person was considerably 
 improved ; I was grown taller than when I 
 became Mr. Robinson's wife, and I had now 
 more the manners of a woman of the world 
 than those of girlish simplicity, which had 
 hitherto characterised me, though I had been 
 some months absent from London, and a part 
 of them rusticated among mountains. The 
 dress which I wore was plain and simple : it 
 was composed of pale lilac lustring. My head 
 had a wreath of white flowers ; I was compli- 
 mented on my looks by the whole party, and 
 with little relish for public amusements, and a 
 heart throbbing with domestic solicitude, I 
 accompanied the party to Ranelagh. 
 
 The first person I saw on entering the rotunda 
 was George Robert Fitzgerald. He started as if 
 he had received a shock of electricity. I turned 
 my head away, and would have avoided him ; 
 
MAJiV ROBINSON. 109 
 
 but he instantly quitted two friends with whom 
 he was walking, and presented himself to me. 
 He expressed great pleasure at seeing me once 
 more in " the world " ; was surprised at finding 
 me for the first time in public without my 
 husband, and requested permission to pay his 
 respects to me at my house. I replied that I 
 was " on a visit to some firiends." He bowed, 
 and rejoined his companions. 
 
 During the evening, however, he never ceased 
 to follow me. We quitted the rotunda early ; 
 and, as we were waiting for the carriage, I again 
 observed Fitzgerald in the antechamber. We 
 passed the vestibule, and at the door his own 
 carriage was waiting. 
 
 On the following noon I was correcting a 
 proof-sheet of my volume, when the servant 
 abruptly announced Mr. Fitzgerald ! 
 
 I was somewhat disconcerted by this unex- 
 pected visit, and received Mr. Fitzgerald with 
 a cold and embarrassed mien, which evidently 
 mortified him ; I also felt a little worldly vanity 
 in the moment of surprise, for my morning 
 dress was more calculated to display maternal 
 assiduity than elegant and tasteful deshabille. 
 In a small basket near my chair slept my little 
 Maria ; my table was spread with papers, and 
 
no MEMOIRS OF 
 
 everything around me presented the mixed con- 
 fusion of a study and a nursery. 
 
 From the period of Mrs. Jones's quitting me 
 at Abergavenny, I had made it an invariable 
 rule always to dress and undress my infant. I 
 never suffered it to be placed in a cradle, or to 
 be fed out of my presence. A basket of an 
 oblong shape with four handles (with a pillow 
 and a small bolster) was her bed by day ; at 
 night she slept with me, I had too often heard 
 of the neglect which servants show to young 
 children, and I resolved never to expose an 
 infant of mine either to their ignorance or 
 inattention. It was amidst the duties of a 
 parent, that the gay, the high- fashioned Fitz- 
 gerald now found me ; and whenever either 
 business or, very rarely, public amusements 
 drew me from the occupation, my mother never 
 failed to be my substitute. 
 
 Mr. Fitzgerald said a thousand civil things ; 
 but that which charmed me, was the admiration 
 of my child. He declared that he had never 
 seen so young a mother, or so beautiful an 
 infant. For the first remark I sighed, but the 
 last delighted my bosom ; she indeed was one 
 of the prettiest little mortals that ever the sun 
 shone upon. 
 
MAJR V ROBINSON. 1 1 1 
 
 The next subject of praise was my poetry. I 
 smile while I recollect how far the eiFrontery of 
 flattery has power to belie the judgment. Mr. 
 Fitzgerald took up the proof-sheet and read 
 one of the pastorals. I inquired by what means 
 he had discovered my place of residence ; he 
 informed me that his carriage had followed me 
 home on the preceding night. He now took 
 his leave. 
 
 On the following evening he made us another 
 visit ; I say us, because Mr. Robinson was at 
 home. Mr. Fitzgerald drank tea with us, and 
 proposed making a party on the next day to 
 dine at Richmond. To this I gave a decided 
 negative ; alleging that my duty towards my 
 child prevented the possibility of passing a day 
 absent from her. 
 
 On the Wednesday following Mr. Robinson 
 accompanied me again to Ranelagh. There we 
 met Lord Northington, Lord Lyttelton, Captain 
 O'Bryan, Captain Ayscough, Mr. Andrews, and 
 several others, who all, in the course of the 
 evening, evinced their attentions. But as Mr. 
 Robinson's deranged state of affairs did not 
 admit of our receiving parties at home, I made 
 my excuses by saying that we were at a friend's 
 house and not yet established in a town resi- 
 
112 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 deuce. Lord Lyttelton was particularly im- 
 portunate ; but he received the same answer 
 which I had given to every other inquirer. 
 
 A short time after Mr. Robinson was arrested. 
 Now came my hour of trial. He was conveyed 
 to the house of a sherifFs officer, and in a few 
 days detainers were lodged against him to the 
 amount of twelve hundred pounds, chiefly the 
 arrears of aimuities and other demands from 
 Jew creditors ; for I can proudly and with truth 
 declare that he did not at that time, or at any 
 period since, owe fifty pounds for me, or to any 
 tradesmen on my account whatever. 
 
 Mr. Robinson knew that it would be useless 
 to ask Mr. Harris's assistance — indeed his mind 
 was too much depressed to make an exertion for 
 the arrangement of his afl^airs. He was, there- 
 fore, after waiting three weeks in the custody 
 of a sheriiFs officer (during which time I had 
 never left him for a single hour, day or night) 
 obliged to submit to the necessity of becoming 
 a captive. 
 
 For myself I cared but little ; all my anxiety 
 was for Mr. Robinson's repose and the health 
 of my child. The apartment which we obtained 
 was in the upper p'art of the building, over- 
 looking a racket-ground. Mr. Robinson was 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 1 3 
 
 expert in all exercises of strength or activity, 
 and he found that amusement daily which I 
 could not partake of. I had other occupations 
 of a more interesting nature — the care of a 
 beloved and still helpless daughter.' 
 
 During nine months and three weeks never 
 once did I pass the threshold of our dreary 
 habitation ; though every allurement was offered, 
 every effort was made, to draw me from my 
 scene of domestic attachment. Numberless 
 messages and letters from Lords Northington 
 and Lyttelton, from Mr. Fitzgerald and many 
 others, were conveyed to me. But they all, 
 excepting Lord Northington's, were dictated in 
 the language of gallantry, were replete with 
 professions of love., and wishes to release me 
 from my unpleasant and humiliating situation — 
 and were therefore treated with contempt, scorn, 
 and indignation. For God can bear witness 
 that, at that period, my mind had never enter- 
 tained a thought of violating those vows which 
 I had made to my husband at the altar. 
 
 What I suffered during this tedious captivity ! 
 
 I Writing of this time, Miss Hawkins states that Mrs. 
 Robinson was "eminently meritorious : she had her child 
 to attend to, she did all the work of their apartments, she 
 even scoured the stairs, and accepted the writing and the 
 pay which he had refused." — Ed. 
 
 9 
 
114 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 My little volume of poems sold but indif- 
 ferently ; my health was considerably impaired ; 
 and the trifling income which Mr. Robinson 
 received from his father was scarcely sufficient 
 to support him. I will not enter into a tedious 
 detail of vulgar sorrows, of vulgar scenes ; I 
 seldom quitted my apartment, and never till 
 the evening, when for air and exercise I walked 
 on the racket-ground with my husband. 
 
 It was during one of these night walks that 
 my little daughter first blessed my ears with the 
 articulation of words. The circumstance made 
 a forcible and indelible impression on my mind. 
 It was a clear moonlight evening ; the infant 
 was in the arms of her nursery maid ; she was 
 dancing her up and down, and was playing with 
 her ; her eyes were fixed on the moon, to which 
 she pointed with her small forefinger. On a 
 sudden a cloud passed over it, and the child, 
 with a slow falling of her hand, articulately 
 sighed, " All gone ! " This had been a custom- 
 ary expression with her maid, whenever the 
 infant wanted anything which it was deemed 
 prudent to withhold or to hide from her. 
 These little nothings will appear insignificant to 
 the common reader, but to the parent whose 
 heart is ennobled by sensibility they will 
 
MAJiY ROBINSON. 1 1 5 
 
 become matters of important interest. I can 
 only add, that I walked till near midnight, 
 watching every cloud that passed over the moon, 
 and as often, with a rapturous sensation, hearing 
 my little prattler repeat her observation. 
 
 Having much leisure and many melancholy 
 hours, I again turned my thoughts towards the 
 muses. I chose Captivity for the subject of my 
 pen, and soon composed a quarto poem of some 
 length ; it was superior to my former produc- 
 tions ; but it was full of defects, replete with 
 weak or laboured lines. I never now read my 
 early compositions without a suffusion on my 
 cheek, which marks my humble opinion of them. 
 
 At this period I was informed that the 
 Duchess of Devonshire ^ was the admirer and 
 patroness of literature. With a mixture of 
 timidity and hope I sent her Grace a neatly 
 bound volume of my poems, accompanied by a 
 short letter apologising for their defects, and 
 
 ' Georgiana, wife of the fifth Duke of Devonshire. 
 The Duchess was not only one of the most beautiful, 
 vivacious, and fascinating women of the day, but was 
 likewise an ardent politician. Whilst canvassing for the 
 election of Fox she purchased the vote of a butcher for a 
 kiss, and received from an Irish mechanic the compli- 
 mentary assurance that he could light his pipe at her 
 eyes. — Ed. 
 
ii6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 pleading my age as the only excuse for their 
 inaccuracy. My brother, who was a charming 
 youth, was the bearer of my first literary offer- 
 ing at the shrine of nobility. The Duchess 
 admitted him ; and with the most generous and 
 amiable sensibility inquired some particulars 
 respecting my situation, with a request that on 
 the following day I would make her a visit. 
 
 I knew not what to do. Her liberality 
 claimed my compliance ; yet, as I had never, 
 during my husband's long captivity, quitted 
 him for half an hour, I felt a sort of reluctance 
 that pained the romantic firmness of my mirid, 
 while I meditated what I considered as a breach 
 of my domestic attachment. However, at the 
 particular and earnest request of Mr. Robinson, 
 I consented, and accordingly accepted the 
 Duchess's invitation. 
 
 During my seclusion from the world I had 
 adapted my dress to my situation. Neatness 
 was at all times my pride ; but now plainness 
 was the conformity to necessity. Simple habili- 
 ments became the abode of adversity ; and the 
 plain brown satin gown, which I wore on my 
 first visit to the Duchess of Devonshire, 
 appeared to me as strange as a birthday court- 
 suit to a newly-married citizen's daughter. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 117 
 
 To describe the Duchess's look and manner 
 when she entered the back drawing-room of 
 Devonshire House would be impracticable ; 
 mildness and sensibility beamed in her eyes and 
 irradiated her countenance. She expressed her 
 surprise at seeing so young a person, who had 
 already experienced such vicissitude of fortune ; 
 she lamented that my destiny was so little pro- 
 portioned to what she was pleased to term my 
 desert, and with a tear of gentle sympathy 
 requested that I would accept a proof of her 
 good wishes. I had not words to express my 
 feelings, and was departing, when the Duchess 
 requested me to call on her very often, and to 
 bring my little daughter with me. 
 
 I made frequent visits to the amiable Duchess, 
 and was at all times received with the warmest 
 proofs of friendship. My little girl, to whom I 
 was still a nurse, generally accompanied me, and 
 always experienced the kindest caresses from my 
 admired patroness, my liberal and affectionate 
 friend. Frequently the Duchess inquired most 
 minutely into the story of my sorrows, and as 
 often gave me tears of the most spontaneous 
 sympathy. But such was my destiny, that 
 while I cultivated the esteem of this best of 
 women, by a conduct which was above the reach 
 
ii8 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of reprobation, my husband, even though I was 
 the partner of his captivity, the devoted slave to 
 his necessities, indulged in the lowest and most 
 degrading intrigues ; frequently, during my 
 short absence with the Duchess — for I never 
 quitted the prison but to obey her summons — he 
 was known to admit the most abandoned of 
 their sex — women whose low licentious lives 
 were such as to render them the shame and 
 outcasts of society. These disgraceful meetings 
 were arranged, even while I was in my own 
 apartment, in a next room, and by the assistance 
 of an Italian who was also there a captive. I 
 was apprised of the proceeding, and I questioned 
 Mr. Robinson upon the subject. He denied 
 the charge ; but I availed myself of an oppor- 
 tunity that offered, and was convinced that my 
 husband's infidelities were both frequent and 
 disgraceful. 
 
 Still I pursued my plan of the most rigid 
 domestic propriety ; still I preserved my faith 
 inviolate, my name unsullied. At times I 
 endured the most poignant sufferings, from the 
 pain of disappointed hope, and the pressure of 
 pecuniary distresses. 
 
 During my long seclusion from society, for I 
 could not associate with those whom destiny 
 
MAJi Y ROBINSON. 1 1 9 
 
 had placed in a similar predicament, not one of 
 my female friends even inquired what was 
 become of me. Those who had been protected 
 and received with the most cordial hospitality 
 by me in my more happy hours, now neglected 
 all the kind condolence of sympathetic feeling, 
 and shunned both me and my dreary habitation. 
 From that hour I have never felt the affection 
 for my own sex which perhaps some women 
 feel ; I have never taught my heart to cherish 
 their friendship, or to depend on their attentions 
 beyond the short perspective of a prosperous 
 day. Indeed I have almost uniformly found 
 my own sex my most inveterate enemies ; I 
 have experienced little kindness from them, 
 though my bosom has often ached with the 
 pang inflicted by their envy, slander, and 
 malevolence. 
 
 The Italian whom I took occasion to mention 
 as the cicerone of my husband's gallantries, was 
 named Albanesi. He was the husband to a 
 beautiful Roman woman of that name, who had 
 some years before attracted considerable atten- 
 tion in the hemisphere of gallantry, where she 
 had shone as a brilliant constellation. She had 
 formerly been the mistress of a Prince de Cour- 
 land, and afterwards of the Count de Belgeioso, 
 
I20 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the Imperial Ambassador ; but at the period in 
 which I first saw her she was, I believe, devoted 
 to a life or unrestrained impropriety. She fre- 
 quently came to visit her husband, who had 
 held a situation in the opera-house during the 
 management of Mr. Hobart/ now Earl of 
 Buckinghamshire. I remember she was one of 
 the handsomest women I had ever seen, and 
 that her dress was the most extravagantly 
 splendid. Satins, richly embroidered, or 
 trimmed with point-lace, were her daily habili- 
 ments ; and her personal attractions were con- 
 siderably augmented by the peculiar dignity and 
 grace with which she walked : in a few words, 
 this woman was a striking sample of beauty and 
 of profligacy. 
 
 Whenever she came to visit her sfoso^ she 
 never failed to obtrude herself on my seclusion. 
 Mr. Robinson rather encouraged than shunned 
 her visits, and I was obliged to receive the 
 beautiful Angehna (for such was her Christian 
 name), however repugnant such an associate 
 was to my feelings. At every interview she 
 took occasion to ridicule my romantic domestic 
 
 " George Hobart, third Earl of Buckinghamshire, who 
 had a passion for dramatic entertainments, and for a time 
 became manager of the opera in London. — Ed. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 121 
 
 attachment ; laughed at my folly in wasting my 
 youth (for I was not then eighteen years of age) 
 in such a disgraceful obscurity ; and pictured, in 
 all the glow of fanciful scenery, the splendid life 
 into which I might enter, if I would but know 
 my own power, and break the fetters of matri- 
 monial restriction. She once told me that she 
 had mentioned to the Earl of Pembroke, that 
 there was a young married lady in the most 
 humiliating captivity with her husband ; she 
 said that she had described my person, and that 
 Lord Pembroke was ready to offer me his 
 services. 
 
 This proposal fully proclaimed the meaning 
 of Signora Albanesi's visits, and I resolved in 
 future to avoid all conversation with her. She 
 was at that time between thirty and forty years 
 of age, and her day of splendour was hourly 
 sinking to the obscurity of neglect ; she was 
 nevertheless still reluctant to resign the dazzling 
 meteors which fashion had scattered in her way, 
 and, having sacrificed every personal feeling for 
 the gratification of her vanity, she now sought 
 to build a gaudy transient fabric on the destruc- 
 tion of another. In addition to her persuasions, 
 her husband, Angelo Albanesi, constantly made 
 the world of gallantry the subject of his conver- 
 
122 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 sation. Whole evenings has he sitten in our 
 apartment telling long stories of intrigue, 
 praising the liberality of one nobleman, the 
 romantic chivalry of another, the sacrifice which 
 a third had made to an adored object, and the 
 splendid income which a fourth would bestow 
 on any young lady of education and mental 
 endowments who would accept his protection 
 and be the partner of his fortune. I always 
 smiled at Albanesi's innuendoes ; and I still found 
 some amusement in his society when he thought 
 fit to divest his conversation of his favourite 
 topic. This Italian, though neither young nor 
 even tolerably well-looking, was uncommonly 
 entertaining ; he could sing, likewise imitate 
 various musical instruments, was an excellent 
 buffoon, and a very neat engraver ; some of 
 his plates were executed under the inspection of 
 Sherwin, and he was considered as a very 
 promising artist. 
 
 Were I to describe one-half of what I suffered 
 during fifteen months' captivity, the world would 
 consider it as the invention of a novel. But 
 Mr. Robinson knows what I endured, and how 
 patiently, how correctly I suited my mind to 
 the strict propriety of wedded life ; he knows 
 h at my duty as a wife was exemplary, my 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 123 
 
 chastity inviolate ; he knows that neither 
 poverty nor obscurity, neither the tauntings of 
 the world nor his neglect, could tempt me even 
 to the smallest error ; he knows that I bore my 
 afflicting humiliations with a cheerful uncom- 
 plaining spirit ; that I toiled honourably for his 
 comfort ; and that my attentions were exclu- 
 sively dedicated to him and to my infant. 
 
 The period now arrived when Mr. Robinson, 
 by setting aside some debts, and by giving fresh 
 bonds and fresh securities for others, once more 
 obtained his liberty. I immediately conveyed 
 the intelligence to my lovely Duchess of Devon- 
 shire, and she wrote me a letter of kind congra- 
 tulation : she was then at Chatsworth. 
 
 The first moments of emancipation were 
 delightful to the senses. I felt as though I had 
 been newly born ; I longed to see all my old 
 and intimate associates, and almost forgot that 
 they had so unworthily neglected me. Every- 
 thing that had passed now appeared like a 
 melancholy vision. The gloom had dissolved, 
 and a new perspective seemed to brighten 
 before me. 
 
 The first place of public entertainment I went 
 to was Vauxhall. I had frequently found occa- 
 sion to observe a mournful contrast when I had 
 
124 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 quitted the elegant apartment of Devonshire 
 House to enter the dark galleries of a prison ; 
 but the sensation which I felt on hearing the 
 music and beholding the gay throng, during 
 this first visit in public after so long a seclusion, 
 was indescribable. During the evening we met 
 many old' acquaintances — some who pretended 
 ignorance of our past embarrassments, and 
 others who joined us with the ease of fashion- 
 able apathy ; among these was Lord Lyttelton, 
 who insolently remarked, " that, notwithstand- 
 ing all that had passed, I was handsomer than 
 ever." I made no reply, but by a look of 
 scornful indignation, which silenced the bold, 
 the unfeeling commentator, and convinced him 
 that, though fallen in fortune, I was still high 
 in pride. 
 
 Mr. Robinson having once mote obtained 
 his liberty, how were we to subsist honourably 
 and above reproach .'' He applied to his father, 
 but every aid was refused ; he could not follow 
 his profession, because he had not completed his 
 articles of clerkship. I resolved on turning my 
 thoughts towards literary labour, and projected 
 a variety of works, by which I hoped to obtain 
 at least a decent independence. Alas ! how 
 little did I then know either the fatigue or the 
 
MAJiy ROBINSON. 125 
 
 hazard of mental occupations ! How little did 
 I foresee that the day would come when my 
 health would be impaired, my thoughts per- 
 petually employed, in so destructive a pursuit ! 
 At the moment that I write this page I feel in 
 every fibre of my brain the fatal conviction that 
 it is a destroying labour. 
 
 It was at this moment of anxiety, of hope, of 
 fear, that my thoughts once more were turned 
 to a dramatic life ; and, walking with my hus- 
 band in St. James's Park, late in the autumn, 
 we were accosted by Mr. Brereton, of Drury 
 Lane Theatre. I had not seen him during the 
 last two years, and he seemed rejoiced in having 
 met us. At that period we lodged at Lyne's, 
 the confectioner, in Old Bond Street. Mr. 
 Brereton went home and dined with us ; and 
 after dinner the conversation turned on my 
 partiality to the stage, which he earnestly recom- 
 mended as a scene of great promise to what he 
 termed my promising talents. The idea rushed 
 like electricity through my brain. I asked Mr. 
 Robinson's opinion, and he now readily con- 
 sented to my making the trial. He had re- 
 peatedly written to his father, requesting even 
 the smallest aid towards our support until he 
 could embark in his profession ; but every letter 
 
126 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 remained unanswered, and we had no hope but 
 in our own mental exertions. 
 
 Some time after this period we removed to a 
 more quiet situation, and occupied a very neat 
 and comfortable suite of apartments in Newman 
 Street. I was then some months advanced in 
 a state of domestic solicitude, and my health 
 seemed in a precarious 'state, owing to my 
 having too long devoted myself to the duties or 
 a mother in nursing my eldest daughter Maria. 
 It was in this lodging that, one morning, wholly 
 unexpectedly, Mr. Brereton made us a second 
 visit, bringing with him a friend, whom he 
 introduced on entering the drawing-room. 
 This stranger was Mr. Sheridan.' 
 
 I was overwhelmed with confusion. I know 
 not why, but I felt a sense of mortification 
 when I observed that my appearance was care- 
 lessly deshabille^ and my mind as little prepared 
 for what I guessed to be the motive of his visit. 
 I, however, soon recovered my recollection, and 
 
 ' Richard Brinsley Sheridan was at this period in his 
 twenty-fifth year, and had entered on his mismanagement 
 of Drury Lane Theatre. He had already written The 
 Rivals, which had not proved a success on its first appear- 
 ance ; St. Patrick's Day, or the Scheming Lieutenant, a 
 farce ; The Duenna, a comic opera ; but he was yet to 
 write A Trip to Scarborough, and The School for Scandal. 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 2 7 
 
 the theatre was consequently the topic of 
 discourse. 
 
 At Mr. Sheridan's earnest entreaties I recited 
 some passages from Shakespeare. I was alarmed 
 and timid ; but the gentleness of his manners, 
 and the impressive encouragement he gave me, 
 dissipated my fears and tempted me to go on. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan had then recently purchased a 
 share of Drury Lane Theatre, in conjunction 
 with Mr. Lacey and Dr. Ford ; he was already 
 celebrated as the author of The Rivals and The 
 Duenna, and his mind was evidently portrayed 
 in his manners, which were strikingly and be- 
 witchingly attractive. 
 
 The encouragement which I received in this 
 essay, and the praises which Mr. Sheridan 
 lavishly bestowed, determined me to make a 
 public trial of my talents ; and several visits, 
 which were rapidly repeated by Mr. Sheridan, 
 at length produced an arrangement for that 
 period. My intention was intimated to Mr. 
 Garrick, who, though he had for some seasons 
 retired from the stage, kindly promised protec- 
 tion, and as kindly undertook to be my tutor. 
 
 The only objection which I felt to the idea 
 of appearing on the stage was my then increas- 
 ing state of domestic solicitude. I was, at the 
 
128 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 period when Mr. Sheridan was first presented to 
 me, some months advanced in that situation 
 which afterwards, by the birth of Sophia, made 
 me a second time a mother. Yet such was my 
 imprudent fondness for Maria, that I was still a 
 nurse ; and my constitution was very consider- 
 ably impaired by the effects of these combined 
 circumstances. 
 
 An appointment was made in the green-room 
 of Drury Lane Theatre. Mr. Garrick, Mr. 
 Sheridan, Mr. Brereton, and my husband were 
 present ; I there recited the principal scenes of 
 Juliet (Mr. Brereton repeating those of Romeo), 
 and Mr. Garrick, without hesitation, fixed on 
 that character as the trial of my debut. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the various 
 emotions of hope and fear that possessed my 
 mind when the important day was announced 
 in the play-bills. I wrote to the Duchess of 
 Devonshire at Chatsworth, informing her of my 
 purposed trial, and received a kind letter of 
 approbation, sanctioning my plan and wishing 
 me success. Every longing of my heart seemed 
 now to be completely gratified ; and, with zeal 
 bordering on delight, I prepared for my ap- 
 proaching effort. 
 
 Mr. Garrick had been indefatigable at the 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 29 
 
 rehearsals, frequently going through the whole 
 character of Romeo himself until he was com- 
 pletely exhausted with the fatigue of recitation. 
 This was only a short period before the death 
 of that distinguished actor. 
 
 The theatre was crowded with fashionable 
 spectators ; the green-room and orchestra (where 
 Mr. Garrick sat during the night) were thronged 
 with critics. My dress was a pale pink satin, 
 trimmed with crape, richly spangled with silver ; 
 my head was ornamented with white feathers, 
 and my monumental suit, for the last scene, was 
 white satin and completely plain, excepting that I 
 wore a veil of the most transparent gauze, 
 which fell quite to my feet from the back of 
 my head, and a string of beads round my waist, 
 to which was suspended a cross appropriately 
 fashioned. 
 
 When I approached the side wing my heart 
 throbbed convulsively; I then began to fear 
 that my resolution would fail, and I leaned 
 upon the Nurse's arm, almost fainting. Mr. 
 Sheridan and several other friends encouraged 
 me to proceed ; and at length, with trembling 
 limbs and fearful apprehension, I approached 
 the audience. 
 
 The thundering applause that greeted me 
 10 
 
130 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 nearly overpowered all my faculties. I stood 
 mute and bending with alarm, which did not 
 subside till I had feebly articulated the few sen- 
 tences of the first short scene, during the whole 
 of which I had never once ventured to look at 
 the audience. 
 
 On my return to the green-room I was again 
 encouraged, as far as my looks were deemed 
 deserving of approbation ; for of my powers 
 nothing yet could be known, my fears having as 
 it were palsied both my voice and action. The 
 second scene being the masquerade, I had time 
 to collect myself I never shall forget the 
 sensation which rushed through my bosom 
 when I first looked towards the pit. I beheld 
 a gradual ascent of heads. All eyes were fixed 
 upon me, and the sensation they conveyed was 
 awfully impressive ; but the keen, the pene- 
 trating eyes of Mr. Garrick, darting their lustre 
 from the centre of the orchestra, were, beyond 
 all others, the objects most conspicuous. i 
 
 ' In his " History of the Stage," Genest tells us Mrs. 
 Robinson made her first appearance on the stage as 
 Juliet on the loth of December, 1776, but leaves us in 
 ignorance regarding the actors who took part in the tragedy, 
 Romeo was evidently played by William Brereton, who 
 had rehearsed the principal scenes with her in the green- 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 131 
 
 As I acquired courage, I found the applause 
 augment; and the night was concluded with 
 peals of clamorous approbation. J was com- 
 plimented on all sides; but the praise of one 
 object, whom most I wished to please, was 
 flattering even to the extent of human vanity. 
 I then experienced, for the first time in my life, 
 a gratification which language could not utter. 
 I heard one of the most fascinating men, and 
 the most distinguished geniuses of the age, 
 honour me with partial approbation. A new 
 sensation seemed to awake in my bosom ; I felt 
 that emulation which the soul delights to 
 encourage, where the attainment of fame will 
 be pleasing to the esteemed object. I had till 
 that period known no impulse beyond that of 
 friendship ; I had been an example of conjugal 
 fidelity ; but I had never known the perils to 
 which the feeling heart is subjected in a union 
 of regard wholly uninfluenced by the affections 
 of the soul. 
 
 The second character which I played was 
 
 room before Sheridan and Garrick. Genest adds : " Mrs. 
 Robinson was received with great applause. She had an 
 engagement previous to her first appearance, and received 
 what was considered a handsome salary. She was a most 
 beautiful woman, and a very good breeches figure." — Ed. 
 
132 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Amanda, in A Trip to Scarborough, i The play 
 was altered from Vanbrugh's Relapse ; and the 
 audience, supposing it was a new piece, on find- 
 ing themselves deceived, expressed a consider- 
 able degree of disapprobation. I was terrified 
 beyond imagination when Mrs. Yates, no longer 
 able to bear the hissing of the audience, quitted 
 the scene, and left me alone to encounter the critic 
 tempest. I stood for some moments as though I 
 had been petrified. Mr. Sheridan, fi-om the side 
 wing, desired me not to quit the boards; the 
 late Duke of Cumberland,^ from the stage box, 
 bade me take courage : " It is not you, but 
 the play, they hiss," said his Royal Highness. 
 I curtsied ; and that curtsey seemed to electrify 
 the whole house, for a thundering appeal of 
 encouraging applause followed. The comedy 
 was suffered to go on, and is to this hour a 
 stock play at Drury Lane Theatre. 
 
 ' According to Genest, the second character she 
 attempted was Statira, in Alexander the Great, played on 
 the 17th of February, 1777 ; Amanda, in The Trip to 
 Scarborough, produced seven nights later, being her third 
 personation. — Ed. 
 
 ^ Ernest Augustus Duke of Cumberland, and after- 
 wards King of Hanover, was the fifthson of George III., 
 and perhaps the most profligate and unpopular member 
 of the royal family. — Ed. 
 
MARY HOBINSON. 133 
 
 The third character I played was Statira, in 
 Alexander the Great. Mr. Lacey, then one of 
 the proprietors of Drury Lane Theatre, was the 
 hero of the night, and the part of Roxana was 
 performed by Mrs. Melmoth. Again I wias 
 received with an eclat that gratified my vanity. 
 My dress was white and blue, made after the 
 Persian costume ; and though it was then sin- 
 gular on the stage, I wore neither a hoop nor 
 powder ; my feet were bound by sandals richly 
 ornamented, and the whole dress was picturesque 
 and characteristic. 
 
 Though I was always received with the most 
 flattering approbation, the characters in which I 
 was most popular were Ophelia, Juliet, and 
 Rosalind. Palmira was also one of my most 
 approved representations. The last character 
 wliich I played was Sir Harry Revel, in Lady 
 Craven's comedy of The Miniature Picture ; 
 and the epilogue song in The Irish Widow i 
 
 ^ Horace Walpole, writing to his friend, the Rev. Wil- 
 liam Mason, on the 28th of May, 1780, says: "Lady 
 Craven's comedy, called The Miniature Picture, which she 
 acted herself with a genteel set at her own house in the 
 country, has been played at Drury Lane. The chief 
 singularity was that she went to it herself the second 
 night in form ; sat in the middle of the front row of the 
 stage box, much dressed with a profusion of white bugles 
 
134 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 was my last farewell to the labour of my pro- 
 fession. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan now informed me he wished 
 that I would accustom myself to appear in 
 comedy, because tragedy seemed evidently, as 
 well as my forte^ to be my preference. At the 
 same time he acquainted me that he wished me 
 to perform a part in The School for Scandal. I 
 was now so unshaped by my increasing size 
 that I made my excuses, informing Mr. Sheridan 
 that probably I should be confined to my 
 chamber at the period when his since celebrated 
 
 and plumes, to receive the public homage due to her sex 
 and loveliness. ... It was amazing to see so young a 
 woman entirely possess herself ; but there is such an 
 integrity and frankness in her consciousness of her own 
 beauty and talents, that she speaks of them with a naivetk 
 as if she had no property in them, but only wore them as 
 gifts of the gods. Lord Craven, on the contrary, was 
 quite agitated by his fondness for her, and with impatience 
 at the bad performance of the actors, which was wretched 
 indeed. Yet the address of the plot, which is the chief 
 merit of the piece, and some lively pencilling, carried it 
 off very well, though Parsons murdered the Scotch Lord, 
 and Mrs. Robinson (who is supposed to be the favourite 
 of the Prince of Wales) thought on nothing but her own 
 charms and him.'' 
 
 The Irish Widow was a farce founded by David Gar- 
 rick on Moli^re's Le Mariage Force, and produced on 
 the 23rd of October, 1772. — Ed. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 135 
 
 play would first make its appearance. He 
 accepted the apology, and in a short time I 
 gave to the world my second child, Sophia. I 
 now resided in Southampton Street, Covent 
 Garden. 
 
 Previous to this event I had my benefit night, 
 on which I performed the part of Fanny in The 
 Clandestine Marriage. Mr. King, the Lord 
 Ogleby ; Miss Pope, Miss Sterling ; and Mrs. 
 Heidelberg, Mrs, Hopkins. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan's attentions to me were unre- 
 mitting. He took pleasure in promoting my 
 consequence at the theatre ; he praised my 
 talents, and he interested himself in my domestic 
 comforts. I was engaged previous to my debut, 
 and I received what at that time was considered as 
 a handsome salary. My benefit was flatteringly 
 attended. The boxes were filled with persons of 
 the very highest rank and fashion, and I looked 
 forward with delight both to celebrity and to 
 fortune. 
 
 At the end of six weeks I lost my infant. 
 She expired in my arms in convulsions, and my 
 distress was indescribable. On the day of its 
 dissolution Mr. Sheridan called on me ; the 
 little sufferer was on my lap, and I was watch- 
 ing it with agonising anxiety. Five months 
 
136 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 had then elapsed since Mr. Sheridan was first 
 introduced to me ; and though, during that 
 period, I had seen many proofs of his exquisite 
 sensibility, I never had witnessed one which so 
 strongly impressed my mind as his countenance 
 on entering my apartment. Probably he has 
 forgotten the feeling of the moment, but its 
 impression will by me be remembered for ever. 
 
 I had not power to speak. All he uttered 
 was, " Beautiful little creature ! " at the same 
 time looking on my infant, and sighing with a 
 degree of sympathetic sorrow which penetrated 
 my soul. Had I ever heard such a, sigh from a 
 husband's bosom ? Alas ! I never knew the 
 sweet soothing solace of wedded sympathy ; I 
 never was beloved by him whom destiny allotted 
 to be the legal ruler of my actions. I do not 
 condemn Mr. Robinson ; I but too well know 
 that we cannot command our affections. I only 
 lament that he did not observe some decency in 
 his infidelities ; and that while he gratified his 
 own caprice, he forgot how much he exposed 
 l\is wife to the most degrading mortifications. 
 
 The death of Sophia so deeply affected my 
 spirits that I was rendered totally incapable of 
 appearing again that season. I therefore ob- 
 tained Mr. Sheridan's permission to visit Bath 
 
MAJiV ROBINSON. 137 
 
 for the recovery of my repose. From Bath I 
 went to Bristol — to Bristol I Why does my 
 pen seem suddenly arrested while I write the 
 word ? I know not why, but an undefinable 
 melancholy always follows the idea of my native 
 birthplace. I instantly beheld the Gothic struc- 
 ture, the lonely cloisters, the lofty aisles, of the 
 antique minster — for, within a few short paces 
 of its walls, this breast, which has never known 
 one year of happiness, first palpitated on inhaling 
 the air of this bad world ! Is it within its con- 
 secrated precincts that this heart shall shortly 
 moulder ? Heaven only knows, and to its wU 
 I bow implicitly. 
 
 I transcribe this passage on the 29th of 
 March, 1800. I feel my health decaying, my 
 spirit broken. I look back without regret that 
 so many of my days are numbered ; and, were 
 it in my power to choose, I would not wish 
 to measure them again. But whither am I 
 wandering ? I will resume my melancholy 
 story. 
 
 Still restless, stiU perplexed with painful 
 solicitudes, I returned to London. I had not 
 then, by many months, completed my nineteenth 
 year. On my arrival I took lodgings in Leicester 
 Square. Mr, Sheridan came to see me on my 
 
138 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 return to town, and communicated the melan- 
 choly fate of Mr. Thomas Linley,' the late 
 brother of Mrs. Sheridan — he was unfortunately 
 drowned at the Duke of Ancaster's. In a few 
 days after, Mr. Sheridan again made me a visit, 
 with a proposal for an engagement to play during 
 the summer at Mr. Colman's theatre in the Hay- 
 market.2 I had refused several offers from 
 provincial managers, and felt an almost insur- 
 mountable aversion to the idea of strolling. 
 Mr. Sheridan nevertheless strongly recommended 
 me to the acceptance of Mr. Colman's offer ; 
 and I at last agreed to it, upon condition that 
 the characters I should be expected to perform 
 were selected and limited. To this Mr. Colman 
 readily consented. 
 
 The first part which was placed in the list 
 was Nancy Lovel, in the comedy of The 
 Suicide. I received the written character, and 
 waited the rehearsal ; but my astonishment was 
 
 ' Thomas Linley, who was considered "one of the 
 finest violin players in Europe," was drowned through the 
 upsetting of a boat on the 5th of August, 1778. He was 
 a brother-in-law of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. — Ed. 
 
 ^ George Colman, a popular and prolific dramatist, who 
 in 1777 became manager of the Haymarket Theatre, and 
 continued as such until 1785, introducing meanwhile 
 many new players and some dramatic novelties.-^ED, 
 
MAJi Y ROBINSON. 139 
 
 infinite when I saw the name of Miss Farren " 
 announced in the bills. I wrote a letter to Mr. 
 Coleman, requesting an explanation. He re- 
 plied that he had promised the part to Miss 
 Farren, who had then performed one or two 
 seasons at the Haymarket Theatre. I felt myself 
 insulted. I insisted on Mr. Colman fulfilling 
 
 ' Elizabeth Farren, born 1759, made her first appear- 
 ance before a London audience as Miss Hardcastle in She 
 Stoops to Conquer, on June 9, 1777. After years spent 
 in strolling through the provinces in her father's company 
 and that of other managers, she now captivated the town. 
 Her beautiful face, exquisitely modulated voice, elegant 
 figure, and natural grace, rendered her an ideal represen- 
 tative of the fine ladies of comedy. She was welcomed into 
 the most distinguished society in London, and whilst 
 acting as manageress of private theatricals at the Duke of 
 Richmond's house in Whitehall, met Edward, twelfth 
 Earl of Derby, whose wife was then living. This did 
 not prevent him from falling in love with Miss Farren, 
 who, it was understood, would succeed his first wife as 
 countess did the latter predecease the actress. Lady Derby 
 died on March 14, 1797, and on the 8th of the following 
 month Miss Farren took leave of the stage in the character 
 of Lady Teazle, and on the ist of May was married to 
 Lord Derby, she being then in her thirty-eighth year. 
 Even in this scandal-loving and licentious age no imputa- 
 tion had ever been cast upon her honour. Of the three 
 children born of this union but one survived, a daughter, 
 who married the Earl of Wilton. The Countess of Derby 
 lived until 1829. — Ed. 
 
140 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 his engagement, or on giving me liberty to quit 
 London : the latter he refused. I demanded to 
 perform the part of Nancy Lovel. Mr. Colman 
 was too partial to Miss Farren to hazard offend- 
 ing her. I refused to play till I had this first 
 character, as by agreement, restored to me, 
 and the summer passed without my once 
 performing, though my salary was paid weekly 
 and regularly. 
 
 During the following winter I performed, 
 with increasing approbation, the following 
 characters : — 
 
 Ophelia, in Hamlet. 
 
 Viola, in Twelfth Night. 
 
 Jacintha, in The Suspicious Husband. 
 
 Fidelia, in The Plain Dealer. 
 
 Rosalind, in As You Like It. 
 
 Oriana, in The Inconstant. 
 
 Octavia, in All for Love. 
 
 Perdita, in The Winter's Tale. 
 
 Palmira, in Mahomet. 
 
 Cordelia, in King Lear. 
 
 Alinda, in The Law of Lombardy. 
 
 The Irish Widow. 
 
 Araminta, in The Old Bachelor. 
 
 Sir Harry Revel, in The Miniature Picture. 
 
 Emily, in The Runaway. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 141 
 
 Miss Richley, in The Discovery. 
 
 Statira, in Alexander the Great. 
 
 Juliet, in Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 Amanda, in The Trip to Scarborough. 
 
 Lady Anne, in Richard the Third. 
 
 Imogen, in Cymbeline. 
 
 Lady Macbeth,' in Macbeth, &c., &c. 
 
 It was now that I began to know the perils 
 attendant on a dramatic life. It was at this 
 period that the most alluring temptations were 
 held out to alienate me from the paths of 
 domestic quiet — domestic happiness v cannot 
 say, for it never was my destiny to know it. 
 But I had still the consolation of an unsullied 
 name. I had the highest female patronage, a 
 circle of the most respectable and partial friends. 
 
 During this period I was daily visited by my 
 best of mothers. My youngest brother had, the 
 preceding winter, departed for Leghorn, where 
 my eldest had been many years established as a 
 merchant of the first respectability. 
 
 Were I to mention the names of those who 
 held forth the temptations of fortune at this 
 moment of public peril, I might create some 
 
 ' Mrs. Robinson played Lady Macbeth on the occasion 
 of her benefit, when was also performed a musical farce 
 she had composed entitled A Lucky Escape. — Ed. 
 
142 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 reproaches in many families of the fashionable 
 world. Among others who offered most 
 liberally to purchase my indiscretion was the 
 late Duke of Rutland ; a settlement of six 
 hundred pounds per annum was proposed as the 
 means of estranging me entirely from my hus- 
 band. I refused the offer. I wished to remain, 
 in the eyes of the public, deserving of its patron- 
 age. I shall not enter into a minute detail of 
 temptations which assailed my fortitude. 
 . The flattering and zealous attentions which 
 Mr. Sheridan evinced were strikingly contrasting 
 with the marked and increasing neglect of my 
 husband. I now found that he supported two 
 women, in one house, in Maiden Lane, Covent 
 Garden. The one was a figure-dancer in Drury 
 Lane Theatre ; the other, a woman of professed 
 libertinism. With these he passed all his hours 
 that he could steal from me ; and I found that 
 my salary was at times inadequate to the ex- 
 penses which were incurred by an enlarged circle 
 of new acquaintance, which Mr. Robinson had 
 formed since my appearance in the dramatic scene. 
 Added to this, the bond creditors became so 
 clamorous, that the whole of my benefits were 
 appropriated to their demands ; and on the 
 second year after my appearance at Drury Lane 
 
MAJiY ROBINSON. 143 
 
 Theatre, Mr. Robinson once more persuaded me 
 to make a visit at Tregunter. 
 
 I was now received with more civility, and 
 more warmly welcomed, than I had been on 
 any former arrival. Though the assumed 
 sanctity of Miss Robinson's manners condemned 
 a dramatic life, the labour was deemed profitable, 
 and the supposed immorality was consequently 
 tolerated ! However repugnant to my feelings 
 this visit was, still I hoped that it would pro- 
 mote my husband's interest, and confirm his 
 reconciliation to his father ; I therefore resolved 
 on undertaking it. I now felt that I could 
 support myself honourably ; and the conscious- 
 ness of independence is the only true felicity in 
 this world of humiliations, 
 
 Mr. Harris was now established in Tregunter 
 House, and several parties were formed, both at 
 home and abroad, for my amusement. I was 
 consulted as the very oracle of fashions ; I was 
 gazed at and examined with the most inquisitive 
 curiosity. Mrs. Robinson, the promising young 
 actress, was a very different personage from 
 Mrs. Robinson who had been overwhelmed 
 with sorrows, and came to ask an asylum under 
 the roof of vulgar ostentation. I remained only 
 a fortnight in Wales, and then returned to 
 
144 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 London, to prepare for the opening of the 
 theatre. 
 
 We stopped at Bath on our way to town, 
 where Mr. Robinson met with Mr. George 
 Brereton, with whom, at Newmarket, he had 
 some time before become acquainted. Mr. 
 Brereton was a man of fortune and married to 
 his beautifial cousin, the daughter of Major 
 Brereton, then master of the ceremonies at Bath. 
 At a former period Mr. Robinson had owed a 
 sum of money to Mr. George Brereton, for 
 which he had given a promissory note. On 
 our arrival at Bath we received a visit from 
 this creditor, who assured Mr. Robinson that 
 he was in no haste for the payment of his note, 
 and at the same time very earnestly pressed us 
 to remain a few days in that fashionable city. 
 We were in no hurry to return to London, 
 having still more than three weeks' holidays. 
 We resided at the " Three Tuns," one of the 
 best inns, and Mr. Brereton was on all occasions 
 particularly attentive. 
 
 The motive of this assiduity was at length 
 revealed to me, by a violent and fervent 
 declaration of love, which astonished and per- 
 plexed me. I knew that Mr. Brereton was of 
 a most impetuous temper ; that he had fought 
 
MAJiY ROBINSON. 145 
 
 many duels; that he was capable of any out- 
 rage ; and that he had my husband completely 
 in his power. Every advance which he had 
 the temerity to make was by me rejected with 
 indignation. I had not resolution to inform 
 Mr. Robinson of his danger, and I thought 
 that the only chance of escaping it was to set 
 out immediately for Bristol, where I wished to 
 pass a few days, previous to my return to the 
 metropolis. 
 
 On the following morning, as we were quit- 
 ting the inn in Temple Street, to visit Clifton, 
 Mr, Robinson was arrested at the suit of Mr. 
 George Brereton, who waited himself in an 
 upper room in order to see the writ executed. 
 I forget the exact sum for which Mr. Robinson 
 had given his promissory note, but I well 
 remember that it was in magnitude beyond 
 his power to pay. Our consternation was in- 
 describable. 
 
 In a few minutes after I was informed that 
 a lady wished to speak with me. Concluding 
 that it was some old acquaintance, and happy 
 to feel that in this perplexing dilemma I had 
 stiU a friend to speak to, I followed the waiter 
 into another room. Mr. Robinson was detained 
 by the sheriff's officer. 
 
 II 
 
146 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 On entering the apartment I beheld Mr. 
 Brereton. 
 
 "Well, madam," said he, with a sarcastic 
 smile, " you have involved your husband in a 
 pretty embarrassment ! Had you not been 
 severe towards me, not only this paltry debt 
 would have been cancelled, but any sum that 
 I could command would have been at his ser- 
 vice. He has now either to pay me, to fight 
 me, or to go to a prison ; and all because you 
 treat me with such unexampled rigour." 
 
 I entreated him to reflect before he drove 
 me to distraction. 
 
 " I have reflected," said he, " and I find that 
 you possess the power to do with me what you 
 will. Promise to return to Bath — to behave 
 more kindly — and I will this moment discharge 
 your husband." 
 
 I burst into tears. 
 
 " You cannot be so inhuman as to propose 
 such terms ! " said I. 
 
 " The inhumanity is on your side," answered 
 Mr. Brereton. " But I have no time to lose ; 
 I must return to Bath ; my wife is dangerously 
 ill ; and I do not wish to have my name ex- 
 posed in a business of this nature." 
 
 " Then for Heaven's sake release my hus- 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 47 
 
 band ! " said I. Mr. Brereton smiled as he 
 rang the bell, and ordered the waiter to look 
 for his carriage. I now lost all command of 
 myself, and, with the most severe invective, 
 condemned the infamy of his conduct. " I 
 will return to Bath," said I ; " but it shall be 
 to expose your dishonourable, your barbarous , 
 machinations. I will inform that lovely wife 
 how treacherously you have acted. I will 
 proclaim to the world that the common arts 
 of seduction are not sufficiently depraved for 
 the mind of a libertine and a gamester." 
 
 I uttered these words in so loud 'a tone of 
 voice that he changed colour, and desired me 
 to be discreet and patient. 
 
 " Never while you insult me, and hold my 
 husband in your power," said I. " You have 
 carried outrage almost to its fullest extent ; you 
 have awakened all the pride and all the resent- 
 ment of my soul, and I will proceed as I think 
 proper." 
 
 He now endeavoured to soothe me. He 
 assured me that he was actuated by a sincere 
 regard for me ; and that, knowing how little 
 my husband valued me, he thought it would be 
 an act of kindness to estrange me from him. 
 " His neglect of you will justify any step you 
 
148 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 may take," added he ; " and it is a matter of 
 universal astonishment that you, who upon 
 other occasions can act with such becoming 
 spirit, should tamely continue to bear such 
 infidelities from a husband." I shuddered ; for 
 this plea had, in many instances, been urged as 
 an excuse for libertine advances ; and the in- 
 difference with which I was treated was, in the 
 theatre, and in all my circle of friends, a subject 
 of conversation. 
 
 Distressed beyond the power of utterance at 
 this new humiliation, I paced the room with 
 agonising inquietude. 
 
 " How little does such a husband deserve 
 such a wife ! " continued Mr. Brereton ; " how 
 tasteless must he be, to leave such a woman for 
 the very lowest and most degraded of the sex ! 
 Quit him, and fly with me. I am ready to 
 make any sacrifice you demand. Shall I pro- 
 pose to Mr. Robinson to let you go.? Shall I 
 offer him his liberty on condition that he allows 
 you to separate yourself from him .'' By his 
 conduct he proves that he does not love you ; 
 why then labour to support him ? " 
 
 I was almost frantic. 
 
 " Here, madam," continued Mr. Brereton, 
 after pausing four or five minutes — " here is 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 149 
 
 your husband's release." So saying, he threw a 
 written paper on the table. " Now," added he, 
 " I rely on your generosity." 
 
 I trembled, and was incapable of speaking. 
 Mr. Brereton conjured me to compose my 
 spirits, and to conceal my distress from the 
 people of the inn. " I will return to Bath," 
 said he. " I shall there expect to see you." 
 He now quitted the room. I saw him get into 
 his chaise and drive from the inn door. I then 
 hastened to my husband with the discharge ; 
 and all expenses of the arrest being shortly after 
 settled, we set out for Bath. 
 
 Mr. Robinson scarcely inquired what had 
 passed ; but I assured him that my persuasions 
 had produced so sudden a change in Mr. Brere- 
 ton's conduct. I said that I hoped he would 
 never again place his freedom in the hands of 
 a gamester, or his wife's repose in the power 
 of a libertine. He seemed insensible of the 
 peril attending both the one and the other. 
 
 Expecting letters by the post, we waited the 
 following day, which was Sunday, at Bath ; 
 though, in order to avoid Mr. Brereton, we 
 removed to the White Lion Inn. But what 
 was my astonishment, in the afternoon, when, 
 standing at the window, I saw Mr. George 
 
ISO MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Brereton walking on the opposite side of the 
 way, with his wife and her no less lonely sister ! 
 I now found that the story of her dangerous 
 illness was untrue, and I flattered myself that I 
 was not seen before I retired from the window. 
 
 We now sat down to dinner, and in a few 
 minutes Mr. George Brereton was announced 
 by the waiter. He coldly bowed to me, and 
 instantly made a thousand apologies to Mr. 
 Robinson ; declared that he had paid the note 
 away ; that he was menaced for the money ; 
 and that he came to Bristol, though too late, 
 to prevent the arrest which had happened. 
 Mr. Robinson sceptically replied that it was 
 now of little importance ; and Mr. Brereton 
 took his leave, saying that he should have the 
 honour of seeing us again in the evening. We 
 did not wait for his company, but imm.ediately 
 after dinner set out for London. 
 
 On my arrival in town I saw Mr. Sheridan, 
 whose manner had lost nothing of its interesting 
 attention. He continued to visit me very 
 frequently, and always gave me the most 
 friendly counsel. He knew that I was not 
 properly protected by Mr. Robinson, but he 
 was too generous to build his gratification on 
 the detraction of another. The happiest 
 
MAS Y ROBINSON. 1 5 1 
 
 moments I then knew were passed in the 
 society of this distinguished being. He saw 
 me ill-bestowed upon a man who neither loved 
 nor valued me ; he lamented my destiny, but 
 with such delicate propriety that it consoled 
 while it revealed to me the unhappiness of my 
 situation. On my return to town the Duke 
 of Rutland renewed his solicitations. I also 
 received the most unbounded professions of 
 esteem and admiration from several other 
 persons. Among the list, I was addressed 
 with proposals of libertine nature by a royal 
 duke, a lofty marquis, and a city merchant of 
 considerable fortune, conveyed through the 
 medium of milliners, mantua-makers, &c., &c. 
 Just at this period my eldest brother visited 
 England ; but such was his unconquerable 
 aversion to my profession as an actress, that 
 he only once, during a residence of some 
 months in London, attempted to see me per- 
 form. He then only attempted it ; for, on 
 my advancing on the boards, he started from 
 his seat in the stage-box, and instantly quitted 
 the theatre. My dear mother had no less a 
 dislike to the pursuit : she never beheld me 
 on the stage but \nth a painful regret. Fortu- 
 nately my father remdned some years out of 
 
152 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 England, so that he never saw me in my 
 professional character. 
 
 My popularity increasing every night that 
 I appeared, my prospects, both of fame and 
 affluence, began to brighten. We now hired 
 the house which is situated between the Hum- 
 mums and the Bedford Arms, in Covent 
 Garden ; it had been built (I believe) by 
 Dr. Fisher, who married the widow of the 
 celebrated actor Powel ; but Mr. Robinson 
 took the premises of Mrs. Mattocks, of Covent 
 Garden Theatre. The house was particularly 
 convenient in every respect ; but, above all, 
 on account of its vicinity to Drury Lane. 
 Here I hoped to enjoy, at least, some cheerful 
 days, as I found that my circle of friends 
 increased almost hourly. 
 
 One of those who paid me most attention 
 was Sir John Lade. The good-natured baronet, 
 who was then just of age, was our constant 
 visitor, and cards contributed to beguile those 
 evenings that were not devoted to dramatic 
 labour. Mr. Robinson played more deeply 
 than was discreet, but he was, at the end of a 
 few weeks, a very considerable winner. 
 
 In proportion as play obtained its influence 
 over my husband's mind, his small portion of 
 
JIAR Y ROBINSON. 153 
 
 remaining regard for me visibly decayed. We 
 now had horses, a phaeton and ponies ; and 
 my fashions in dress were followed with flatter- 
 ing avidity. My house was thronged with 
 visitors, and my morning Uvees were crowded 
 so that I could scarcely find a quiet hour for 
 study. My brother by this time had returned 
 to Italy. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan was still my most esteemed 
 of fiiends. He advised me with the gentlest 
 anxiety, and he warned me of the danger 
 which expense would produce, and which 
 might interrupt the rising progress of my 
 dramatic reputation. He saw the trophies 
 which flattery strewed in my way ; and he 
 lamented that I was on every side surrounded 
 with temptations. There was a something 
 beautiftdly sympathetic in every word he 
 uttered ; his admonitions seemed as if dictated 
 by a prescient power, wluch told him that I 
 was destined to be deceived ! 
 
 Situated as I was at this time, the effort 
 was difficult to avoid the society of Mr. 
 Sheridan. He was manager of the theatre. 
 I could not avoid seeing and conversing with 
 him at rehearsals and behind the scenes, and 
 his conversation was always such as to fascinate 
 
154 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and charm me. The brilliant reputation which 
 he had justly acquired for superior talents, and 
 the fame which was completed by his celebrated 
 School for Scandal, had now rendered him 
 so admired, that all ranks of people courted 
 his society. The green-room was frequented 
 by nobility and men of genius ; among these 
 were Mr. Fox ' and the Earl of Derby. The 
 stage was now enlightened by the very best 
 critics, and embellished by the very highest 
 talents ; and it is not a little remarkable, that 
 the drama was uncommonly productive, the 
 theatre more than usually attended, during that 
 season when the principal dramatic characters 
 were performed by women under the age of 
 twenty. Among these were Miss Farren (now 
 Lady Derby), Miss Walpole (now Mrs. 
 Atkins), Miss P. Hopkins (now Mrs. John 
 Kemble), and myself. 
 
 I had then been married more than four 
 years ; my daughter Maria Elizabeth was nearly 
 three years old. I had been then seen and 
 known at all public places from the age of 
 fifteen ; yet I knew as little of the world's 
 deceptions as though I had been educated in 
 
 ' The famous politician Charles James Fox, a friend 
 of the Prince of Wales. — Ed. 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 155 
 
 the deserts of Siberia. I believed every woman 
 friendly, every man sincere, till I discovered 
 proofs that their characters were deceptive. 
 
 I had now performed two seasons, in tragedy 
 and comedy, with Miss Farren and the late 
 Mr. Henderson. My first appearance in 
 Palmira (in Mahomet) was with the Zaphna 
 of Mr. J. Bannister, the preceding year ; and 
 though the extraordinary comic powers of this 
 excellent actor and amiable man have established 
 his reputation as a comedian, his first essay 
 in tragedy was considered as a night of the 
 most distinguished promise. The Duchess of 
 Devonshire still honoured me with her patron- 
 age and friendship, and I also possessed the 
 esteem of several respectable and distinguished 
 females. 
 
 The play of The Winter's Tale was this 
 season commanded by their Majesties. ' I never 
 had performed before the royal family ; and the 
 first character in which 1 was destined to appear 
 was that of Perdita. I had fi-equently played 
 the part, both with the Hermione of Mrs. 
 Hartley and of Miss Farren : but I felt a 
 strange degree of alarm when I found my 
 
 ' George III. and Queen Charlotte, who frequently 
 attended the theatre. — Ed. 
 
iS6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 name announced to perform it before the royal 
 family. I 
 
 In the green-room I was rallied on the 
 occasion; and Mr. Smith,^ whose gentlemanly 
 manners and enlightened conversation rendered 
 him an ornament to the profession, who per- 
 formed the part of Leontes, laughingly ex- 
 claimed, "By Jove, Mrs. Robinson, you will 
 make a conquest of the Prince ; for to-night 
 you look handsomer than ever." I smiled at 
 the unmerited compliment, and little foresaw 
 the vast variety of events that would arise from 
 that night's exhibition ! 
 
 As I stood in the wing opposite the Prince's 
 box, waiting to go on the stage, Mr. Ford, the 
 manager's son, and now a respectable defender 
 of the laws, presented a friend who accompanied 
 him ; this friend was Lord Viscount Maiden, 
 now Earl of Essex. 3 
 
 ' This performance of The Winter's Tale took place 
 on December 3, 1779, she being at that time in her 
 twenty-second year, and the Prince of Wales in his 
 eighteenth year. — Ed. 
 
 " Smith had been educated at Eton and St. John's 
 College, Cambridge, with a view to becoming a clergy- 
 man, but eventually went on the stage and proved himself 
 an excellent actor, whose representation of Charles 
 Surface was considered a finished performance. — Ed. 
 
 3 George Capel Coningsby, Viscount Maiden, after- 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 5 7 
 
 We entered into conversation during a few 
 minutes, the Prince of Wales all the time 
 observing us, and frequently speaking to 
 Colonel (now General) Lake, and to the 
 Honourable Mr. Legge, brother to Lord 
 Lewisham, who was in waiting on his Royal 
 Highness. I hurried through the first scene, 
 not without much embarrassment, owing to the 
 fixed attention with which the Prince of Wales 
 honoured me. Indeed, some flattering remarks 
 which were made by his Royal Highness met 
 my ear as I stood near his box, and I was over- 
 whelmed with confusion. ^ 
 
 The Prince's particular attention was observed 
 by every one, and I was again rallied at the end 
 of the play. On the last curtsy, the royal 
 family condescendingly returned a bow to the 
 performers ; but just as the curtain was falling, 
 my eyes met those of the Prince of Wales ; 
 and with a look that I never shall forget, he 
 gently inclined his head a second time ; I felt 
 the compliment, and blushed my gratitude. 
 
 During the entertainment Lord Maiden never 
 ceased conversing with me : he was young, 
 
 wards fifth Earl of Essex, born November 13, 1757. He 
 married twice, his second wife being Miss Stephens, the 
 famous singer. — Ed. 
 
158 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 pleasing, and perfectly accomplished. He re- 
 marked the particular applause which the Prince 
 had bestowed on my performance ; said a 
 thousand civil things ; and detained me in 
 conversation till the evening's performance 
 was concluded. 
 
 I was now going to my chair, which waited, 
 when I met the royal family crossing the stage. 
 I was again honoured with a very marked and 
 low bow from the Prince of Wales. On my 
 return home, I had a party to supper ; and the 
 whole conversation centred in encomiums on the 
 person, graces, and amiable manners of the 
 illustrious Heir-apparent. 
 
 Within two or three days of this time, Lord 
 Maiden made me a morning visit. Mr. Robin- 
 son was not at home, and I received him rather 
 awkwardly. But his lordship's embarrassment 
 far exceeded mine. He attempted to speak — 
 paused, hesitated, apologised ; I knew not why. 
 He hoped I would pardon him ; that I would 
 not mention something he had to communicate : 
 that I would consider the peculiar delicacy of 
 his situation, and then act as I thought proper. 
 1 could not comprehend his meaning, and there- 
 fore requested that he would be explicit. 
 
 After some moments of evident rumination, 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 159 
 
 he tremblingly drew a small letter from his 
 pocket. I took it, and knew not what to say. 
 It was addressed to Perdita. I smiled, I 
 believe rather sarcastically, and opened the 
 billet. It contained only a few words, but 
 those expressive of more than common civility ; 
 they were signed Florizel.' 
 
 " Well, my lord, and what does this mean ? " 
 said I, half angry. 
 
 " Can you not guess the writer ? " said Lord 
 Maiden. 
 
 " Perhaps yourself, my lord," cried I, gravely. 
 
 " Upon my honour, no," said the Viscount. 
 " I should not have dared so to address you on 
 so short an acquaintance." 
 
 I pressed him to tell me from whom the 
 letter came. He again hesitated ; he seemed 
 confused, and sorry that he had undertaken to 
 deliver it. 
 
 " I hope that I shall not forfeit your good 
 opinion," said he ; " but " 
 
 " But what, my lord ? " 
 
 " I could not refiise — for the letter is from 
 the Prince of Wales." 
 
 I was astonished; I confess that I was agi- 
 
 ' Those who have read The Winter's Tale will know 
 the significance of these adopted names. 
 
i6o MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tated ; but I was also somewhat sceptical as to 
 the truth of Lord Maiden's assertion. I re- 
 turned a formal and a doubtful answer, and 
 his lordship shortly after took his leave. 
 
 A thousand times did I read this short but 
 expressive letter. Still I did not implicitly 
 believe that it was written' by the Prince ; I 
 rather considered it as an experiment made by 
 Lord Maiden, either on my vanity or propriety 
 of conduct. On the next evening the Viscount 
 repeated his visit. We had a card-party of six 
 or seven, and the Prince of Wales was again 
 the subject of unbounded panegyric. Lord 
 Maiden spoke of his Royal Highness's manners 
 as the most polished and fascinating ; of his 
 temper as the most engaging ; and of his mind, 
 the most replete with every amiable sentiment. 
 I heard these praises, and my heart beat with 
 conscious pride, while memory turned to the 
 partial but delicately respectful letter which I 
 had received on the preceding morning. 
 
 The next day Lord Maiden brought me a 
 second letter. He assured me that the Prince 
 was most unhappy lest I should be offended at 
 his conduct, and that he conjured me to go 
 that night to the Oratorio, i where he would by 
 
 ' The writer evidently makes a mistake in fixing the 
 
MAB Y ROBINSON. i6 1 
 
 some signal convince me that he was the writer 
 of the letters, supposing I was stUI sceptical as 
 to their' authenticity. 
 
 I went to the Oratorio ; and, on taking my 
 seat in the balcony-box, the Prince almost 
 instantaneously observed me. He held the 
 printed bill before his face, and drew his hand 
 across his forehead, still fixing his eyes on me. 
 I was confused, and knew not what to do. My 
 husband was with me, and I was fearful of his 
 observing what passed. Still the Prince con- 
 tinued to make signs, such as moving his hand 
 on the edge of the box as if writing, then 
 speaking to the Duke of York ' (then Bishop 
 of Osnaburg), who also looked towards me 
 with particular attention. 
 
 I now observed one of the gentlemen in 
 waiting bring the Prince a glass of water ; 
 before he raised it to his lips he looked at me. 
 So marked was his Royal Highness's conduct 
 that many of the audience observed it ; several 
 persons in the pit directed their gaze at the 
 
 Oratorio for the next night, as will be seen from the note 
 on the next page. — Ed. 
 
 ' Frederick Augustus, Duke of Y^ork and Albany, second 
 son of George III., who at the age of six months was 
 elected to the valuable bishopric of Osnaburg. — Ed. 
 
 12 
 
i62 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 place where I sat ; and, on the following day, 
 one of the diurnal prints observed that there 
 was one passage in Dryden's Ode which seemed 
 particularly interesting to the Prince of Wales, 
 who — 
 
 " Gazed on the fair 
 Who caused his care, 
 And sigh'd, and look'd, and sigh'd again." ' 
 
 However flattering it might have been to 
 female vanity to know that the most admired 
 and most accomplished Prince in Europe was 
 devotedly attached to me ; however dangerous 
 to the heart such idolatry as his Royal Highness, 
 
 ' Another of the "diurnal prints '' dated February iz, 
 1780, is not so complimentary in its remarks, which run 
 as follows: "A circumstance of rather an embarrassing 
 
 nature happened at last night's Oratorio. Mrs. R , 
 
 decked out in all her finery, took care to post herself in 
 one of the upper boxes immediately opposite the Prince's, 
 and by those airs peculiar to herself, contrived at last so 
 to basilisk a certain Heir-apparent, that his fixed attention 
 to the beautiful object above became generally noticed, 
 and soon after astonished their Majesties, who, not being 
 able to discover the cause, seemed at a loss to account for 
 the extraordinary effect. No sooner, however, were they 
 properly informed than a messenger was instantly sent 
 aloft desiring the dart-dealing actress to withdraw, which 
 she complied with, though not without expressing the 
 utmost chagrin at her mortifying removal," — Ed, 
 
MARY ROBiySOX. 163 
 
 during many months, piofessed in almost daily 
 letters, which were conveyed to me by Lord 
 Maiden, still I declined any interview with his 
 Royal Highness. I was not insensible to all his 
 powers of attraction ; I thought him one of the 
 most amiable of men. There was a beautiful 
 ingenuousness in his language, a warm and 
 enthusiastic adoration, expressed in every letter, 
 which interested and charmed me. During the 
 whole spring, till the theatre closed, this corre- 
 spondence continued, every day giving me some 
 new assurance of inviolable affection. 
 
 After we had corresponded some months 
 without ever speaking to each other (for I still 
 declined meeting his Royal Highness, from a 
 dread of the hlat which such a connection 
 would produce, and the fear of injuring him in 
 the opinion of his royal relatives), I received, 
 through the hands of Lord Maiden, the Prince's 
 portrait in miniature, painted by the late Mr. 
 Meyer. This picture is now in my possession. 
 Within the case was a small heart cut in paper, 
 which I also have ; on one side was written, 
 Je ne change qu'en mourant. On the other. 
 Unalterable to my Perdita through life. 
 
 During many months of confidential corre- 
 spondence, I always offered his Royal Highness 
 
1 64 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the best advice in my power ; I disclaimed every 
 sordid and interested thought ; I recommended 
 him to be patient till he should become his 
 own master ; to wait till he knew more of my 
 mind and manners, before he engaged in a public 
 attachment to me ; and, above all, to do nothing 
 that might incur the displeasure of his Royal 
 Highness's family. I entreated him to recollect 
 that he was young, and led on by the im- 
 petuosity of passion ; that should I consent to 
 quit my profession and my husband, I should 
 be thrown entirely on his mercy. I strongly 
 pictured the temptations to which beauty would 
 expose him ; the many arts that would be 
 practised to undermine me in his affections ; 
 the public abuse which calumny and envy would 
 heap upon me ; and the misery I should suffer, 
 if, after I had given him every proof of confi- 
 dence, he should change in his sentiments 
 towards me. To all this I received repeated 
 assurances of inviolable affection ; and I most 
 firmly believe that his Royal Highness meant 
 what he professed — indeed, his soul was too 
 ingenuous, his mind too liberal, and his heart 
 too susceptible, to deceive premeditatedly, or 
 to harbour even for a moment the idea of 
 deliberate deception. 
 
AfAR Y ROBINSON. 165 
 
 At every interview with Lord Maiden I per- 
 ceived that he regretted the task he had under- 
 taken ; but he assured me that the Prince was 
 almost frantic whenever he suggested a wish to 
 decline interfering. Once I remember his lord- 
 ship's telling me that the late Duke of Cumber- 
 land had made him a visit early in the morning, 
 at his house in Clarges Street, informing him that 
 the Prince was most wretched on my account, 
 and imploring him to continue his services only 
 a short time longer. The Prince's establishment 
 was then in agitation : at this period his Royal 
 Highness still resided in Buckingham House. 
 
 A proposal was now made that I should 
 meet his Royal Highness at his apartments, in 
 the disguise of male attire. I was accustomed 
 to perform in that dress, and the Prince had 
 seen me, I believe, in the character of the Irish 
 Widow. To this plan I decidedly objected. 
 The indelicacy of such a step, as well as the 
 danger of detection, made me shrink from the 
 proposal. My refusal threw his Royal High- 
 ness into the most distressing agitation, as was 
 expressed by the letter which I received on 
 the following morning. Lord Maiden again 
 lamented that he had engaged himself in the 
 intercourse, and declared that he had himself 
 
1 66 MEMOmS OF 
 
 conceived so violent a pission for me that he 
 was the most miserable and unfortiinate of 
 mortals. 
 
 During this period, though Mr. Robinson 
 was a sa^r.ger to mv epistolarv intercourse with 
 the Prince, his conduct was entirely neglectfiil. 
 He was perfectly careless respecting my fame 
 and mv repose ; passed his leisure hours with 
 the most abandoned women, and even my own 
 servimts complained of his illicit advances. I 
 remember one, who was plain even to ugliness ; 
 she was short, ill-made, squalid, and dirty ; 
 once, on mv return fix)m a rehearsal, I found 
 diat this woman was locked with my husband 
 in mv chamber. I also knew that Mr. 
 Robinson continued his connection with a 
 female who lodged in Maiden Lane, and who 
 was onlv one of the few that proved his 
 domestic apostacv. 
 
 His indifference naturally produced an aliena- 
 tion of esteem on my side, and the increasing 
 adoration of the most enchanting of mortals 
 hourly reconciled my mind to the idea of 
 a separation. The unbounded assurances of 
 lasting affection which I received from his 
 Royal Highness in many scores of the most 
 eloquent letters, the contempt which I experi- 
 
MAHY ROBINSON. 167 
 
 enced from my husband, and the perpetiial 
 labour which I underwent for his support, at 
 length began to weary my fortitude. Still I 
 was reluctant to become the theme of public 
 animadversion, and still I remonstrated with 
 my husband on the unkindness of his conduct. 
 
 \The narrative of Mrs, Robinson closes iere.^ 
 
CONTINUATION. 
 
 BY A FRIEND. 
 
 Among those persons who have at various 
 periods attracted the attention of the public, 
 there are few whose virtues have been so little 
 known, or whose characters have been so un- 
 fairly estimated, as the subject of the preceding 
 memoir. To compress within narrow limits 
 the numerous circumstances by which the later 
 years of Mrs. Robinson's life were chequered, 
 will be a task of no little difficulty. The earlier 
 periods of her existence, rendered more inter- 
 esting as narrated by her own pen, have doubt- 
 lessly been justly appreciated by the reflecting 
 and candid reader, whose sympathy they could 
 not fail to awaken. That she lived not to 
 conclude the history of a life scarcely less 
 eventful than unfortunate, cannot but afford a 
 subject of sincere regret. 
 
MEMOIRS OF MAR Y ROBINSON. 169 
 
 The conflicts which shook the mind, and the 
 passions which succeeded to each other in the 
 breast of Mrs. Robinson, at the period when 
 her narrative closes, a crisis perhaps the most 
 important in her life, may be more easily con- 
 ceived than described. A laborious though 
 captivating profession, the profits of which 
 were unequal to the expenses of her establish- 
 ment, and the assiduities of her illustrious 
 lover, to whom she naturally looked for protec- 
 tion, combined to divide her attention and 
 bewilder her -inexperienced mind. The par- 
 tiality of her royal admirer had begun to excite 
 observation, to awaken curiosity, and to provoke 
 the malignant passions which, under an affected 
 concern for decorum, assumed the guise of 
 virtue. The daily prints teemed with hints of 
 the favour of Mrs. Robinson with " one whose 
 manners were resistless, and whose smile was 
 victory." These circumstances, added to the 
 constant devoirs of Lord Maiden, whose atten- 
 tions were as little understood as maliciously 
 interpreted, conspired to distract a young 
 creature, whose exposed situation, whose waver- 
 ing and unformed character, rendered her but 
 too obnoxious to a thousand errors and perils. 
 To terminate her correspondence with the 
 
I70 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Prince appeared the most painful remedy that 
 could be adopted by a heart fascinated with his 
 accomplishments and soothed by his professions 
 of inviolable attachment. She was aware that, 
 in the eye of the world, the reputation of the 
 wife is supposed unsullied while the husband, 
 enduring passively his dishonour, gives to her 
 the sanction of his protection. The circles of 
 fashion afforded more than one instance of this 
 obliging acquiescence in matrimonial turpitude. 
 Could Mrs. Robinson have reconciled it to her 
 
 * 
 
 own feelings to remain under the roof of her 
 husband, whose protection she had forfeited, 
 and to add insult to infidelity, the attentions of 
 her illustrious admirer might have given to her 
 popularity an additional klat. Neither might 
 her husband have suffered in his worldly pros- 
 pects, from being to the motives of his royal 
 visitor a little complaisantly blind. But her 
 ingenuous nature would not permit her to render 
 the man for whom she had once felt an affection 
 an object of ridicule and contempt. She deter- 
 mined therefore to brave the world, and, for a 
 support against its censures, to rely on the pro- 
 tection and friendship of him to whom she 
 sacrificed its respect. 
 
 The managers of Drury Lane Theatre, suspect- 
 
MAR V ROBINSON. 1 7 1 
 
 ing that Mrs. Robinson purposed, at the con- 
 clusion of the season, to withdraw from the 
 stage, omitted no means that might tend to 
 induce her to renew her engagements. With 
 this view, they offered a considerable advance 
 to her salary, while to their solicitations she 
 returned undecisive answers. Hourly rising in 
 a profession to which she was enthusiastically 
 attached, the public plaudits which her appear- 
 ance never failed to excite, were too gratifying 
 to be relinquished without regret. 
 
 During this irresolution, she was persecuted 
 by numerous anonymous letters, which she con- 
 tinued to treat with derision or contempt. The 
 correspondence between Mrs. Robinson and the 
 Prince had hitherto been merely epistolary. 
 This intercourse had lasted several months, Mrs. 
 Robinson not having acquired sufficient courage 
 to venture a personal interview, and bid defiance 
 to the reproaches of the world. 
 
 At length, after many alternations of feeling, 
 an interview with her royal lover was consented 
 to by Mrs. Robinson, and proposed, by the 
 management of Lord Maiden, to take place at 
 his lordship's residence in Dean Street, May- 
 fair. But the restricted situation of the prince, 
 controlled by a rigid tutor, rendered this project 
 
172 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of difficult execution. A visit to Buckingham 
 House was then mentioned ; to which Mrs. 
 Robinson positively objected, as a rash attempt, 
 abounding in peril to her august admirer. 
 Lord Maiden being again consulted, it was 
 determined that the Prince should meet Mrs. 
 Robinson for a few moments at Kew,' on the 
 banks of the Thames, opposite to the old 
 palace, then the summer residence of the elder 
 princes. For an account of this incident, an 
 extract from a letter of Mrs. Robinson, written 
 some years afterwards to a valued and since 
 deceased friend, who during the period of these 
 events resided in America, may not be unac- 
 ceptable to the reader. The date of this letter 
 is in 1783. 
 
 "At length an evening was fixed for this 
 long-dreaded interview. • Lord Maiden and 
 myself dined at the inn on the island between 
 
 ' At this time the Prince of Wales and his brother 
 Frederick Augustus, Duke of York, were living in seclu- 
 sion at Boner Lodge, Kew, where their education was 
 being conducted by Dr. Hurd, Bishop of Lichfield, Mr. 
 Arnold, and Lord Bruce. A strict discipline was exer- 
 cised over the princes at this period. It was not until 
 January I, 178 1, that the Prince of Wales was provided 
 with a separate establishment, a part of Buckingham 
 House being allotted to him for that purpose. — Ed. 
 
MAJi Y IfOBI^•SO^\ 173 
 
 Kew and Brentford. We waited the signal for 
 crossing the river in a boat which had been 
 engaged for the purpose. Heaven can witness 
 how many conflicts my agitated heart endured at 
 this most important moment ! I admired the 
 Prince ; I felt grateful for his affection. He 
 was the most engaging of created beings. I 
 had corresponded with him during many 
 months, and his eloquent letters, the exquisite 
 sensibility which breathed through every line, 
 his ardent profesaons of adoration, had com- 
 bined to shake my feeble resolution. The 
 handkerchief was waved on the opposite shore ; 
 but the signal was, by the dusk of the evening, 
 rendered almost imperceptible. Lord Maiden 
 took my hand, I stepped into the boat, and in 
 a few minute we landed before the iron gates 
 of old Kew Palace. The interview was but 
 of a moment. The Prince of Wales and the 
 Duke of York (then Bishop of Osnaburg) were 
 walking down the avenue. They hastened to 
 meet us. A few words, and those scarcely 
 articulate, were uttered by the Prince, when a 
 noise of people approaching from the palace 
 startled us. The moon was now rising; and 
 the idea of being overheard, or of his Royal 
 Highness being seen out at so unusual an hour, 
 
174 MEMOIRS 01' 
 
 terrified the whole group. After a few more 
 words of the most affectionate nature uttered 
 by the Prince, we parted, and Lord Maiden 
 and myself returned to the island. The Prince 
 never quitted the. avenue, nor the presence of 
 the Duke of York, during the whole of this 
 short meeting. Alas ! my friend, if my mind 
 was before influenced by esteem, it was now 
 awakened to the most enthusiastic admiration. 
 The rank of the Prince no longer chilled into 
 awe that being who now considered him as the 
 lover and the friend. The graces of his person, 
 the irresistible sweetness of his smile, the 
 tenderness of his melodious yet manly voice, 
 will be remembered by me till every vision of 
 this changing scene shall be forgotten. 
 
 " Many and frequent were the interviews 
 which afterwards took place at this romantic 
 spot ; our walks sometimes continued till past 
 midnight ; the Duke of York and Lord Maiden 
 were always of the party ; our conversation was 
 composed of general topics. The Prince had 
 from his infancy been wholly secluded, and 
 naturally took much pleasure in conversing 
 about the busy world, its manners and pursuits, 
 characters and scenery. Nothing could be 
 more delightful or more rational than our mid- 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 175 
 
 night perambulations. I always wore a dark- 
 coloured habit, the rest of our party generally 
 wrapped themselves in great-coats to disguise 
 them, excepting the Duke of York, who almost 
 universally alarmed us by the display of a luff 
 coat, the most conspicuous colour he could have 
 selected for an adventure of this nature. The 
 polished and fascinating ingenuousness of his 
 Royal Highness's manners contributed not a 
 little to enliven our promenades. He sung 
 with exquisite taste, and the tones of his voice 
 breaking on the silence of the night have often 
 appeared to my entranced senses like more than 
 mortal melody. Often have I lamented the 
 distance which destiny had placed between us. 
 How would my soul have idolised such a 
 husband I Alas! how often, in the ardent 
 enthusiasm of my soul, have I formed the wish 
 that that being were mine alone I to whom 
 partial millions were to look up for protection. 
 
 " The Duke of York was now on the eve of 
 quitting the country for Hanover ; the Prince 
 was also on the point of receiving his first 
 establishment ; and the apprehension that his 
 attachment to a married woman might injure 
 his Royal Highness in the opinion of the 
 world, rendered the caution which we invariably 
 
176 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 observed of the utmost irrtportance. A con- 
 siderable time elapsed in these delightful scenes 
 of visionary happiness. The Prince's attach- 
 ment seemed to increase daily, and I considered 
 myself as the most blest of human beings. 
 During some time we had enjoyed our meetings 
 in the neighbourhood of Kew, and I now only 
 looked forward to the adjusting of his Royal 
 Highness's establishment for the public avowal 
 of our mutual attachment. 
 
 " I had relinquished my profession. The 
 last night of my appearance on the stage, I 
 represented the character of Sir Harry Revel, in 
 the comedy of The Miniature Picture, written 
 by Lady Craven ' ; and The Irish Widow. On 
 entering the green-room, I informed Mr. 
 Moody, who played in the farce, that I should 
 appear no more after that night ; and, en- 
 deavouring to smile while I sung, I repeated — 
 
 " ' Oh joy to you all in full measure, 
 So wishes and prays Widow Brady ! ' 
 
 which were the last lines of my song in The 
 Irish Widow. This effort to conceal the 
 emotion I felt on quitting a profession I 
 
 ' Now Margravine of Anspach. 
 
MAR Y EOBINSON. 1 7 7 
 
 enthusiastically loved, was of short duration, 
 and I burst into tears on my appearance. My 
 regret at recollecting that I was treading for the 
 last time the boards where I had so often 
 received the most gratifying testimonies of 
 public approbation ; where mental exertion had 
 been emboldened by private worth ; that I was 
 flying from a happy certainty, perhaps to 
 pursue the phantom disappointment, nearly 
 overwhelmed my faculties, and for some time 
 deprived me of the power of articulation. 
 Fortunately, the person on the stage with me 
 had to begin the scene, which allowed me time 
 to collect myself. I went, however, mechani- 
 cally dull through the business of the evening, 
 and notwithstanding the cheering expressions 
 and applause of the audience, I was several 
 times near fainting. 
 
 " The daily prints now Indulged the malice 
 of my enemies by the most scandalous para- 
 graphs respecting the Prince of Wales and 
 myself. I found it was now too late to stop the 
 hourly augmenting torrent of abuse that was 
 poured upon me from all quarters. Whenever 
 I appeared in public, I was overwhelmed by the 
 gazing of the multitude. I was frequently 
 obliged to quit Ranelagh, owing to the crowd 
 
 13 
 
178 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which staring curiosity had assembled round my 
 box ; and, even in the streets of the metropolis 
 I scarcely ventured to enter a shop without 
 experiencing the greatest inconvenience. Many 
 hour's have I waited till the crowd dispersed 
 which surrounded my carriage, in expectation of 
 my quitting the shop. I cannot suppress a 
 smile at the absurdity of such proceeding, when 
 I remember that, during nearly three seasons, I 
 was almost every night upon the stage, and 
 that I had then been near five years with Mr. 
 Robinson at every fashionable place of enter- 
 tainment. You, my dear sir, in your quiet 
 haunts of Transatlantic simplicity, will find some 
 difficulty in reconciling these things to your 
 mind — these unaccountable instances of national 
 absurdity. Yet, so it is. I am well assured, 
 that were a being possessed of more than human 
 endowments to visit this country, it would 
 experience indifference, if not total neglect, 
 while a less worthy mortal might be worshipped 
 as the idol of its day, if whispered into notoriety 
 by the comments of the multitude. But, thank 
 Heaven ! my heart was not formed in the mould 
 of callous effrontery. I shuddered at the gulf 
 before me, and felt small gratification in the 
 knowledge of having taken a step, which many 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 179 
 
 who condemned would have been no less willing 
 to imitate had they been placed in the same 
 situation. 
 
 " Previous to my first interview with his 
 Royal Highness, in one of his letters I was 
 astonished to find a bond of the most solemn 
 and binding nature, containing a promise of the 
 sum of twenty thousand pounds, to be paid at 
 the period of his Royal Highness's coming of age. 
 
 " This paper was signed by the Prince, and 
 sealed with the royal arms. It was expressed 
 in terras so liberal, so voluntary, so marked by 
 true affection, that I had scarcely power to read 
 it. My tears, excited by the most agonising 
 conflicts, obscured the letters, and nearly blotted 
 out those sentiments which will be impressed 
 upon my mind till the latest period of my 
 existence. Still, I felt shocked and mortified at 
 the indelicate idea of entering Into any pecuniary 
 engagements with a Prince, on whose establish- 
 ment I relied for the enjoyment of all that 
 would render life desirable. I was surprised at 
 receiving it ; the idea of interest had never 
 entered my mind. Secure in the possession of 
 his heart, I had in that delightful certainty 
 counted all my future treasure. I had refused 
 many splendid gifts which his Royal Highness 
 
i8o MEMOIRS OF 
 
 had proposed ordering for me at Grey's and 
 other jewellers. The Prince presented to me a 
 few trifling ornaments, in the whole their value 
 not exceeding one hundred guineas. Even 
 these, on our separation, I returned to his 
 Royal Highness through the hands of General 
 Lake. 
 
 "The period now approached that was to 
 destroy all the fairy visions which had filled 
 my mind with dreams of happiness. At the 
 moment when everything was preparing for 
 his Royal Highness's establishment, when I 
 looked impatiently for the arrival of that 
 day in which I might behold my adored 
 friend gracefully receiving the acclamations 
 of his future subjects ; when I might enjoy 
 the public protection of that being for whom 
 I gave up all, I received a letter from his Royal 
 Highness, a cold and unkind letter — briefly in- 
 forming me that ' we must meet no more ! ' 
 
 " And nowj my friend, sufi^er me to call 
 God to witness, that I was unconscious why 
 this decision had taken place in his Royal 
 Highness's mind. Only two days previous to 
 this letter being written I had seen the Prince 
 at Kew, and his aflTection appeared to be bound- 
 less as it was undiminished. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. i8i 
 
 " Amazed, afflicted, beyond the power of 
 utterance, I wrote immediately to his Royal 
 Highness, requiring an explanation. He re- 
 mained silent. Again I wrote, but received 
 no elucidation of this most cruel and extra- 
 ordinary mystery. The Prince was then at 
 Windsor. I set out in a small pony phaeton, 
 wretched, and unaccompanied by any one except 
 my postillion (a child of nine years of age). 
 It was near dark when we quitted Hyde Park 
 Corner. On my arrival at Hounslow the inn- 
 keeper informed me that every carriage which 
 had passed the heath for the last ten nights had 
 been attacked and rifled. I confess the idea of 
 personal danger had no terrors for my mind in 
 the state it then was, and the possibility of 
 annihilation, divested of the crime of suicide, 
 encouraged rather than diminished my determi- 
 nation of proceeding. We had scarcely reached 
 the middle of the heath when my horses were 
 startled by the sudden appearance of a man 
 rushing from the side of the road. The boy 
 on perceiving him instantly spurred his pony, 
 and, by a sudden bound of our light vehicle, 
 the ruffian missed his grasp at the front rein. 
 We now proceeded at full speed, while the 
 footpad ran endeavouring to overtake us. At 
 
i82 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 length, my horses fortunately outrunning the 
 perseverance of the assailant, we reached the 
 first ' Magpie,' a small inn on the heath, in 
 safety. The alarm which, in spite of my 
 resolution, this adventure had created, was 
 augmented on my recollecting, for the first 
 time, that I had then in my black stock a 
 brilliant stud of very considerable value, which 
 could only have been possessed by the robber 
 by strangling the wearer. 
 
 " If my heart palpitated with joy at my 
 escape from assassination, a circumstance soon 
 after occurred that did not tend to quiet my 
 emotion. This was the appearance of Mr. 
 H. Meynell and Mrs. A . My fore- 
 boding soul instantly beheld a rival, and, 
 with jealous eagerness, interpreted the hitherto 
 inexplicable conduct of the Prince from his 
 having frequently expressed his wish to know 
 that lady. 
 
 " On my arrival the Prince would not see 
 me. My agonies were now undescribable. I 
 consulted with Lord Maiden and the Duke of 
 Dorset, whose honourable mind and truly dis- 
 interested friendship had on many occasions been 
 exemplified towards me. They were both at 
 a loss to divine any cause of this sudden change 
 
2IAR V ROBiySOX. I S3 
 
 in the Prince's feelings. The Prince of Wales 
 had hitherto assiduously sought opportunities 
 to distinguish me more pubHcly than was pru- 
 dent in his Royal Highness's situation. TMs was 
 in the month of August. On the 4th of the 
 preceding June I went, by his desire, into the 
 Chambierlain's box at the birth-night ball ; the 
 distressing observation of the circle was drawn 
 towards the part of the box in which I sat bv 
 the marked and injudicious attentions of his 
 Royal Highness. I liad not been arrived many 
 minutes before I witnessed a singular species of 
 fashionable coquetry. Previous to his High- 
 ness's b^inning his minuet, I perceived a 
 woman of high rank select fix>m the bouquet 
 which she wore two rosebuds, which she gave 
 to the Prince, as he afterwards informed me, 
 ' emblematical of herself and him.' I observed 
 his Royal Highness immediately beckon to a 
 nobleman, who has since formed a part of his 
 estabUshment, and, looking most eamestlv at 
 me, whisper a few words, at the same rime 
 presenting to him his newly-acquired trophy. 
 
 In a few moments Lord C entered the 
 
 Chamberlain's box, and, giving the rosebuds 
 into mv hands, informed me that he was 
 commissioned by the Prince to do so. I 
 
i84 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 placed them in my bosom, and, I confess, 
 felt proud of the power by which I thus 
 publicly mortified an exalted rival. His Royal 
 Highness now avowedly distinguished me at all 
 public places of entertainment, at the King's 
 hunt near Windsor, at the reviews, and at 
 the theatres. The Prince only seemed happy 
 in evincing his affection towards me. 
 
 " How terrible, then, was the change to my 
 feelings ! And I again most solemnly repeat 
 that I was totally ignorant of any just cause for 
 so sudden an alteration. 
 
 " My ' good-natured friends ' now carefully 
 informed me of the multitude of secret ene- 
 mies who were ever employed in estranging 
 the Prince's mind from me. So fascinating, so 
 illustrious a lover could not fail to excite the 
 envy of my own sex. Women of all descrip- 
 tions were emulous of attracting his Royal High- 
 ness's attention. Alas ! I had neither rank nor 
 power to oppose such adversaries. Every engine 
 of female malice was set in motion to destroy 
 my repose, and every petty calumny was re- 
 peated with tenfold embellishments. Tales of 
 the most infamous and glaring falsehood were 
 invented, and I was again assailed by pamphlets, 
 by paragraphs, and caricatures, and all the 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 185 
 
 artillery of slander, while the only being to 
 whom I then looked up for protection was so 
 situated as to be unable to afford it. 
 
 " Thus perplexed, I wrote to you, my friend, 
 and implored your advice. But you were far 
 away ; your delighted soul was absorbed in 
 cherishing the plant of human liberty, which 
 has since blossomed with independent splendour 
 over your happy provinces. Eagerly did I wait 
 for the arrival of the packet, but no answer was 
 returned. In the anguish of my soul I once 
 more addressed the Prince of Wales ; I com- 
 plained, perhaps too vehemently, of his injustice ; 
 of the calumnies which had been by my ene- 
 mies fabricated against me, of the falsehood ot 
 which he was but too sensible. I conjured him 
 to render me justice. He did so ; he wrote me 
 a most eloquent letter, disclaiming the causes 
 alleged by a calumniating world, and fiilly 
 acquitting me of the charges which had been 
 propagated to destroy me. 
 
 " I resided now in Cork Street, Burlington 
 Gardens. The house, which was neat, but by 
 no means splendid, had recently been fitted up 
 for the reception of the Countess of Derby, on 
 her separation from her lord. My situation 
 now every hour became more irksome. The 
 
1 86 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Prince still unkindly persisted in withdrawing 
 himself from my society. I was now deeply 
 involved in debt, which I despaired of ever 
 having the power to discharge. I had quitted 
 both my husband and my profession. The 
 retrospect was dreadful ! 
 
 " My estrangement from the Prince was now 
 the theme of public animadversion, while the 
 newly invigorated shafts of my old enemies, the 
 daily prints, were again hurled upon my defence- 
 less head with tenfold fury. The regrets of 
 Mr. Robinson, now that he had lost me, became 
 insupportable ; he constantly wrote to me in the 
 language of unbounded affection, nor did he 
 fail, when he met, to express his agony at our 
 separation, and even a wish for our reunion. 
 
 " I had, at one period, resolved on returning 
 to my profession ; but some friends whom I 
 consulted dreaded that the public would not 
 suffer my reappearance on the stage. This idea 
 intimidated me, and precluded my efforts for 
 that independence of which my romantic cre- 
 dulity had robbed me. , I was thus fatally 
 induced to relinquish what would have proved 
 an ample and honourable resource for myself 
 and my child. My debts accumulated to near 
 seven thousand pounds. My creditors, whose 
 
MAE Y ROBINSON. 187 
 
 insulting illiberality could only be equalled by 
 their unbounded impositions, hourly assailed 
 me. 
 
 " I was, in the meantime, wholly neglected 
 by the Prince, while the assiduities of Lord 
 Maiden daily increased. I had no other friend 
 on whom I could rely for assistance or protec- 
 tion. When I say protection, I would not be 
 understood to mean pecuniary assistance. Lord 
 Maiden being, at the time alluded to, even 
 poorer than myself — the death of his lordship's 
 grandmother, Lady Frances Coningsby, had not 
 then placed him above the penury of Hs own 
 small income. 
 
 "Lord Maiden's attentions to me again 
 exposed him to all the humiliation of former 
 periods. The Prince assured me once more of 
 his wishes to renew our former friendship and 
 affection, and urged me to meet him at the 
 house of Lord Maiden in Clarges Street. I was 
 at this period littie less than frantic, deeply 
 involved in debt, persecuted by my enemies, 
 and perpetually reproached by my relations. I 
 would joyfully have resigned an existence now 
 become to me an intolerable burthen ; yet my 
 pride was not less than my sorrow, and I resolved, 
 whatever my heart might suffer, to wear a 
 
i88 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 placid countenance when I met the inquiring 
 glances of my triumphant enemies. 
 
 " After much hesitation, by the advice of 
 Lord Maiden, I consented to meet his Royal 
 Highness. He accosted me with every appear- 
 ance of tender attachment, declaring that he 
 had never for one moment ceased to love me, 
 but that I had many concealed enemies, who 
 were exerting every effort to undermine me. 
 We passed some hours in the most friendly and 
 delightful conversation, and I began to flatter 
 myself that all our differences were adjusted. 
 But what words can express my surprise and 
 chagrin, when, on meeting his Royal Highness 
 the very next day in Hyde Park, he turned his 
 head to avoid seeing me, and even affected not 
 to know me ! 
 
 " Overwhelmed by this blow, my distress 
 knew no limits. Yet heaven can witness the 
 truth of my assertion, even in this moment of 
 complete despair, when oppression bowed me 
 to the earth, I blamed not the Prince. I did 
 then, and ever shall, consider his mind as nobly 
 and honourably organised, nor could I teach 
 myself to believe that a heart, the seat of so 
 many virtues, could possibly become inhuman 
 and unjust. I had been taught from my 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 189 
 
 infancy to believe that elevated stations are sur- 
 rounded by delusive visions, which glitter but 
 to dazzle, like an unsubstantial meteor, and 
 flatter to betray. With legions of these phan- 
 toms it has been my fate to encounter ; I have 
 been unceasingly marked by their persecutions, 
 and shall at length become their victim." 
 
 Here the narrative of Mrs. Robinson breaks 
 off, with some reflections to which the recital 
 had given rise. Though diligent search has 
 been made to elucidate the obscurity in which 
 the preceding events are involved, but little 
 information has been gained. All that can be 
 learned with certainty is her final separation 
 from the Prince of Wales in the year 178 1. 
 
 The genius and engaging manners of Mrs. 
 Robinson, who was still very young, had pro- 
 cured her the friendship of many of the most 
 enlightened men of this age and country ; her 
 house was the rendezvous of talents. While 
 yet unconscious of the powers of her mind, 
 which had scarcely then unfolded itself, she was 
 honoured with the acquaintance and esteem of 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds, Messrs. Sheridan, Burke, 
 Henderson, Wilkes, Sir John Elliot, &c., men 
 of distinguished talents and character. But 
 though surrounded by the wise, the witty, and 
 
190 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the gay, her mind, naturally pensive, was still 
 devoured by secret sorrow ; neither could the 
 blandishments of flattery, nor the soothings of 
 friendship, extract the arrow that rankled in her 
 heart. Involved beyond the power of extrica- 
 tion, she determined on quitting England, and 
 making a tour to Paris. 
 
 To desert her country, to fly like a wretched 
 fugitive, or to become a victim to the malice, and 
 swell the triumph of her enemies, were the only 
 alternatives that seemed to present themselves. 
 Flight was humiliating and dreadful, but to 
 remain in England was impracticable. The 
 terrors and struggles of her mind became almost 
 intolerable, and nearly deprived her of reason. 
 The establishment of the Prince had now taken 
 place ; to him, for whom she had made every 
 sacrifice, and to whom she owed her present 
 embarrassments, she conceived herself entitled 
 to appeal for redress. She wrote to his Royal 
 Highness, but her letter remained unanswered. 
 The business was at length submitted to the 
 arbitration of Mr. Fox, and, in 1783, her claims 
 were adjusted by the grant of an annuity of five 
 hundred pounds, the moiety of which was to 
 descend to her daughter at her decease. This 
 settlement was to be considered as an equivalent 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 191 
 
 for the bond of twenty thousand pounds given 
 by the Prince to Mrs. Robinson, to be paid on 
 his establishment, as a consideration for the 
 resignation of a lucrative -profession at the -par- 
 ticular request of his Royal Highness. To many 
 persons the assurance of an independence would 
 have operated as a consolation for the sufferings 
 and difficulties by which it had been procured ; 
 but the spirit of Mrs. Robinson bent not to a 
 situation which the delicacy of her feelings led 
 her to consider as a splendid degradation. 
 
 About this period Mrs. Robinson, notwith- 
 standing the change in her affairs, determined to 
 visit Paris, to amuse her mind and beguile her 
 thoughts from the recollection of past scenes. 
 Having procured letters of introduction to some 
 agreeable French families, and also to Sir John 
 Lambert, resident English banker at Paris, she 
 quitted London, with the resolution of passing 
 two months in the gay and brilliant metropolis 
 of France. Sir John Lambert, on being in- 
 formed of her arrival, exerted himself to procure 
 for her commodious apartments, a remise^ a box 
 at the opera, with all the fashionable and expen- 
 sive et-ceteras with which an inexperienced 
 English traveller is immediately provided. 
 
 This venerable chevalier united to the cordi- 
 
192 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ality of the English character the bienfaisance 
 of a Frenchman — every hour was devoted to 
 the amusement of his admired guest, who came 
 to him highly recommended. Parties were, with 
 the most flattering assiduity, formed for the 
 different spectacles and places of public enter- 
 tainment. A brilliant assemblage of illustrious 
 visitors failed not to grace at the opera the box 
 of la belle Anglaise. 
 
 A short time after the arrival of Mrs. Robin- 
 son at Paris, the Duke of Orleans and his 
 gallant friend and associate, the Duke de 
 Lauzun (afterwards Duke de Biron) were 
 presented to her by Sir John Lambert. This 
 unfortunate prince, with all the volatility of 
 the national character, disgraced human nature 
 by his vices, while the elegance of his manners 
 rendered him a model to his contemporaries. 
 
 The Duke of Orleans immediately professed 
 himself devoted to the fair stranger. His liber- 
 tine manners, the presumption with which he 
 declared his determination to triumph over the 
 heart of Mrs. Robinson, assisted to defend her 
 against him ; and, while he failed to dazzle her 
 imagination by his magnificence, he disgusted 
 her by his hauteur. 
 
 The most enchanting fites were given at 
 
I \. 
 
 >'- ' 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 93 
 
 Mousseau, a villa belonging to the Duke of 
 Orleans near Paris, at which Mrs. Robinson 
 invariably declined to appear. Brilliant races 
 a I'Anglaise were exhibited on the plains des 
 Sablons, to captivate the attention of the in- 
 exorable Anglaise. On the birthday of Mrs. 
 Robinson a new effort was made to subdue her 
 aversion and to obtain her regard. A rural file 
 was appointed in the gardens of Mousseau, when 
 this beautiful V andamonium of splendid profli- 
 gacy was, at an unusual expense, decorated with 
 boundless luxury. 
 
 In the evening, amidst a magnificent illumina- 
 tion, every tree displayed the initials of la belle 
 Anglaise, composed of coloured lamps, inter- 
 woven with wreaths of artificial flowers. Polite- 
 ness compelled Mrs. Robinson to grace with her 
 presence a fite instituted to her honour. She, 
 however, took the precaution of selecting for her 
 companion a German lady, then resident at 
 Paris, whUe the venerable' chevalier Lambert 
 attended them as a chapero'n. 
 
 Some days after the celebration of this festival, 
 the Queen of France signified her intention of 
 dining in public, for the first time after her 
 accouchement with the Duke of Normandy, 
 afterwards Dauphin. The duke brought to 
 
 14 
 
194 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Mrs. Robinson a message from the Queen, 
 expressing a wish that la belle Anglaise might 
 be induced to appear at the grand couvert. 
 Mrs. Robinson, not less solicitous to behold 
 the lovely Marie Antoinette, gladly availed 
 herself of the intimation, and immediately began 
 to prepare for the important occasion. The 
 most tasteful ornaments of Mademoiselle Bertin, 
 the reigning milliner, were procured to adorn a 
 form that, rich in native beauty, needed little 
 embellishment. A pale green lustring train and 
 body, with a tiffany petticoat, festooned with 
 bunches of the most delicate lilac, were chosen 
 by Mrs. Robinson for her appearance, while a 
 plume of white feathers adorned her head ; the 
 native roses of her cheeks, glowing with health 
 and youth, were stained, in conformity to the 
 fashion of the French Court, with the deepest 
 rouge. 
 
 On the arrival of the fair foreigner, the Duke 
 d'Orleans quitted the King on whom he was then 
 in waiting, to procure her a place, where the 
 Queen might have an opportunity of observing 
 those charms by the fame of which her curiosity 
 had been awakened. 
 
 The grand couvert, at which the King ac- 
 quitted himself with more alacrity than grace, 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 195 
 
 aiForded a magnificent display of epicurean 
 luxury. The Queen ate nothing. The slender 
 crimson cord, which drew a line of separation 
 between the royal epicures and the gazing 
 plebeians, was at the distance but of a few feet 
 from the table. A small space divided the 
 Queen from Mrs. Robinson, whom the constant 
 observation and loudly whispered encomiums 
 of Her Majesty most oppressively flattered. She 
 appeared to survey, with peculiar attention, a 
 miniature of the Prince of Wales, which Mrs. 
 Robinson wore on her bosom, and of which, on 
 the ensuing day, she commissioned the Duke of 
 Orleans to request the loan. Perceiving Mrs. 
 Robinson gaze with admiration on her white 
 and polished arms, as she drew on her gloves, 
 the Queen again uncovered them, and leaned 
 for a few moments on her hand. The Duke, 
 on returning the picture, gave to the fair owner 
 a purse, netted by the hand of Antoinette, and 
 which she had commissioned him to present, 
 from her, to la belle Anglaise. Mrs. Robinson 
 not long after these events quitted Paris, and 
 returned to her native country. 
 
 In 1784 her fete assumed a darker hue. She 
 was attacked by a malady, to which she had 
 nearly fallen a victim. By an imprudent ex- 
 
196 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 posure to the night air in travelling, when, 
 exhausted by fatigue and mental anxiety, she 
 slept in a chaise with the windows open, she 
 brought on a fever, which confined her to her 
 bed during six months. The disorder termi- 
 nated at the conclusion of that period in a 
 violent rheumatism, which progressively deprived 
 her of the use of her limbs. Thus, at four-and- 
 twenty years of age, in the pride of youth and 
 the bloom of beauty, was this lovely and un- 
 fortunate woman reduced to a state of more 
 than infantile helplessness. Yet, even under so 
 severe a calamity, the powers of her mind and 
 the elasticity of her spirits triumphed over the 
 weakness of her frame. This check to the 
 pleasures and vivacity of youth, by depriving 
 her of external resource, led her to the more 
 assiduous cultivation and development of her 
 talents. But the resignation with which she 
 had submitted to one of the severest of human 
 calamities gave place to hope, on the assurance 
 of her physician, that by the mild air of a more 
 southern climate she might probably be restored 
 to health and activity. 
 
 The favourite wish of her heart, that of be- 
 holding her relations, from whom she had been 
 so many years divided, it was now in her power 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 197 
 
 to gratiiy. From her elder brother she had 
 frequently received invitations, the most pressing 
 and afiectionate, to quit for ever a country 
 whCTe an unprotected woman rarely fidls to 
 become the victim of calumny and persecution, 
 and to take sheltCT in the bosom of domestic 
 tranquillity, where peace, to which she had long 
 been a stranger, might still await her. Delighted 
 with the idea of combining with the object of 
 her travels an acquisition so dearable, and after 
 which her exhausted heart panted, she eagerlv 
 embraced the proposal, and set out to Paris, 
 with the resolution of proceeding to Leghorn. 
 But a letter, on her arrival, from her phvsician, 
 prescribing the warm baths of Aix-la-Chapelle 
 in Germany, as a certain restorative for her 
 complaints, frustrated her planSb Once more 
 she proceeded in melancholy pursuit of that 
 blessing which she was destined never more to 
 obtain. 
 
 Ehiring her sojourn at Aix-la-Chapelle, a 
 dawn of comparative tranquillity soothed her 
 spirits. Secure from the machinations of her 
 enemies, she determined, though happiness 
 seemed no more within her reach, to endeavour 
 to be content. The assiduities and attentions 
 shown her by all ranks of people presented a 
 
198 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 striking medium between the volatility and 
 libertine homage offered to her at Paris, and 
 the persevering malignity which had followed 
 her in her native land. Her beauty, the affect- 
 ing state of her health, the attraction of her 
 manners, and the powers of her [mind, interested 
 every heart in her favour ; while the meekness 
 with which she submitted to her fate excited an 
 admiration not less fervent, and more genuine, 
 than her charms in the full blaze of their power 
 had ever extorted. 
 
 Among the many illustrious and enlightened 
 persons then resident at Aix-la-Chapelle, who 
 honoured Mrs. Robinson by their friendship, 
 she received from the late_' amiable and un- 
 fortunate Duke and Duchess du Chatelet 
 peculiar marks of distinction. The Duke had, 
 while ambassador in England, been the friend 
 and associate of the learned Lord Mansfield ; 
 his Duchess, the ellve of Voltaire, claimed as 
 her godmother Gabrielle Emilia, Baroness du 
 Chatelet, so celebrated by that lively and 
 admirable writer. This inestimable family, 
 consisting of the Duke and Duchess, their 
 nephews the Counts de Damas, and a niece 
 married to the Duke de Simianne, were inde- 
 fatigable in their efforts to solace the affliction 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 1 99 
 
 and amuse the mind of their fair friend. Balls, 
 concertSj rural breakfasts, succeeded to each 
 other in gay and attractive variety ; the happy 
 effects produced on the health and spirits of 
 Mrs. Robinson were considered by this 
 English family as an ample compensation 
 for their solicitude. When compelled by 
 severer paroxysms of her malady to seclude 
 herself from their society, a thousand kind 
 stratagems were planned and executed to relieve 
 her sufferings, or soften the dejection to which 
 they unavoidably gave rise. Sometimes, on 
 entering her dark and melancholy bath, the 
 gloom of which was increased by high grated 
 windows, she beheld the surface of the water 
 covered with rose-leaves, while the vapour 
 baths were impregnated with aromatic odours. 
 The younger part of the family, when pain 
 deprived Mrs. Robinson of rest, frequently 
 passed the night beneath her windows, charm- 
 ing her sufferings and beguiling her of her 
 sorrows, by singing her favourite airs to the 
 accompaniment of the mandolin. 
 
 Thus, in despite of sickness, glided away 
 two agreeable winters, when the transient 
 gleam of brightness became suddenly obscured, 
 and her prospects involved in deeper shade. 
 
2O0 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 About this period Mrs. Robinson had the 
 misfortune to lose her brave and respected 
 father — a blow as forcible as unexpected, which 
 nearly shook her faculties, and, for a time, whoUy 
 overwhelmed her spirits. Captain Darby had, 
 on the failure of his fortunes, been presented 
 to the command of a small ordnance vessel, 
 through the interest of some of his noble asso- 
 ciates in the Indian expedition. Not having 
 been regularly bred to the sea, this was the 
 only naval appointment which he could receive. 
 Enthusiastically attached to his profession, he 
 omitted no occasion of signalising himself. The 
 siege of Gibraltar, in the year 1783, afforded 
 to him an opportunity after which he had long 
 pantedj when his small vessel and gallant crew 
 extorted by their courage and exertions the 
 admiration and applause of the fleet. Having 
 fought till his rigging was nearly destroyed, he 
 turned his attention to the sinking Spaniards, 
 whom he sought to snatch from the flaming 
 wrecks, floating around him in all directions, 
 and had the satisfaction to preserve, though at 
 thQ hazard of his life, some hundreds of his 
 fellow beings. The vessel of Captain Darby 
 was the first that reached the rock by nearly 
 an hour. On his landing, General Elliot re- 
 
MAH V MOBINSON. 201 
 
 ceived and embraced him with the plaudits due 
 to his gallant conduct. 
 
 In the presence of his officers, the general 
 lamented that so brave a man had not been 
 bred to a profession to which his intrepidity 
 would have done distinguished honour. To 
 this eulogium he added, that, with the courage 
 of a lion. Captain Darby possessed the firm- 
 ness of the rock which he had so bravely 
 defended. 
 
 To his care was entrusted by the com- 
 mander a copy of the despatches, which Captain 
 Darby delivered four-and-twenty hours before 
 the arrival of the regular vessel. For this 
 diligence, and the conduct which had preceded 
 it, he received the thanks of the Board of 
 Admiralty, while on the other captain was 
 bestowed the more substantial recompense of 
 five hundred pounds. An injustice so glaring 
 was not calculated to lessen Captain Darby's 
 distaste for England, which he quitted, after 
 taking of his unhappy family an affectionate 
 farewell. 
 
 At sixty-two years of age, he set out to 
 regain in a foreign country the fortune he had 
 sacrificed in the service of his own. With 
 powerflil recommendations from the Duke of 
 
202 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Dorset and the Count de Simolin, he proceeded 
 to Petersbui^. From the Count de Simolin he 
 continued to experience, till the latest period of 
 his existence, a steady and zealous friendship. 
 Captain Darby had been but two years in the 
 Russian imperial service, when he was pro- 
 moted to the command of a seventy-four gun 
 ship, with a promise of the appointment of 
 admiral on the first vacancy. On the 5th of 
 December, 1785, death put a stop to his 
 career. He was buried with military honours, 
 and attended to the grave by his friends. Admiral 
 Greig, the Counts Czernichef and De Simolin, 
 with the officers of the fleet. i 
 
 " The most affecting tribute which the memory of a 
 gallant father could receive was the following pathetic 
 and heartfelt effusion of genuine and grateful duty : 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 MY LAMENTED FATHER, 
 
 WHO DIED IN THE SERVICE OF THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA 
 DECEMBER J, 1 786. 
 
 Oh, sire, rever'd ! ador'd ! 
 Was it the ruthless tongue of death. 
 That whisp'ring to my pensive ear, 
 Pronounc'd the fatal word 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 203 
 
 This honourable testimony to her father's 
 worth was the only consolation remaining to 
 
 That bath'd my cheek with many a tear, 
 And stopp'd awhile my gasping breath ? 
 
 ' He lives no more ! 
 
 Far on a foreign shore, 
 His honour'd dust a laurell'd grave receives. 
 While his immortal soul in realms celestial lives ! ' 
 
 Oh ! my lov'd sire, farewell ! 
 Though we are doom'd on earth to meet no more. 
 Still mem'ry lives, and still I must adore ! 
 And long this throbbing heart shall mourn, 
 Though thou to these sad eyes wilt ne'er return ! 
 Yet shall remembrance dwell 
 
 On all thy sorrows through life's stormy sea, 
 When fate's resistless whirlwinds shed 
 Unnumber'd tempests round thy head. 
 
 The varying ills of human destiny ! 
 
 Yet, with a soul sublimely brave, 
 
 Didst thou endure the dashing wave ; 
 
 Still buffeting the billows rude, 
 
 By all the shafts of woe, undaunted, unsubdued ! 
 
 Through a long life of rugged care, 
 'Twas thine to steer a steady course ! 
 
 'Twas thine misfortune's frowns to bear, 
 And stem the wayward torrent's force ! 
 
 And as thy persevering mind 
 The toilsome path of fame pursued, 
 
 'Twas thine, amidst its flow'rs to find 
 The wily snake — Ingratitude ! 
 
204 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 his daughter, whose enfeebled health and broken 
 spirits sunk beneath these repeated strokes. 
 
 Yet vainly did th' insidious reptile strive 
 On thee its poisons dire to fling ; 
 
 Above its reach, thy laurel still shall thrive. 
 Unconscious of the treach'rous sting ! 
 
 'Twas thine to toil through length'ning years, 
 Where lowr'ring night absorbs the spheres ! 
 
 O'er icy seas to bend thy way. 
 Where frozen Greenland rears its head. 
 
 Where dusky vapours shroud the day. 
 And wfastes of flaky snowr the stagnate ocean spread. 
 
 'Twras thine, amidst the smoke of war, 
 
 To vievy, unmoVd, grim-fronted Death ; 
 
 Where Fate, enthron'd in sulphur'd car. 
 Shrunk the pale legions with her scorching breath ! 
 
 While all around her, bath'd in blood, 
 Iberia's haughty sons plung'd lifeless 'midst the flood. 
 
 Now on the wings of meditation borne, 
 Let fond remembrance turn, and turn to mourn ; 
 Slowly, and sad, her pinions sweep 
 O'er the rough bosom of the boist'rous deep 
 
 To that disastrous, fatal coast 
 
 Where, on the foaming billows tost. 
 Imperial Catherine's navies rode ; 
 
 And war's inviting banners wide 
 
 Wav'd hostile o'er the glitt'ring tide. 
 That with exulting conquest glow'd ! 
 
 For there — oh sorrow, check the tear ! — 
 There, round departed valour's bierj 
 
MAJi y HOSmSO-V. aos 
 
 During the four succeeding years of the life 
 of Mrs. RolunsoD, but few events occurred 
 
 Tte sacred dit^ of kindred wtne ' shone ! 
 
 Proad monaments of worth t vrhose base 
 
 Fame on her stamr hill shall place ; 
 
 There to endure, admir'd, sublime ! 
 
 E'en when the monld'ring wing of time 
 Shall 5ca::er co the winds iizge rrraiaidj of sroas 1 
 
 Oh ! gallant sool ! farewell ! 
 Though doomd this transient orb ro leave. 
 
 Thy daoghter's heart, wh(Ke grief no wads can tell. 
 Shall, in its thrt^jlang centre, lad diee liire ! 
 
 While from its crimstu fount shall ftow 
 The silent tear crf'Iiug'ring grief; 
 The gem sublime ! that scorns relief^ 
 
 Nor Tsanting shines, with ostentadoos woe ' 
 
 Tho:igli riioa art Tanish'd from these eres, 
 Still hwa. thy sacred csj: shall rise 
 
 A wreath that mods the polish'd grace 
 Of scnlptur'd b-^u:. or tuneful praise ; 
 
 Wiile Fame shall weeping point the place 
 Where Valour's dauntless son decsvs ! 
 Unseen ro cherish sieas'rr's source drrine. 
 Oh ! parent of my iiie, shall still be mine ! 
 
 And thou shalt, from thy Uissfnl sate, 
 Awhile avert thy rarrni'd gaze. 
 To own, that "midst this wild' ring maze. 
 
 The flame of £Lial lore defies the blast of fkie ! 
 
 ^ C^raia Darby commanded, at the time of his death, 
 a sbir crTrar in the Russian serrice, and wus buried with 
 military hoaoois, oniTeisally lamented. 
 
2o6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 worthy of remark. In search of lost health, 
 which she had so long and vainly pursued, she 
 determined to repair to the baths of St. Amand, 
 in Flanders, those receptacles of loathsome mud, 
 and of reptiles, unknown to other soils, which 
 fasten on the bodies of those who bathe. Mrs. 
 Robinson made many visits to these distasteful 
 ditches before she could prevail on herself 
 to enter them. Neither the example of her 
 feUow-suiFerers, nor the assurance of cures per- 
 formed by their wonderful efficacy, could for a 
 long time overcome her disgust. At length, 
 solicitude for the restoration of her health, 
 added to the earnest remonstrances of her 
 friends, determined her on making the effort. 
 For the purpose of being near the baths, which 
 must be entered an hour before the rising of 
 the sun, she hired a small but beautiful cottage 
 near the spring, where she passed the summer 
 of 1787. These peaceful vales and venerable 
 woods were, at no distant period, destined to 
 become the seat of war and devastation, and the 
 very cottage in which Mrs. Robinson resided 
 was converted into the headquarters of a 
 Republican French general. 
 
 Every endeavour to subdue her disorder 
 
 ' Dumouriez. 
 
MAJiY ROBINSON. 207 
 
 proving ineffectual, Mrs, Robinson relinquished 
 her melancloly and fruitless pursuit, and resolved 
 once more to return to her native land. Pro- 
 ceeding through Paris, she reached England in 
 the beginning of 1787, from which period may 
 be dated the commencement of her literary 
 career. On her arrival in London she was 
 aiFectionately received by the few friends whose 
 attachment neither detraction nor adverse for- 
 tunes could weaken or estrange. During an 
 absence of five years death had made inroads 
 in the little circle of her connections ; many of 
 those whose idea had been her solace in afflic- 
 tion, and whose welcome she had delighted to 
 anticipate, were now, alas ! no more.i 
 
 Once more established in London, and sur- 
 rounded by social and rational friends, Mrs. 
 
 ' An attachment took place between Mrs. Robinson 
 and Colonel Tarleton shortly after the return of the latter 
 from America, which subsisted during sixteen years. On 
 the circumstances which occasioned its dissolution it is 
 neither necessary nor would it be proper to dwell. The 
 exertions of Mrs. Robinson in the service of Colonel 
 Tarleton, when pressed by pecuniary embarrassment, 
 led to that unfortunate journey, the consequences of 
 which proved so fatal to her health. The colonel ac- 
 companied her to the Continent, and, by his affectionate 
 attentions, sought to alleviate those sufferings of which he 
 had been the involuntary occasion. 
 
2o8 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Robinson began to experience comparative 
 tranquillity. The Prince of Wales, with his 
 brother the Duke of York, frequently 
 honoured her residence with their presence ; 
 but the state of her health, which required 
 more repose, added to the indisposition of her 
 daughter, who was threatened by a consumptive 
 disorder, obliged her to withdraw to a situa- 
 tion of greater retirement. Maternal solicitude 
 for a beloved and only child now wholly engaged 
 her attention ; her assiduities were incessant and 
 exemplary for the restoration of a being to 
 whom she had given life, and to whom she was 
 fondly devoted. 
 
 In the course of the summer she was ordered 
 by her physician to Brighthelmstone, for the 
 benefit of sea bathing. During hours of tedious 
 watching over the health of her suffering child, 
 Mrs. Robinson beguiled her anxiety by con- 
 templating the ocean, whose successive waves, 
 breaking upon the shore, beat against the wall 
 of their little garden. To a mind naturally 
 susceptible, and tinctured by circumstances with 
 sadness, this occupation afforded a melancholy 
 pleasure, which could scarcely be relinquished 
 without regret. Whole nights were passed by 
 Mrs. Robinson at her window in deep medita- 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 209 
 
 tion, contrasting with her present situation the 
 scenes of her former life. 
 
 Every device which a kind and skilful nurse 
 could invent to cheer and amuse her charge 
 was practised by this affectionate mother, during 
 the melancholy period of her daughter's confine- 
 ment. In the intervals of more active exertion, 
 the silence of a sick chamber proving favourable 
 to the muse, Mrs. Robinson poured forth those 
 poetic eiFusions which have done so much 
 honour to her genius and decked her tomb 
 with unfading laurels. Conversing one evening 
 with Mr. Richard Burke,' respecting the facility 
 with which modern poetry was composed, Mrs. 
 Robinson repeated nearly the whole of those 
 beautiful lines, which were afterwards given to 
 the public, addressed — " T'o him who will under- 
 stand them." 
 
 LINES 
 
 TO HIM WHO WILL UNDERSTAND THEM. 
 
 Thou art no more my bosom's frknd ; 
 Here must the sweet delusion end, 
 That charmed my senses many a year. 
 Through smiling summers, winters drear. 
 O, friendship ! am I doomed to find 
 Thou art a phantom of the mind ? 
 
 ' Son of the celebrated Edmund Burke. 
 15 
 
MEMOIRS OF 
 
 A glitt'ring shade, an empty name. 
 An air-born vision's vap'rish flame ? 
 And yet, the dear deceit so long 
 Has wak'd to joy my matin song, 
 Has bid my tears forget to flow, 
 Chas'd ev'ry pain, sooth'd ev'ry woe ; 
 That truth, unwelcome to my ear, 
 Swells the deep sigh, recalls the tear. 
 Gives to the sense the keenest smart, 
 Checks the warm pulses of the heart. 
 Darkens my fate, and steals away 
 Each gleam of joy througji life's sad day. 
 
 Britain, farewell ! I quit thy shore ; 
 My native country charms no more ; 
 No guide to mark the toilsome road ; 
 No destin'd clime ; no lix'd abode : 
 Alone and sad, ordain'd to trace 
 The vast expanse of endless space ; 
 To view, upon the mountain's height. 
 Through varied shades of glimm'ring light, 
 The distant landscape fade away 
 In the last gleam of parting day : 
 Or, on the quiv'ring lucid stream. 
 To watch the pale moon's silv'ry beam ; 
 Or when, in sad and plaintive strains. 
 The mournful Philomel complains. 
 In dulcet notes bewails her fate. 
 And murmurs for her absent mate ; 
 Inspir'd by sympathy divine, 
 I'll weep her woes — for they are mine. 
 Driv'n by my fate, where'er I go. 
 O'er burning plains, o'er hills of snow, 
 Or on the bosom of the wave, 
 
^fAJi y EOBINSOX. 2 1 1 
 
 The howling tempest doom'd to brave, — 
 Where'er my lonely course I bend. 
 Thy image shall my steps attend ; 
 Each object I am doom'd to see. 
 Shall bid remembrance picture thee. 
 Yes ; I shall view thee in each flow'r. 
 That changes with the transient hour : 
 Thy wand'ring fancy I shall find 
 Borne on the wings of every wind : 
 Thy wild impetuous passions trace 
 O'er the white waves' tempestuous space : 
 In every changing season prove 
 An emblem of thy wav'ring love. 
 
 Tom from my country, friends, and you. 
 The world lies open to mv view ; 
 Xew objects shall my mind engage ; 
 I will explore th' historic page ; 
 Sweet poetry shall soothe my soul ; 
 Philosophy each pang control : 
 The muse Fll seek — ^her lambent fire 
 My soul's quick senses shall inspire ; 
 With finer nerves my heart shall beat, 
 Tonch'd by heav'ns own Promethean heat j 
 Italia's gales shall bear my song 
 In soft-link'd notes her woods among ; 
 Upon the blue hill"? mistv side. 
 Thro' trackless deserts waste and wide, 
 Cyer craggy rock?, whose torrents flow 
 Upon the silver sands below. 
 Swee: land of melody ! 'tis thine 
 The softest passions to refine ; 
 Thy myrtle groves, thy melting strains. 
 Shall harmonise and soothe my pains. 
 
212 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Nor will I cast one thought behind, 
 
 On foes relentless, friends unkind : 
 
 I feel, I feel their poison'd dart 
 
 Pierce the life-nerve within my heart ; 
 
 'Tis mingled with the vital heat 
 
 That bids my throbbing pulses beat ; 
 
 Soon shall that vital heat be o'er, 
 
 Those throbbing pulses beat no more ! 
 
 No — I will breathe the spicy gale ; 
 
 Plunge the clear stream, new health exhale ; 
 
 O'er my pale cheek diffuse the rose. 
 
 And drink oblivion to my woes. 
 
 This improvisatore produced in her auditor 
 not less surprise than admiration, when solemnly 
 assured by its author that this was the first 
 time of its being repeated. Mr. Burke ' en- 
 treated her to commit the poem to writing, a 
 request which was readily complied with. Mrs. 
 Robinson had afterwards the gratification of 
 finding this offspring of her genius inserted in 
 the Annual Register, with a flattering encomium 
 from the pen of the eloquent and ingenious 
 editor . 
 
 Mrs. Robinson continued to indulge in this 
 solace for her dejected spirits, and in sonnets, 
 elegies, and odes, displayed the powers and 
 versatility of her mind. On one of these nights 
 
 ' The Right Honourable Edmund Burke, at that time 
 conductor of the Annual Register. 
 
MAH Y ROBINSON. 2 1 3 
 
 of melancholy inspiration she discovered from 
 her window a small boat, struggling in the 
 spray, which dashed against the wall of her 
 garden. Presently two fishermen brought on 
 shore in their arms a burthen, which, notwith- 
 standing the distance, Mrs. Robinson perceived 
 to be a human body, which the fishermen, after 
 covering with a sail from their boat, left on the 
 land and disappeared. But a short time elapsed 
 before the men returned, bringing with them 
 fuel, with which they vainly endeavoured to 
 reanimate their unfortunate charge. Struck 
 with a circumstance so affecting, which the 
 stillness of the night rendered yet more im- 
 pressive, Mrs. Robinson remained some time 
 at her window motionless with horror. At 
 length, recovering her recollection, she alarmed 
 the family ; but before they could gain the 
 beach the men had again departed. The 
 morning dawned, and day broke in upon the 
 tragical scene. The bathers passed and repassed 
 with little concern, while the corpse continued 
 extended on the shore, not twenty yards fi-om 
 the Steine. During the course of the day 
 many persons came to look on the body, 
 which still remained unclaimed and unknown. 
 Another day wore away and the corpse was 
 
214 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 unbuiied, the lord of the manor having refused 
 to a fellow-being a grave in which his bones 
 might decently repose, alleging as an excuse, 
 that he did not belong to that parish. Mrs. 
 Robinson, humanely indignant at the scene 
 which passed, exerted herself, but without 
 success, to procure by subscription a small 
 sum for performing the last duties to a wretched 
 outcast. Unwilling, by an ostentatious display 
 of her name, to offend the higher and more 
 fastidious female powers, she presented to the 
 fishermen her own contribution, and declined 
 farther to interfere. The affair dropped ; and 
 the body of the stranger, being dragged to the 
 cliff, was covered by a heap of stones, without 
 the tribute of a sigh or the ceremony of a 
 prayer. 
 
 These circumstances made on the mind of 
 Mrs. Robinson a deep and lasting impression ; 
 even at a distant period she could not repeat 
 them without horror and indignation. This 
 incident gave rise to the poem entitled " The 
 Haunted Beach," written but a few months 
 before her death. 
 
 In the winter of 1790, Mrs. Robinson entered 
 into a poetical correspondence with Mr. Robert 
 Merry, under the fictitious names of " Laura," 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 2 1 5 
 
 and " Laura Maria " ; Mr. Merry assuming 
 the title of " Delia Crusca." i 
 
 Mrs. Robinson now proceeded in her literary 
 career with redoubled ardour ; but, dazzled by 
 the false metaphors and rhapsodical extravagance 
 of some contemporary writers, she suffered her 
 judgment to be misled and her taste to be 
 perverted : an error of which she became after- 
 wards sensible. During her poetical disguise, 
 many complimentary poems were addressed to 
 her ; several ladies of the Blue Stocking Club, 
 while Mrs. Robinson remained unknown, even 
 ventured to admire, nay more, to recite her 
 productions in their learned and critical coterie. 
 
 The attention which this novel species of 
 correspondence excited, and the encomiums 
 which were passed on her poems, could not 
 fail to gratify the pride of the writer, who sent 
 her next performance, with her own signature, 
 to the paper published under the title of The 
 World, avowing herself at the same time the 
 author of the lines signed " Laura," and " Laiira 
 Maria." This information being received by 
 Mr. Bell, though a professed admirer of the 
 genius of Mrs. Robinson, with some degree of 
 
 ' Mr. Merry had been a member of the " Scuola della 
 Crusca," at Florence. 
 
2i6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 scepticism, he replied, "That the poem with 
 which Mrs. Robinson had honoured him was 
 vastly pretty ; but that he was well acquainted 
 with the author of the productions alluded to." 
 Mrs. Robinson, a little disgusted at this in- 
 credulity, immediately sent for Mr. Bell, whom 
 she found means to convince of her veracity, 
 and of his own injustice. 
 
 In 1 79 1 Mrs. Robinson produced her quarto 
 poem, entitled " Ainsi va le Monde." This 
 work, containing three hundred and fifty lines, 
 was written in twelve hours, as a reply to Mr. 
 Merry's " Laurel of Liberty," which was sent 
 to Mrs. Robinson on a Saturday ; on the 
 Tuesday following the answer was composed and 
 given to the public. 
 
 Encouraged by popular approbation beyond 
 her most sanguine hopes, Mrs. Robinson now 
 published her first essay in prose, in the romance 
 of Vancenza, of which the whole edition was 
 sold in one day, and of which five impressions 
 have since followed. It must be confessed that 
 this production owed its popularity to the 
 celebrity of the author's name, and the favour- 
 able impression of her talents given to the public 
 by her poetical compositions, rather than to its 
 intrinsic merit. In the same year the poems of 
 
MAIi Y ROBINSON. 2 1 7 
 
 Mrs. Robinson were collected and published in 
 one volume. The names of nearly six hundred 
 subscribers, of the most distinguished rank and 
 talents, graced the list which precedes the work. 
 The mind of Mrs. Robinson, beguiled by 
 these pursuits from preying upon itself, became 
 gradually reconciled to the calamitous state of 
 her health ; the mournful certainty of total and 
 incurable lameness, while yet in the bloom and 
 siunmer of life, was alleviated by the conscious- 
 ness of intellectual resource, and by the activity 
 of a fertile fancy. In 1791 she passed the 
 greater part of the summer at Bath, occupied 
 in lighter poetical compositions. But even 
 from this relief she was now for a while 
 debarred : the perpetual exercise of the imagina- 
 tion and intellect, added to a uniform and 
 sedentary life, affected the system of her nerves, 
 and contributed to debilitate her frame. She 
 was prohibited by her physician, not merely 
 from committing her thoughts to paper, but, 
 had it been possible, from thinking at all. No 
 truant, escaped from school, could receive more 
 pleasure in eluding a severe master, than did 
 Mrs. Robinson, when, the vigilance of her 
 physician relaxing, she could once more resume 
 her books and her pen. 
 
2i8 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 As an example of the facility and rapidity 
 with which she composed, the following anec- 
 dote may be given. Returning one evening 
 from the bath, she beheld, a few paces before 
 her chair, an elderly man, hurried along by a 
 crowd of people, by whom he was pelted with 
 mud and stones. His meek and unresisting 
 deportment exciting her attention, she inquired 
 what were his oiFences, and learned with pity 
 and surprise that he was an unfortunate maniac, 
 known only by the appellation of " mad Jemmy ^ 
 The situation of this miserable being seized her 
 imagination and became the subject of her 
 attention. She would wait whole hours for the 
 appearance of the poor maniac, and, whatever 
 were her occupations, the voice of mad Jemmy 
 was sure to allure her to the window. She 
 would gaze upon his venerable but emaciated 
 countenance with sensations of awe almost 
 reverential, while the barbarous persecutions of 
 the thoughtless crowd never failed to agonise 
 her feelings. 
 
 One night after bathing, having suffered 
 from her disorder more than usual pain, she 
 swallowed, by order of her physician, near 
 eighty drops of laudanum. Having slept for 
 some hours, she awoke, and calling her daughter, 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 2 1 9 
 
 desired her to take a pen and write what she 
 should dictate. Miss Robinson, supposing that 
 a request so unusual might proceed from the 
 delirium excited by the opium, endeavoured in 
 vain to dissuade her mother from her purpose. 
 The spirit of inspiration was not to be subdued, 
 and she repeated, throughout, the admirable 
 poem of " The Maniac," ' much faster than it 
 could be committed to paper. 
 
 She lay, while dictating, with her eyes closed, 
 apparently in the stupor which opium frequently 
 produces, repeating like a person talking in her 
 sleep. This affecting performance, produced 
 in circumstances so singular, does no less credit 
 to the genius than to the heart of the author. 
 
 On the ensuing morning Mrs. Robinson had 
 only a confused idea of what had passed, nor 
 could be convinced of the fact till the manuscript 
 was produced. She declared that she had been 
 dreaming of mad Jemmy throughout the night, 
 but was perfectly unconscious of having been 
 awake while she composed the poem, or of the 
 circumstances narrated by her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson, in the following summer, 
 determined on another continental tour, pur- 
 posing to remain some time at Spa. She 
 ' Mrs. Robinson's " Poems," vol. ii. p. 27. 
 
220 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 longed once more to experience the friendly 
 greeting and liberal kindness which even her 
 acknowledged talents had in her native country 
 failed to procure. She quitted London in July, 
 1792, accompanied by her mother and daughter. 
 The susceptible and energetic mind, fortunately 
 for its possessor, is endowed with an elastic 
 power, that enables it to rise again from the 
 benumbing effects of those adverse strokes of 
 fortune to which it is but too vulnerable. If 
 a lively imagination add poignancy to dis- 
 appointment, it also has in itself resources 
 unknown to more equal temperaments. In the 
 midst of the depressing feelings which Mrs. 
 Robinson experienced in once more becoming a 
 wanderer from her home, she courted the inspira- 
 tion of the muse, and soothed, by the following 
 beautiful stanzas, the melancholy sensations that 
 oppressed her heart. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 WRITTEN BETWEEN DOVER AND CALAIS, 
 JULY 20, 1792. 
 
 Bounding billow, cease thy motion, 
 
 Bear me not so swiftly o'er ; 
 Cease thy roaring, foamy ocean, 
 
 I will tempt thy rage no more. 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 2 2 1 
 
 Ah ! within my bosom beating, 
 
 Varying passions wildly reign ; 
 Love, with proud Resentment meeting. 
 
 Throbs by turns, of joy and pain. 
 
 Joy, that far from foes I wander. 
 
 Where their taunts can reach no more ; 
 
 Pain, that woman's heart grows fonder 
 When her dream of bliss is o'er ! 
 
 Love, by fickle fancy banish'd, 
 
 Spurn'd by hope, indignant flies ; 
 Yet when love and hope are vanish'd, 
 
 Restless mem'ry never dies. 
 
 Far I go, where fate shall lead me. 
 
 Far across the troubled deep ; 
 Where no stranger's ear shall heed me, 
 
 Where no eye for me shall weep. 
 
 Proud has been my fatal passion ! 
 
 Proud my injured heart shall be ! 
 While each thought, each inclination. 
 
 Still shall prove me worthy tiee I 
 
 Not one sigh shall tell my story ; 
 
 Not one tear my cheek shall stain ; 
 Silent grief shall be my glory, — 
 
 Grief, that stoops not to complain I 
 
 Let the bosom prone to ranging. 
 
 Still by ranging seek a cure ; 
 Mine disdains the thought of changing. 
 
 Proudly destin'd to endure. 
 
222 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Yet, ere far from all I treasur'd, 
 
 ere I bid adieu ; 
 
 Ere my days of pain are measur'd, 
 
 Take the song that's still thy due ! 
 
 Yet, believe, no servile passions 
 Seek to charm thy vagrant mind ; 
 
 Well I know thy inclinations, 
 Wav'ring as the passing wind. 
 
 I have lov'd thee, — dearly lov'd thee. 
 Through an age of worldly woe ; 
 
 How ungrateful I have prov'd thee 
 Let my mournful exile show ! 
 
 Ten long years of anxious sorrow, 
 Hour by hour I counted o'er ; 
 
 Looking forward, till to-morrow. 
 Every day I lov'd thee more ! 
 
 Pow'r and splendour could not charm me ; 
 
 I no joy in wealth could see ! 
 Nor could threats or fears alarm me, 
 
 Save the fear of losing thee ! 
 
 When the storms of fortune press'd thee, 
 I have wept to see thee weep ! 
 
 When relentless cares distress'd thee, 
 I have lull'd those cares to sleep ! 
 
 When with thee, what ills could harm me ? 
 
 Thou couldst every pang assuage ; 
 But when absent, nought could charm me ; 
 
 Every moment seem'd an age. 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 223 
 
 Fare thee well, ungrateful rover ! 
 
 Welcome Gallia's hostile shore : 
 Now the breezes waft me over; 
 
 Now we part — to meet no more. 
 
 On landing at Calais Mrs. Robinson hesi- 
 tated whether to proceed. To travel through 
 Flanders, then the seat of war, threatened too 
 many perils to be attempted with impunity ; 
 she determined therefore for some time to 
 remain at Calais, the insipid and spiritless 
 amusements of which presented little either to 
 divert her attention or engage her mind. Her 
 time passed in listening to the complaints of the 
 impoverished aristocrats, or in attending to the 
 air-buUt projects of their triumphant adversaries. 
 The arrival of travellers from England, or the 
 retvirn of those from Paris, alone diversified the 
 scene, and afforded a resource to the curious 
 and active inquirer. 
 
 The sudden arrival of her husband gave a 
 turn to the feelings of Mrs. Robinson : he had 
 crossed the Channel for the purpose of carrying 
 back to England his daughter, whom he wished 
 to present to a brother newly returned from the 
 East Indies. Maternal conflicts shook on this 
 occasion the mind of Mrs. Robinson, which 
 
224 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 hesitated between a concern for the interests of 
 her beloved child, from whom she had never 
 been separated, and the pain of parting from 
 her. She resolved at length on accompanying 
 her to England, and, with this view, quitted 
 Calais on the memorable 2nd of September, 
 1792,1 a day which will reflect on the annals 
 of the Republic an indelible stain. 
 
 They had sailed but a few hours when the 
 arrit arrived, by which every British subject 
 throughout France was restrained. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson rejoiced in her escape, and 
 anticipated with delight the idea of seeing her 
 daughter placed in wealthy protection, the great 
 passport in her own country to honour and 
 esteem. Miss Robinson received from her new 
 relation the promise of protection and favour, 
 upon condition that she renounced for ever the 
 filial tie which united her to both parents. 
 This proposal was rejected by the young lady 
 with proper principle and becoming spirit. 
 
 In the year 1793 a little farce, entitled 
 Nobody, was written by Mrs. Robinson. This 
 piece, designed as a satire on female gamesters, 
 was received at the theatre, the characters dis- 
 
 ' The date on which the Paris prisons were broken 
 open and twelve hundred royalist prisoners slain. — Ed. 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 225 
 
 tributed, and preparations made for its exhibi- 
 tion. At this period one of the principal 
 performers gave up her part, alleging that the 
 piece was intended as a ridicule on her particular 
 friend. Another actress also, though in " her- 
 self a host," was intimidated by a letter, informing 
 her that " Nobody should be damned ! " The 
 author received likewise, on the same day, a 
 scurrilous, indecent, and ill-disguised scrawl, 
 signifying to her that the farce was already 
 condemned. On the drawing up of the curtain, 
 several persons in the galleries, whose liveries 
 betrayed their employers, were heard to declare 
 that they were sent to do up Nobody. Even 
 women of distinguished rank hissed through 
 their fans. Notwithstanding these manoeuvres 
 and exertions, the more rational part of the 
 audience seemed inclined to hear before they 
 passed judgment, and, with a firmness that 
 never fails to awe, demanded that the piece 
 should proceed. The first act was accordingly 
 suffered without interruption ; a song in the 
 second being unfortunately encored, the mal- 
 contents once more ventured to raise their 
 voices, and the malignity that had been forcibly 
 suppressed burst forth with redoubled violence. 
 For three nights the theatre presented a scene 
 
 16 
 
2 26 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of confusion, when the authoress, after ex- 
 periencing the gratification of a zealous and 
 sturdy defence, thought proper wholly to 
 withdraw the cause of contention. ' 
 
 Mrs. Robinson in the course of this year lost 
 her only remaining parent, whom she tenderly 
 loved and sincerely lamented. Mrs. Darby 
 expired in the house of her daughter, who, 
 though by far the least wealthy of her children 
 had proved herself through life the most atten- 
 tive and affectionate. From the first hour of 
 Mr. Darby's failure and estrangement from his 
 family, Mrs. Robinson had been the protector 
 and the support of her mother. Even when 
 pressed herself by pecuniary embarrassment, it 
 had been her pride and pleasure to shelter her 
 widowed parent, and preserve her from incon- 
 venience. 
 
 Mrs. Darby had two sons, merchants, wealthy 
 
 and respected in the commercial world ; but to 
 
 these gentlemen Mrs. Robinson would never 
 
 suffer her mother to apply for any assistance 
 
 " Boaden, in his Life of Kemble, says : " I remember 
 the warmth with which Mrs. Robinson chanted the kind- 
 ness of Mrs. Jordan in accepting the principal character : 
 and I cannot forget the way, when the storm began, in 
 which the actress, frightened out of her senses, ' died and 
 made no sign.' " — Ed. 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 227 
 
 that was not voluntarily offered. The filial 
 sorrow of Mrs. Robinson on her loss for many 
 months affected her health ; even to the latest 
 hour of her life her grief appeared renewed 
 when any object presented itself connected with 
 the memory of her departed mother. 
 
 Few events of importance occurred during 
 the five following years, excepting that 
 through this period the friends of Mrs. 
 Robinson observed with concern the gradual 
 ravages which indisposition and mental anxiety 
 were daily making upon her frame. An in- 
 genuous, affectionate, susceptible heart is seldom 
 favourable to the happiness of the possessor. 
 It was the fate of Mrs. Robinson to be deceived 
 where she most confided, to experience treachery 
 and ingratitude where she had a title to kind- 
 ness and a claim to support. Frank and 
 unsuspicious, she suffered her conduct to be 
 guided by the impulse of her feelings ; and, by 
 a too credulous reliance on the apparent attach- 
 ment of those whom she loved, and in whom 
 she delighted to trust, she laid herself open to 
 the impositions of the selfish, and the stratagems 
 of the crafty. 
 
 In 1799 her increasing involvements and 
 declining health pressed heavily upon her mind. 
 
228 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 She had voluntarily relinquished those comforts 
 and elegancies to which she had been accus- 
 tomed ; she had retrenched even her necessary 
 expenses, and nearly secluded herself from 
 society. Her physician had declared that by 
 exercise only could her existence be prolonged ; 
 yet the narrowness of her circumstances obliged 
 her to forego the only means by which it could 
 be obtained. Thus, a prisoner in her own 
 house, she was deprived of every solace but that 
 which could be obtained by the activity of her 
 mind, which at length sank under excessive 
 exertion and inquietude. 
 
 Indisposition had for nearly five weeks con- 
 fined her to her bed, when, after a night of 
 extreme suffering and peril, through which her 
 physician hourly expected her dissolution, she 
 had sunk into a gentle and balmy sleep. At 
 this instant her chamber door was forcibly 
 pushed open, with a noise that shook her en- 
 feebled frame nearly to annihilation, by two 
 strange and ruffian-looking men, who entered 
 with barbarous abruptness. On her faintly 
 inquiring the occasion of this outrage, she was 
 informed that one of her unwelcome visitors 
 was an attorney and the other his client, who 
 had thus, with as little decency as humanity. 
 
MAJiY ROBINSON. 229 
 
 forced themselves into the chamber of an almost 
 expiring woman. The motive of this intrusion 
 was to demand her appearance, as a witness, in 
 a suit pending against her brother, in which 
 these men were parties concerned. No 
 entreaties could prevail on them to quit the 
 chamber, where they both remained, questioning, 
 in a manner the most unfeeling and insulting, the 
 unfortunate victim of their audacity and perse- 
 cution. One of them, the client, with a 
 barbarous and unmanly sneer, turning to his 
 confederate, asked, " Who, to see the lady they 
 were now speaking to, could believe that she 
 had once been called the beautiful Mrs. Robin- 
 son ^ " To this he added other observations 
 not less savage and brutal ; and, after throwing 
 on the bed a subpoena, quitted the apartment. 
 The wretch who could thus, by insulting the 
 sick, and violating every law of humanity and 
 common decency, disgrace the figure of a man, 
 was a professor and a priest of that religion 
 which enjoins us — " not to break the bruised 
 reed," " and to bind up the broken in heart ! " 
 His name shall be suppressed, through respect 
 to the order of which he is an unworthy 
 member. The consequences of this brutality 
 upon the poor invalid were violent convulsions, 
 
230 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which had nearly extinguished the struggling 
 spark of life. 
 
 By slow degrees her malady yielded to the 
 cares and skill of her medical attendants, and 
 she was once more restored to temporary con- 
 valescence ; but from that time her strength 
 gradually decayed. Though her frame was 
 shaken to its centre her circumstances com- 
 pelled her still to exert the faculties of her mind. 
 
 The sportive exercises of fancy were now 
 converted into toilsome labours of the brain — 
 nights of sleepless anxiety were succeeded by 
 days of vexation and dread. 
 
 About this period she was induced to under- 
 take the poetical department for the editor of a 
 morning paper, ' and actually commenced a 
 series of satirical odes, on local and temporary 
 subjects, to which was affixed the signature of 
 " Tabitha Bramble." Among these lighter 
 compositions, considered by the author as 
 unworthy of a place with her collected poems, 
 a more matured production of her genius was 
 occasionally introduced, of which the following 
 "Ode to Spring," written April 30, 1780, is a 
 beautiful and affecting example : 
 
 ' The Morning Post. 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 231 
 
 ODE TO SPRING. 
 
 Life-glowing season ! odour-breathing Spring ! 
 
 Deck'd in cerulean splendours ! — vivid, — warm, 
 
 Shedding soft lustre on the rosy hours. 
 
 And calling forth their beauties ! balmy Spring ! 
 
 To thee the vegetating world begins 
 
 To pay fresh homage, Ev'ry southern gale 
 
 Whispers thy coming ; — every tepid show'r 
 
 Revivifies thy charms. The mountain breeze 
 
 Wafts the ethereal essence to the vale, 
 
 While the low vale returns its fragrant hoard 
 
 With tenfold sweetness. When the dawn unfolds 
 
 Its purple splendours 'mid the dappled clouds. 
 
 Thy influence cheers the soul. When noon uplifts 
 
 Its burning canopy, spreading the plain 
 
 Of heaven's own radiance with one vast of light. 
 
 Thou smil'st triumphant ! Ev'ry little flow'r 
 
 Seems to exult in thee, delicious Spring, 
 
 Luxuriant nurse of nature ! By the stream. 
 
 That winds its swift course down the mountain's side, 
 
 Thy progeny are seen ; — -young primroses. 
 
 And all the varying buds of wildest birth, 
 
 Dotting the green slope gaily. On the thorn. 
 
 Which arms the hedge-row, the young birds invite 
 
 With merry minstrelsy, shrilly and maz'd 
 
 With winding cadences ; now quick, now sunk 
 
 In the low twitter'd song. The evening sky 
 
 Reddens the distant main ; catching the sail, 
 
 Which slowly lessens, and with crimson hue 
 
232 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Varying the sea-green wave ; while the young moon, 
 
 Scarce visible amid the warmer tints 
 
 Of western splendours, slowly lifts her brow 
 
 Modest and icy-lustred ! O'er the plain 
 
 The light dews rise, sprinkling the thistle's head. 
 
 And hanging its clear drops on the wild waste 
 
 Of broomy fragrance. Season of delight ! 
 
 Thou soul-expanding pow'r, whose wondrous glow 
 
 Can bid all nature smile ! Ah ! why to me 
 
 Come unregarded, undelighting still 
 
 This ever-mourning bosom ? So I've seen 
 
 The sweetest flow'rets bind the icy urn ; 
 
 The brightest sunbeams glitter on the grave ; 
 
 And the soft zephyr kiss the troubled main, 
 
 With whispered murmurs. Yes, to me, O Spring ! 
 
 Thou com'st unwelcom'd by a smile of joy; 
 
 To me ! slow with'ring to that silent grave 
 
 Where all is blank and dreary 1 Yet once more 
 
 The Spring eternal of the soul shall dawn, 
 
 Unvisited by clouds, by storms, by change. 
 
 Radiant and unexhausted ! Then, ye buds. 
 
 Ye plumy minstrels, and ye balmy gales, 
 
 Adorn your little hour,Jand give your joys 
 
 To bless the fond world-loving traveller. 
 
 Who, smiling, measures the long flow'ry path 
 
 That leads to death ! For to such wanderers 
 
 Life is a busy, pleasing, cheerful dream. 
 
 And the last hour unwelcome. Not to me, 
 
 O ! not to me, stern Death, art thou a foe ; 
 
 Thou art the welcome messenger, which brings 
 
 A passport to a blest and long repose. 
 
 A just value was at that time set upon the 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 233 
 
 exertions of Mrs. Robinson by the conductors 
 of the paper, who " considered them as one of 
 the principal embellishments and supports of 
 their journal." 
 
 In the spring of 1800 she was compelled 
 by the daily encroachments of her malady 
 wholly to relinquish her literary employments. 
 
 Her disorder was pronounced by the phy- 
 sicians to be a rapid decline. Dr. Henry 
 Vaughan, who to medical skill unites the most 
 exalted philanthropy, prescribed, as a last re- 
 source, a journey to Bristol Wells. A desire 
 once again to behold her native scenes induced 
 Mrs. Robinson eagerly to accede to this pro- 
 posal. She wept with melancholy pleasure at 
 the idea of closing her eyes for ever upon a 
 world of vanity and disappointment in the 
 place in which she had first drawn breath, 
 and terminating her sorrows on the spot which 
 gave her birth ; but even this sad solace was 
 denied to her from a want of the pecuniary 
 means for its execution. In vain she applied to 
 those on whom honour, humanity, and justice, 
 gave her undoubted claims. She even con- 
 descended to entreat, as a donation, the return 
 of those sums granted as a loan in her pros- 
 perity. 
 
234 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The following is a copy of a letter addressed 
 on this occasion to a nohle debtor, and found 
 among the papers of Mrs. Robinson after her 
 decease : 
 
 " TO 
 
 " April 2_3j 1 800. 
 " My Lord, — Pronounced by my physicians 
 to be in a rapid decline, I trust that your lordship 
 will have the goodness to assist me with a part 
 of the sum for which you are indebted to me. 
 Without your aid I cannot make trial of the 
 Bristol waters, the only remedy that presents to 
 me any hope of preserving my existence. I 
 should be sorry to die at enmity with any per- 
 son ; and you may be assured, my dear lord, 
 that I bear none towards you. It would be 
 useless to ask you to call on me ; but if you 
 would do me that honour, I should be happy, 
 very happy, to see you, being, 
 " My dear lord, 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " Mary Robinson." 
 
 To this letter no answer was returned ! ! 
 Farther comments are unnecessary. 
 
 The last literary performance of Mrs. Robin- 
 son was a volume of Lyrical Tales. She 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 235 
 
 repaired a short time after to a small cottage 
 ornee, belonging to her daughter, near Windsor. 
 Rural occupation and amusement, quiet and 
 pure air, appeared for a time to cheer her 
 spirits and renovate her shattered frame. 
 Once more her active mind returned to its 
 accustomed and favourite pursuits ; but the 
 toil of supplying the constant variety required 
 by a daily print, added to other engagements, 
 virhich she almost despaired of being capacitated 
 to fulfil, pressed heavily upon her spirits, and 
 weighed down her enfeebled frame. Yet, in 
 the month of August, she began and concluded, 
 in the course of ten days, a translation of Dr. 
 Hager's " Picture of Palermo " — an exertion 
 by which she was greatly debilitated. She was 
 compelled, though with reluctance, to relinquish 
 the translation of " The Messiah " of Klopstock, 
 which she had proposed giving to the English 
 reader in blank verse — a task particularly suited 
 to her genius and the turn of her mind. 
 
 But, amidst the pressure of complicated dis- 
 tress, the mind of this unfortunate woman was 
 superior to improper concessions, and treated 
 with just indignation those offers of service 
 which required the sacrifice of her integrity. 
 
 She yet continued, though with difficulty and 
 
236 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 many intervals, her literary avocations. When 
 necessitated by pain and languor to limit her 
 exertions, her unfeeling employers accused her 
 of negligence. This inconsideration, though 
 she seldom complained, affected her spirits and 
 preyed upon her heart. As she hourly declined 
 towards that asylum where " the weary rest," 
 her mind seemed to acquire strength in pro- 
 portion to the weakness of her frame. When 
 no longer able to support the fatigue of being 
 removed from her chamber, she retained a per- 
 fect composure of spirits, and, in the intervals 
 of extreme bodily suffering, would listen while 
 her daughter read to her, with apparent interest 
 and collectedness of thought, frequently making 
 observations on what would probably take place 
 when she had passed that " bourn whence no 
 traveller returns." The flattering nature of her 
 disorder at times inspired her friends with the 
 most sanguine hopes of her restoration to health ; 
 she would even herself, at intervals, cherish the 
 idea. But these gleams of hope, like flashes of 
 lightning athwart the storm, were succeeded by 
 a deeper gloom, and the consciousness of her 
 approaching fate returned upon the mind of the 
 sufferer with increased conviction. 
 
 Within a few days of her decease she collected 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 237 
 
 and arranged her poetical works, which she 
 bound her daughter, by a solemn adjuration, to 
 publish for her subscribers, and also the present 
 Memoir. Requesting earnestly that the papers 
 prepared for the latter purpose might be brought 
 to her, she gave them into the hands of IVIiss 
 I^obinson, with an injunction that the narrative 
 should be made public, adding, " I should have 
 continued it up to the present time — but per- 
 haps it is as well that I have been prevented. 
 Promise me that you will print it ! " The 
 request of a dying parent, so made, and at such 
 a moment, could not be refused. She is obeyed. 
 Upon the solemn assurances of her daughter, 
 that her last desire so strongly urged should be 
 complied with, the mind of Mrs. Robinson 
 became composed and tranquil ; her intellects 
 yet remained unimpaired, though her corporeal 
 strength hourly decayed. 
 
 A short time previous to her death, during 
 an interval of her daughter's absence from her 
 chamber, she called an attending friend, whose 
 benevolent heart and unremitting kindness will, it 
 is hoped, meet hereafter with their reward, and 
 entreated her to observe her last requests, adding, 
 with melancholy tenderness, " I cannot talk to 
 my poor girl on these sad subjects." Then, 
 
238 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 with an unruffled manner and minute precision, 
 she gave orders respecting her interment, which 
 she desired might be performed with all possible 
 simplicity. " Let me," said she, with an im- 
 pressive though almost inarticulate voice, " be 
 buried in Old Windsor churchyard." For the 
 selection of that spot she gave a particular reason. 
 She also mentioned an undertaker, whose name 
 she recollected having seen on his door, and 
 whom she appointed from his vicinity to the 
 probable place of her decease. A few trifling 
 memorials, as tributes of her aiFection, were all 
 the property she had to bequeath. She also 
 earnestly desired that a part of her hair might 
 be sent to two particular persons. 
 
 One evening, her anxious nurses, with a view 
 to divert her mind, talked of some little plans 
 to take place on her restoration to health. She 
 shook her head with an affecting and significant 
 motion. " Don't deceive yourselves," said she; 
 " remember, I tell you, I am but a very little 
 time longer for this world." Then pressing to 
 her heart her daughter, who knelt by her bed- 
 side, she held her head for some minutes clasped 
 against her bosom, which throbbed, as with 
 some internal and agonising conflict. " Poor 
 heart," murmured she, in a deep and stifled 
 
MAR Y ROBINSON. 239 
 
 tone, " what #ill become of thee ! " She 
 paused some moments, and at length struggling 
 to assume more composure, desired in a calmer 
 voice that some one would read to her. 
 Throughout the remainder of the evening she 
 continued placidly and even cheerfully attentive 
 to the person who read, observing that, should 
 she recover, she designed to commence a long 
 work, upon which she would bestow great pains 
 and time. " Most of her writings," she added, 
 " had been composed in too much haste." 
 
 Her disorder rapidly drawing towards a 
 period, the accumulation of the water upon 
 her chest every moment threatened suffocation. 
 For nearly fifteen nights and days she was 
 obliged to be supported upon pillows, or in the 
 arms of her young and affectionate nurses. ^ 
 Her decease, through this period, was hourly 
 expected. On the 24th of December she 
 inquired how near was Christmas Day ! Being 
 answered, " Within a few days " — " Tet" said 
 she, " I shall never see it." The remainder of 
 this melancholy day passed in undescribable 
 tortures. Towards midnight, the sufferer ex- 
 claimed, " O God, O just and merciful God, 
 help me to support this agony ! " The whole 
 ' Miss Robinson and a friend. 
 
240 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of the ensuing day she continued to endure 
 great anguish. In the evening a kind of 
 lethargic stupor came on. Miss Robinson, 
 approaching the pillow of her expiring mother, 
 earnestly conjured her to speak, if in her power. 
 " My darling Mary ! " she faintly articulated, 
 and spoke no more. In another hour she 
 became insensible to the grief of those by 
 whom she was surrounded, and breathed her 
 last at a quarter past twelve on the following 
 noon. 
 
 The body was opened, at the express wish 
 of Drs. Pope and Chandler. The immediate 
 cause of her death appeared to have been a 
 dropsy on the chest ; but the sufferings which 
 she endured previously to her decease were 
 probably occasioned by six large gall-stones 
 found in the gall-bladder. 
 
 All her requests were strictly observed. Her 
 remains were deposited, according to her direc- 
 tion, in the churchyard of Old Windsor ; the 
 spot was marked out by a friend to whom she 
 had signified her wishes. The funeral was 
 attended only by two literary friends. 
 
 Respecting the circumstances of the preceding 
 narrative, every reader must be left to form 
 his own reflections. To the humane mind, the 
 
MAJiY ROBINSON. 241 
 
 errors of the unfortunate subject of this Memoir 
 will appear to have been more than expiated by 
 her suflFerings. Nor wUl the peculiar disadvan- 
 tages by which her introduction into life was 
 attended, be forgotten by the candid — disad- 
 vantages that, by converting into a snare the 
 bounties lavished on her by nature, proved not 
 less fatal to her happiness than to her conduct 
 On her unhappy marriage, and its still more 
 unhappy consequences, it is unnecessary to 
 comment. Thus circumstanced, her genius, her 
 sensibility, and her beauty combined to her 
 destruction, whUe, by her exposed situation, 
 her inexperience ot life, her tender youth, with 
 the magnitude of the temptations which beset 
 her, she could scarcely fail of being betrayed. 
 
 " Say, ye severest 
 
 what would yon have done ? " 
 
 The malady which seized her in the bloom 
 of youth, and pursued her with unmitigable 
 severity through every stage of life, till, in the 
 prime of her powers, it laid her in a premature 
 grave, exhibits, in the history of its progress, 
 a series of sufferings that might disarm the 
 sternest, soften the most rigid, and awaken pity 
 
 17 
 
 -V 
 
242 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 in the hardest heart. Her mental exertions 
 through this depressing disease, the elasticity of 
 her mind and the perseverance of her efforts 
 amidst numberless sources of vexation and dis- 
 tress, cannot fail, while they awaken sympathy, 
 to extort admiration. Had this lovely plant, 
 now withered and low in the dust, been in its 
 early growth transplanted into a happier soil — 
 sheltered from the keen blasts of adversity, and 
 the mildew of detraction, it might have ex- 
 tended its roots, unfolded its blossoms, diffused 
 its sweetness, shed its perfumes, and still flour- 
 ished, beauteous to the eye, and grateful to the 
 sense. 
 
 To represent the character of the individual 
 in the circumstances of life, his conduct under 
 those circumstances, and the consequences which 
 they ultimately produce, is the peculiar province 
 of biography. Little therefore remains to be 
 added. The benevolent temper, the filial piety, 
 and the maternal tenderness of Mrs. Robinson 
 are exemplified in the preceding pages, as her 
 genius, her talents, the fertility of her imagina- 
 tion and the powers of her mind are displayed 
 in her productions, the popularity of which at 
 least affords a presumption of their merit. 
 Her manners were polished and conciliating, 
 
MARY ROBINSON. 243 
 
 her powers of conversation rich and varied. 
 The brilliancy of her wit and the sallies of her 
 fancy were ever tempered by kindness and 
 chastened by delicacy. Though accustomed to 
 the society of the great, and paying to rank the 
 tribute which civil institutions have rendered its 
 due, she reserved her esteem and deference for 
 those only whose talents or whose merits claimed 
 the homage of the mind. 
 
 With the unfortunate votaries of letters she 
 sincerely sympathised, and not un frequently has 
 been known to divide the profits of her genius 
 with the less successful or less favoured disciples 
 of the muse. 
 
 The productions of Mrs. Robinson, both in 
 prose and verse, are numerous, and of various 
 degrees of merit ; but to poetry the native 
 impulse of her genius appears to have been 
 more peculiarly directed. Of the glitter and 
 false taste exhibited in the Delia Crusca corre- 
 spondence I she became early sensible ; several of 
 her poems breathe a spirit of just sentiment and 
 simple elegance. 
 
 ' Those who have read Gifford's " Baviad " and 
 " Maeviad " will understand this allusion. — Ed. 
 
A PASTORAL ELEGY 
 
 ON 
 
 THE DEATH OF MRS. ROBINSON, 
 
 [by peter PINDAR.] 
 
 Farewell to the nymph of my heart ! 
 Farewell to the cottage and vine ! 
 From these, with a tear, I depart. 
 Where pleasure so often was mine. 
 
 Remembrance shall dwell on her smile. 
 And dwell on her lute and her song ; 
 That sweetly my hours to beguile. 
 Oft echoed the valleys along. 
 
 Once more the fair scene let me view. 
 The grotto, the brook, and the grove. 
 Dear valleys, for ever adieu ! 
 Adieu to the daughter of Love ! 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abington, Mrs., 80 
 
 Aix-Ia-Chapelle, Mrs. Robin- 
 son's visit to, 197 
 
 Albanesi, Signor and Signora, 
 119 
 
 Annuity granted to Mrs. Robin- 
 son, li, 190 
 
 Arrest of Mr. Robinson, 112 
 
 Atkins, Mrs. — see Walpole, Miss 
 
 Ayscough, Captain, vii, 67 
 
 Baddeley, Mrs., 65 
 
 Balack, Mr., 48 
 
 Bannister, Mr., 155 
 
 Bath, Mr. Robinson's arrest at, 
 
 MS 
 Belgeioso, Count, 70 
 Bell, John, 215 
 Bertin, Mdlle., 194 
 Blue Stocking Club, 215 
 Brereton, George, 144 ; Major, 
 
 144 ; William, 70, 125 
 Brighthelmstone, Mrs. Robin- 
 son at, 208 
 Bristol, I, S3, 137; Earl of, 13 
 Burke, Edmund, 189, 212 ; 
 Richard, 209 
 
 Calais, Mrs. Robinson at, 223 
 Carpenter, Lady Almeria, 65 
 Chandler, Dr., 240 
 Chatham, Lord, 13 
 Chub, J., 6 
 Cibber, Mrs., 37 
 Clergyman's rude behaviour, 229 
 Colman, Mr., 138 
 Cox, Samuel, 34, 39 
 Craven, Lady, 133, 176 
 Cumberland, Duke of, 132 
 
 Damas, Count, 198 
 
 Darby, Captain, 12, 16, 28, 200; 
 
 Mrs., 26, 107, 141, 151, 226 
 Death of Captain Darby, 200 ; 
 
 of Mrs. Robinson, 240 
 De Lauzun, Duke, 192 
 Delia Crusca, 215, 243 
 Derby, Countess of — see Farren, 
 
 Elizabeth 
 Derby, Earl of, 154 
 De Simianne, Duke, 198 
 Devonshire, Duchess of, iij 
 Dorset, Duke of, 182 
 Du Chatelet, Baroness, 198 ; 
 
 Duke and Duchess, 198 
 
248 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Edwards, Mary, 60 
 Elliot, Sir John, 189 
 Elliott, Mrs. Grace Dalrymple, 
 
 X, 70 
 Erskine, Lady, 19 
 
 Farren, Elizabeth, 139, 154 
 
 First appearance, Mrs. Robin- 
 son's, 129 
 
 Fisher, Dr., 152 
 
 Fitzgerald, G. R., 71, 73, 82, 
 108, 113 
 
 Florizel, 159 
 
 Ford, Mr., 156 
 
 Fox, Charles James, x, 154, 190 
 
 Garrick, David, 32, 49, 127, 
 130 
 
 George, Prince of Wales, sees 
 Mrs. Robinson as Perdita, 
 viii, 156 ; writes to Mrs. 
 Robinson, 159 ; sends his 
 portrait, 163 ; lavish expen- 
 diture on his mistress, ix ; 
 gives her a bond for ;^2o,ooo, 
 179; forsakes her, 188; re- 
 visits her, XV, 208 
 
 Gibraltar, Siege of, 200 
 
 Gifford, William, 243 
 
 Greig, Admiral, 202 
 
 Han WAY, Mr., 107 
 
 Harris, Mr., 55, 59, 88, 99, 143 
 
 Hartley, Mrs., 155 
 
 Haunted Beach, 214 
 
 Henderson, Mr., 155 
 
 Hervey, Mrs., 31 
 
 Hilsborough, Earl of, 13 
 
 Hobart, Mr., 120 
 
 Hopkins, Miss Priscilla, 11, 154 
 
 Hounslow, night adventure at, 
 
 181 
 Hull, Mr., 22 ; Mr. Thomas, 32 
 Hussey, Mr., 31 
 
 Irish Widow, 176 
 
 Jones, Mrs., 98, 102 
 Jordan, Mrs. , xiv, 226 
 Juliet, Mrs. Robinson as, viii, 
 128 
 
 Kemble, Mrs. John — see Hop- 
 kins, Miss 
 Kew, interviews at, 172 
 King, John, 57 ; Mr., 135 
 
 La Belle Anglaise, 192 
 
 Lacey, Mr., 133 
 
 Lade, Sir John, 152 
 
 Lady Macbeth, Mrs. Robinson 
 as, 141 
 
 Lake, Colonel, 157 
 
 Lambert, Sir John, 191 
 
 Laura, and Laura Maria, 215 
 
 Legge, Hon. Mr., 157 
 
 Letter to a noble debtor, 234 
 
 Lines to him who will under- 
 stand them, 209 
 
 Linley, Thomas, 138 
 
 Lorrington, Mrs., 21, 27 
 
 Lyrical Tales, 234 
 
 Lyttelton, Lord, 67, 74, 113, 
 124 
 
 MacDermott, 3 
 Mad Jemmy, 218 
 Maiden, Viscount, 156, 158, 182, 
 
 187 
 Marie Antoinette, 193 
 
INDEX. 
 
 249 
 
 Massacres of September 1792, 
 
 224 
 llattocks, Mrs., 152 
 Melmoth, Mis., 133 
 Meny, Robert, 214 
 Meynell, Mr., 182 
 Molyneax, Sir F., 70 
 Monmouth, Mrs. Robinson at, 
 
 102 
 Moody, John, 176 
 More, Hannah, 10 ; the Misses, 
 
 10 
 Morgan, John and Charles, 94 
 Morning Post, Mrs. Robinson's 
 
 contribntions to, 230 
 Marphy, Arthur, 32 
 
 Xegro, a iaithfiil, 89 
 Newspaper abuse, 177 
 Noble debtor, Mrs. Robinson's 
 
 letter to, 234 
 Nobody, Mrs. Robinson's feice 
 
 of, siv, 224 
 Xorthington, Earl of (Lord 
 
 Chancellor), 13 
 Xorthington, Earl of, 30, 66, 
 
 "3 
 
 O'Byk^ne, Captain, 70 
 Ode to Spring, 231 
 Orleans, Duke of, 192 
 Osnaburg, Bishop of — set York, 
 Duke of 
 
 Paluskr, Sir Hugh, 13 
 Pantheon, visits to, 64, 70 
 Paris, Mrs. Robinson's visit to, 
 
 191 
 Parry, Mrs., 71 
 Pembroke, Earl of. 121 
 
 Perdita, Mrs. Robinson as, viii, 
 
 ISS 
 Pindar, Peter, elegy by, 245 
 Poem on the death of Captain 
 
 Darby, 202 
 Poems by Mrs. Robinson, 202, 
 
 209, 220, 231 
 Pope, Dr., 240; Miss, 135 
 Powel, Mr., 11 ; Mrs., 152 
 Prince of Wales — see George 
 
 Qdeen ofTrance, 193 
 
 Ranelagh, Mrs. Robinson's 
 visits to, 63, 109, III, 177 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 189 
 
 Robinson, Miss, 58, 100, 143, 
 223 
 
 Robinson, Mr., 87, 100, 112, 123, 
 142, 145, 152, l65, 186, 224 
 
 Robinson, Mrs. Mary, birth- 
 plaoe and ancestry, i ; per- 
 sonal appearance, vii; family 
 characteristics, 7 ; recollec- 
 tions of childhood, 8 ; 
 musical tastes, 10; education 
 under Misses More, 10 ; 
 her father goes to America., 
 14 ; home indulgences, 15 ; 
 domestic troubles, 17 ; de- 
 parture for London, 20 ; at 
 school in Chelsea, 21 ; an 
 inebriate schoolmistress, 22, 
 27 ; an eairly proposal, 24 ; 
 Mrs. Leigh's seminary, 25 ; 
 becomes a teacher, 26 ; intro- 
 duction to Garrick, 32 ; visit 
 to Drury Lane Theatre, 34 ; 
 a dishonourable suitor, 35 ; 
 introduction to Mr. Robinson. 
 
 iS 
 
25° 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 39 ; a private marriage, 46 ; a 
 country tour, 52; return to 
 London, 63 ; visits to Rane- 
 lagh, Pantheon, and Vaux- 
 hall, 63, 70, 83, 109, III, 
 124, 177 ; meets Lord Nor- 
 thington, 30, 66, 113 ; a 
 libertine lord, 75 ; interview 
 with a rival, 77 ; domestic 
 troubles, 8l ; a party at 
 Vauxhall, 83; financial en- 
 tanglements, 87 ; a faithful 
 negro, 89 ; removal to Finch- 
 ley, 89 ; revisits Tregunter, 
 92, 143 ; goes to Trevecca, 
 95 ; birth of a daughter, 97 ; 
 insulted by Mr. Harris, 99 ; 
 stay at Monmouth, 102 ; her 
 infant's illness, 104; publishes 
 her poems, 107 ; return to 
 London, 107 ; Mr. Robinson 
 arrested, 112 ; life in a 
 debtors' prison, 113; mater- 
 nal happiness, 114; patronised 
 by the Duchess of Devonshire, 
 116; her husband's infidelity, 
 75, 81, 118 ; his liberation 
 from prison, 123 ; interview 
 with Sheridan; 126 ; dlbut at 
 Drury Lane, 128; parts sus- 
 tained in first season, 131 ; 
 benefit, 135 ; birth and death 
 of her infant, 135 ; visit to 
 Bristol, 137; offers of new 
 engagements, 138 ; ptofes- 
 sional rivalry, 139 ; list of 
 dramatic characters, 140 ; 
 solicited by George Jrereton, 
 144 ; her husband arrested, 
 145; return to London, 150; 
 
 proposals from, men of rank, 
 151 ; theatrical successes, 152 ; 
 appears as Perdita, 155 ; 
 noticed by the Prince, 157 ; 
 visit of Lord Maiden, 158 ; 
 letter from the Prince, 159; 
 goes to the Oratorio, 161 ; 
 receives the Prince's portrait, 
 163 ; proposed assignation, 
 165 ; slander and abuse, 167, 
 177, 184 ; interview at Kew, 
 171 ; farewell to the stage, 176; 
 appears in public with the 
 Prince, ix; receives a bond for 
 ;f 20,000, 179 ; an unexpected 
 letter, 180 ; journey to Wind- 
 sor, 181 ; escape from a rob- 
 ber, 182 ; encounters a rival, 
 182 ; a Birth-night ball, 183 ; 
 pecuniary embarrassment, 186; 
 forsaken by the Prince, 1 88 ; 
 granted an annuity of ;^5oo, 
 X, 190 ; goes to Paris, 191 ; 
 admired by the Duke of 
 Orleans, 192 ; styled La Belle 
 Anglaise, 192 ; files in her 
 honour, 193 ; invited to the 
 royal table, 194 ; return to 
 England, 195 ; stricken with 
 illness, 195 ; sojourn at Aix- 
 la-Chapelle, 197 ; death of 
 her father, 200 ; elegiac 
 poem, 202 ; at St. Amand, 
 206 ; a literary career, 207 ; 
 intimacy with Colonel Tarle- 
 ton, 207 ; removes to Bright- 
 helmstone, 208 ; visited by 
 Royal Princes, xv, 208 ; Lines 
 to him who will understand 
 them, 209 ; a seashore in- 
 
INDEX. 
 
 251 
 
 cident, 213 ; correspondence 
 with Robert Merry, 214 ; 
 literary activity, 216, 219 ; 
 publication of Vancenza, 216 ; 
 residence at Bath, 217 ; her 
 poem of The Maniac, 219; 
 arrival of her husband, 223 ; 
 stay in Calais, 223 ; return to 
 England, 224; farce of No- 
 body, xiv, 224; a theatrical 
 cabal, 225 ; death of her 
 mother, 226 ; ill-health and 
 embarrassments, 227 ; a brutal 
 intrusion, 228 ; Ode to Spring, 
 231 ; writes for the Morning 
 Post, 230; a noble debtor, 
 234; resumes literary work, 
 
 , 235 ; increasing infirmity, 236 ; 
 
 '•dying injunctions, 237 ; direc- 
 tions for her funeral, 238 ; 
 closing scene, 240 ; burial, 
 240 ; reflections on her career, 
 240; letter to John Taylor, 
 xi ; letter from Mrs. Siddons, 
 xiv ; elegy by Peter Pindar, 
 245 
 
 Romeo and Juliet, Mrs. Robin- 
 son in, 128 
 
 Rutland, Duke of, 142 
 
 Sayer, Alderman, 70 
 School for Scandal, 134 
 September Massacres, 224 
 Seys, Catherine and Richard, 4 
 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 126, 
 
 134, ISO, 153, 189 
 Siddons, Mrs., letter from, 
 
 xiv 
 Smith, William, 156 
 
 St. Amand, Mrs. Robinson at, 
 
 206 
 Stanzas written between Dover 
 
 and Calais, 220 
 Stephens, Miss, 157 
 Storr, Mr., 6 
 
 Tabitha Bramble, 230 
 Tarleton, Colonel, x, 207 
 Taylor, John, Mrs. Robinson's 
 
 letter to, xi 
 Townshend, Marchioness, 65 
 Tregunter revisited, 92, 143 
 Trip to Scarborough, 132 
 Tynt, Lady, 5 
 Tyrconnel, Countess of, 65 
 
 Valentia, Lord, 70 
 Vaughan, Dr. Henry, 233 
 Vauxhall, Mrs. Robinson's visits 
 
 to, 83, 124 
 Vernon, John, 38 
 
 Walpole, Horace, 133; Miss, 
 
 154 
 
 Wayman, Mr. 39 
 
 Widow Brady, 176 
 
 Wilkes, John, 189 
 
 Wilmot, Harriet, 76 
 
 Windsor, Mrs. Robinson's re- 
 sidence and interment at, 
 23s, 240 
 
 Winter's Tale, Mrs. Robinson's 
 appearance in, 155 
 
 Wolcot, Dr. — see Pindar, Peter 
 
 Worlidge, Mrs., 50 
 
 Yea, Lady, 71 
 
 York, Duke of, xv, 161, 173, 
 I7S, 208 
 
UNWIN BROTHERS, 
 CHILWORTB AKD LONSOIT.