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\XX.> Q^. VamJa.- 
 
LORD EDWARD 
 
LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD 
 From a Picture by Hamilton at Holland House 
 
LORD EDWARD 
 
 A STUDr IN ROMANCE 
 
 BY 
 KATHARINE TYNAN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 • ROSE or THE GARDEN, ' ' MOLLY, MY HEART's DELIGHT ' 
 
 ETC. 
 
 W/TH A PORTRAIT 
 
 LONDON 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. 
 
 1916 
 
Cfijg^ 
 
 
 [All rights reserved] 
 
TO THE WYNDHAMS 
 
 LORD EDWARD'S GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN 
 
 TO HIM ESPECIALLY WHO LOVED IRELAND 
 DEEP DOWN, WITH A PASSION : 
 TO HIS MEMORY 
 AND TO THE MEMORY OF THEIR SONS DEAD 
 ON THE FIELD OF HONOUR 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Amor Omnia Vincit 
 
 II. The False Gods come 
 
 III. The One Love . 
 
 IV. The Good Family 
 V. The Pilgrim of Love 
 
 VI. The Sentimental Journey 
 
 VII. Pot Pourri 
 
 VIII. Le Citoyen Edouard Fitzgerald 
 
 IX. Pale Pretty Pamela 
 
 X. Dear Domesticities . 
 
 XI. The Last Hope 
 
 XII. ' The Beloved Quoituor ' 
 
 XIII. ' Libert^;, ^Gi\i.it±, Fraternitib 
 
 XIV. Lucy's Journ.u. 
 XV. ' Farewell, My Only Love ' 
 
 XVI. The Mother . 
 
 XVII. The Clouds Gather . 
 
 X\T:II. ' On His Keeping ' . 
 
 XIX. The Trouble . 
 
 XX. Lady Sarah's Story 
 
 XXI. Arrest .... 
 
 XXII. The Twilight . 
 
 XXIII. The Last of the Beloved 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 15 
 
 27 
 
 36 
 
 49 
 
 63 
 
 75 
 
 90 
 
 101 
 
 115 
 
 129 
 
 145 
 
 160 
 
 174 
 
 188 
 
 201 
 
 215 
 
 229 
 
 242 
 
 255 
 
 267 
 
 280 
 
 293 
 
 vu 
 
LOED EDWARD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AMOR OMNIA VINCIT 
 
 A FRIEND of the Good Family has written : ' It 
 is always a joy to see a gathering of the Fitzgerald 
 Clan. They adore each other, and their admiration 
 for each other is so ingenuous that it disarms the 
 scornful and the base. Surely there were never 
 so many phoenixes in one nest.' 
 
 n \ 
 
 The same vivacious friend tells the tale : ' Of 
 a Winter evening in, I think, the year 1774 I was 
 drinking a dish of tea with the Dss. at Leinster 
 House. I can well remember the wet in the 
 streets and the blurred torches of the link-boys 
 as I travelled from the Frederick Street Hotel 
 to Leinster House in my chair. It was Uttle more 
 lively in the long drawing-room where the Dss. 
 
2 LORD EDWAED 
 
 sat in widow's weeds reading Blair's '' Grave." 
 I pitied the poor soul with all my heart. There 
 was she left without her Duke, the mother of 
 eighteen children. The younger children were 
 her concern. Carton was so far removed that 
 their education could not there be proceeded with. 
 Leinster House was so gloomy — I could believe 
 it that wet evening — that the children did not 
 thrive there. Lord Lecale was out of health. 
 Besides him there were of the younger children 
 Lord Robert, Lord Henry, Lord Edward, and 
 Lord Gerald. There were the younger girls, Lady 
 Lucy and Lady Sophia, with a French bonne. The 
 Dss. had the idea to establish them in her country 
 house at the Black Rock, where in the salubrious- 
 ness of the sea and mountain air their health should 
 grow with their understanding. '* I have,'' she 
 said, " discovered a very worthy person, a Scots- 
 man who has kept a school in Cole's Lane and was 
 recommended me by Dean Marlay. If he should 
 prove worthy of the position it would be an ease 
 to my mind." ' 
 
 III 
 
 - ' I will tell you,' Lady Leitrim goes on, ' how 
 the room looked. It was lit by many wax candles 
 which made but a glimmering Ught. The fires 
 had gone low : in any case, seated as we were on 
 our gilt fauteuils in the centre of the room, the 
 fires barely concerned us. There was an infinity 
 
AMOE OMNIA VINCIT 3 
 
 of floor and in the corners anything might have 
 lurked. You Imow that I admire the Dss. ex- 
 cessively. The black is a setting for the fairness 
 of her complection. As she sat there, a wax 
 candle's light upon her face, she was as proud 
 and graceful as a swan. 
 
 ' The wind took the windows and shook them 
 as in an angry mood. It piped through the key- 
 holes and boomed in the chimneys like distant 
 guns. There came in the Groom of the Chamber. 
 
 ' " If you please, your Grace, Mr. Ogilvie has 
 come.'' 
 
 ( it 
 
 Show him to his room." 
 
 ' ''Please, Your Grace, shall I supply him wax 
 candles or tallow ? " 
 
 ' The Dss. turned to me. 
 
 ' " Qu'en pensez-vous ? " 
 
 ' Before I could advise she decided for herself. 
 
 ' " Moulds will do till we see a little.'' 
 
 ' At this moment there came into the room, sans 
 ceremonie, a strange figure of a man, so careless in 
 his attire, unshaven, his shoes bearing the mud of the 
 streets, his hair unpowdered, that I looked to see 
 the Dss. wither him by her gaze, waited to hear 
 her voice order her servants to remove him. He 
 walked up the long room, dragging with him a 
 bag which doubtless contained his whole luggage. 
 His face was as plain as his person and his voice 
 when he spoke as rough and disconcerting as either. 
 But the man had fine eyes, gray as his homespun 
 
4 LOED EDWAED 
 
 garments and with now a smooth brightness like 
 the agate stone, and again, an honest softness and 
 sincerity. This was none other than Mr. Ogilvie, 
 the scholar from Edinburgh, who has given up his 
 School in Cole's Lane and is come to reheve the 
 Dss.'s mind of her anxiety concerning the educa- 
 tion of her ofispring. '* Your lackeys have left 
 me standing in the hall. Madam,'' he said, " so 
 I made my way to your presence." I looked to 
 see him extinguished by the lightning from her 
 eyes. But who shall account for the female heart ? 
 Her gaze softened as she beheld this uncouth 
 person. " You are welcome, Mr. Ogilvie," she 
 said : *^ I am sorry you should have found my 
 servants lacking in manners." She turned to the 
 Groom of the Chamber who still awaited her 
 pleasure. " You will please show Mr. Ogilvie 
 to his apartments," she said, and her voice was 
 more chilHng than a rebuke. '' See that he re- 
 ceives all consideration. And, if you please, wax 
 candles." ' * 
 
 IV 
 
 Lady Leitrim adds, — ' I was charmed to be 
 present at this first meeting between the beautiful 
 Dss., reputed the proudest woman in Ireland, and 
 the excellent if uncouth man who was so soon to 
 step into the late Duke's shoes. I am persuaded 
 that it was the extent of her maternal passion 
 
AMOR OMNIA VINCIT 5 
 
 — as a mother she is a land flowing with milk and 
 honey — which brought about this odd infatuation : 
 for they say nothing could exceed his devotion to 
 his charges, good worthy man ! She is as proud 
 as ever. They are saying the Lennox women 
 are capable of any folly for love. There is Ly. 
 Sarah, who, having left Sir C. Bunbury for Ld. W. 
 Gordon and sat in sackcloth ever since, has just 
 married Colonel Napier, handsome, high-minded, 
 without a penny to his name. He is so chivalrous 
 that he will never remind her of the past. Louisa 
 with her Mr. ConoUy of Castletown and his 27 
 thousand a year to her bow and arrow, — she 
 was the fool of the family, though a sweet fool, — 
 will not let poor Sally want for what she will 
 never miss from her plenty/ 
 
 V 
 
 The Duchess herself writes her justification for 
 the eyes of another woman to read, — that other, 
 Lady Sarah Napier, who knew as well as any 
 woman the compelling power of Love. Perhaps 
 the justification she was too proud to make at 
 the moment was meant to be read afterwards by 
 those who might misjudge her ; and she selected 
 as a recipient of her confidence one who was not 
 only very dear to her, but also by her own circum- 
 stances and her conduct, precluded from forming 
 a hasty and censorious opinion. 
 
6 LOED EDWAKD 
 
 VI 
 
 * I would like to impart to my dearest sister 
 the nature of the reasons which have influenced me 
 to accept the hand of Mr. Ogilvie. I shall first 
 say that Mr. 0. comes of an excellent Scottish 
 family which you are free to relate if the tongue 
 of the unkind and the scandal-loving, who have 
 quite another tale, should reach you. True, he 
 is poor, but God forbid, my dearest sister, that 
 we should unduly value wealth or by the lack 
 of it that true merit should be overlook't. I will 
 confess that at the moment of his first coming I 
 experienced the most extraordinary feeling con- 
 cerning him. It was as though some inward 
 monitor whispered in my ear : " Here is one upon 
 whom you may place all your burdens.'' His 
 eyes with the grey of Scotch pebbles in them, — I 
 remember that you had a bracelet of the stones 
 once — I found extremely honest and comfortable. 
 I had the strange feeling that here was one to be 
 trusted to the death, kind, steadfast, modest, of 
 high principles of character. I said to myself 
 that my children would be safe with such a one. 
 
 'As you know I engaged him in the capacity 
 of my sons' tutor. Lord Lecale, as you are aware, 
 has in his health been ever a matter for anxiety, 
 as has my precious Mabel. My intention was 
 that Frescati, so sweetly situated between the 
 mountains and the sea, in open country, with its 
 
AMOR OMNIA VINCIT 7 
 
 commodious gardens and its facilities for sea- 
 bathing — it has a covered way beneath the roadway 
 leading to the sea, and the Black Rock is but little 
 frequented for that purpose, — should be the abode 
 of my children, the tender young plants, — and since 
 I am called to be of the world I much desired to 
 find a person who cou'd be trusted to guard them 
 as I myself shou'd. 
 
 * I very soon found that I had such a one in 
 Mr. 0. \Vhen you are better acquainted with him, — 
 and, it is your friendship, your affection I covet 
 for him, my beloved Sarah, — ^you will know that he 
 is not only steel-true but is of that steady and con- 
 sistent character which moulds others to its will. 
 
 ' I will confess that my respect for this virtuous 
 man grew in measure with my dependence upon 
 him. He established himself at dear Frescati 
 with Ld. Lecale, Ld. Robert, Ld. Henry, Ld. 
 Edward and Ld. Gerald. Sophia, Lucy, and my 
 little dear Mabel were in charge of the excellent 
 Stephanie, who is as faithful as a dog. I very 
 soon found that my children shou'd not suffer in 
 my absence. He made himself as it were the 
 head of the household. It was a small establish- 
 ment as befitted my purse. A cook, a housemaid 
 from Kildare and a Groom comprised it. After 
 the first all mov'd harmoniously under Mr. O.'s 
 compelling sway. He was many things besides 
 tutor to the boys, which duty he did not neglect. 
 More, while he taught them the matters which 
 
8 LORD EDWARD 
 
 belong to the life of a gentleman on earth, he did 
 not fail to equip them in the matters which should 
 fit them for a Life Hereafter. If those who blame 
 my marriage cou'd but know the honest worth of 
 that gentleman ! 
 
 * His whole life is given to my children. Not 
 only will he instruct them in the highest things, but 
 he will perform for them such menial acts as belong 
 more properly to a nurse or valet. He goes riding 
 daily with the whole flock of my pretty ones by 
 the Black Rock to Dunleary, or inland to the moun- 
 tains. He has implanted in them his own love of 
 Nature. They are gardening furiously at Frescati. 
 He imparts to them the delights to come of foreign 
 travel. He discovers the bent of each and strives 
 to guide him in that bent. Eddie carries a sword, 
 the prettiest thing you ever saw, and is reading 
 Marlboro's campaigns.' 
 
 VII 
 
 'My dearest Sister, — all this I perceived with 
 emotions of deepest thankfulness to the Power 
 which had given me such a Gentleman for the 
 governance of my pretty orphans. They call 
 me the proudest woman in Ireland, — or perhaps 
 England, — ^lamenting or mocking at me for what 
 they call my Mis-alliance. Well I am, more truly, 
 the tenderest mother — ^I am not forgetting you, 
 my dearest Love, so I should say among the 
 
AMOR OMNIA VINCIT 9 
 
 tenderest motliers of all this world. For each one 
 of the eighteen offspring I bore the Duke my heart 
 spent itself in maternal passion. If the duties 
 of my state permitted it I would never have left 
 my children. 
 
 'I came back from Melbury in June after an 
 absence of three months, all aflame to see my dearest 
 ones. I had had to wait near a week at the Park 
 Gate for a packet and it was a wild and a rough 
 journey, but mercifully a fast one, since we ran 
 before the gale. On my arrival, pity a poor mother 
 who had such tidings to hear ! My precious Mabel, 
 my youngest one, was in the smallpox. Louisa 
 was waiting at Leinster House to convey the news. 
 That incomparable sister had carried the others 
 away as soon as the infexion declar'd itself to 
 the Cottage at Castletown, where happily they 
 were free of the fever. Mr. Ogilvie, I was told, had 
 remain' d in charge of my afflicted child. 
 
 'Louisa,— who was joined by Mr. ConoUy, the 
 House having risen early, — ^pressed upon me her 
 most urgent entreaties that I should join the other 
 children at Castletown. They used every argu- 
 ment that affection or sophistry could suggest : 
 their words fell on deaf ears. At last Mr. ConoUy, 
 who does not like to be beaten, swept off Louisa 
 in a Huff : and I got into a hackney-coach and 
 went down to the Black Eock.' 
 
10 LORB EDWARD 
 
 VIII 
 
 * By the time I arriv'd there it was evening — 
 Summer twilight. The Blackbird was singing his 
 bold lay in the umbrageous grove beyond the 
 garden. I had little heart for his song. All was 
 very quiet. The light at the Pigeon House shone 
 beyond the quiet rippled water, and that at Dun- 
 leary pier-head also kept its watch. The air was 
 full of perfumes. I dismissed the hackney-coach 
 at the gate, knowing that once I enter' d the 
 sick room of my child I shou'd be cut off from the 
 abodes of health and the company of my kind for 
 some considerable time to come. 
 
 'As I went up by the little avenue the house 
 showed not a hght. Looking before me into the 
 black and silent shape I had un serrement du cceiir. 
 I was excessively distract' d by the sight of the 
 mournful house, which had been the abode of Joy 
 when last I stood there. 
 
 ' Such was my cowardice that I did not dare 
 to knock upon the hall door. My knees trembl'd 
 beneath me : I felt as if I shou'd fall : but the 
 need to know the worst upheld me. 
 
 *I went round the house, climb' d the little 
 terrace to the Book-Room window. There, at 
 least, was light. The rays of more than one candle 
 stream' d out into the blackness of the sleeping 
 garden. I could scarcely endure to look : yet 
 I must look. The window stood wide open to the 
 
AMOR OMNIA VINCIT 11 
 
 night. Mr. 0. will not have it that the night air 
 is noxious. He says that it is purer than by day. 
 He mightily ofiended Dr. Serle, who warned him 
 that the night air over the sands at the Black Rock 
 was most dangerous for the children, saying in 
 his short way '* Blethers ! " at which good Dr. Serle 
 took his hat and cane and went, much affront'd. 
 
 'At first I cou'd see nothing. There was a 
 mist on my eyes, and my heart was beating in my 
 ears like the noise of waves upon a rocky coast. 
 I know I had to steady myself by the house-wall 
 not to fall. 
 
 ' There emerg'd, first the rays of the candles, 
 round which danc'd a ring of Summer moths : 
 then a child's cot : lastly the head and shoulders 
 of a man who sat by the table, his face laid upon 
 his arms in a posture of the most extreme wretched- 
 ness. It was Mr. 0. 
 
 ' Chloe, the little spaniel you gave me, yapp'd. 
 He look'd up. ^^ My Mabel is dead,'' said I, 
 advancing into the room. I had forgotten the 
 inclination to be faint. 
 
 * He looked at me as though he hardly under- 
 stood. His face was streakt with tears. He 
 presented the most disordered aspect. His eyes 
 looked as though they pray'd for sleep. 
 
 ' ^' Why no," he said very quietly. " It is the 
 ninth day that I have watched by the precious 
 infant, and the change has come. It will be 
 spared in the Mercy of God/' 
 
12 LOED EDWARD 
 
 ' He stood up and waved me away. 
 
 ' *' You shou'd not be here, Duchess/' he said. 
 " They have all fled away except the little maid 
 from Kildare, who carries what things I need and 
 places them outside. If you will go now you will 
 not have taken the infexion.'' 
 
 * '* So I am to leave it to you/' I said, '' to run 
 the danger for my child,'' and before he cou'd pre- 
 vent me I was standing by the cot looking down at 
 the pufied and discolour' d face of my precious babe. 
 I could see that the fever was allay'd. The dread- 
 ful sickness had left its traces, but the precious thing 
 was asleep. There was moisture on her brow. 
 How I prais'd the Gracious Giver of all Good ! 
 
 ' *' You are to go to bed and sleep," I said to 
 Mr. 0. " You are weary for want of sleep." 
 
 ''^Drugg'd with it," he said. "Yet I could 
 watch a few hours longer." But as he spoke he 
 stagger' d, as though he was a fine gentleman in 
 that state in which too many such are to be found 
 of evenings. '' I could not forgive myself," he 
 said, '' if your Grace were to take the sickness." 
 
 ' It came upon me in a flash that he had neither 
 eaten nor slept. I went seeking and found what 
 I wanted — wine, and a loaf. He wou'd not drink 
 the wine at first — he is unfashionably averse to 
 strong drink, — but he ate the bread, I thought 
 ravenously : and then I prevail' d upon him to 
 go to his room and sleep, which he did, never 
 stirring till the evening of the next day.' 
 
AMOE OMNIA VINCIT 13 
 
 IX 
 
 ' He said afterwards that he woii'd not have 
 dar'd to reveal to me the adoration of his honest 
 heart if it had not been that he was, as he said, 
 off-guard through the long watch and the hunger. 
 Dearest Sister, he had never once thought upon 
 himself. If my child is now playing in the garden 
 and I within sound of her laughter, instead of the 
 Cold Grave, I owe it to that gentleman, though 
 he will not hear of it, saying it was because Serle 
 was not in attendance and the air of Heaven was 
 round the sick-bed night and day. He is ex- 
 cessively obstinate in his notions. 
 
 ' He is in felicity and I do not doubt that 
 I have given my children such a Father as will 
 protect them against the changes and dangers of 
 this mundane sphere, and point them upwards 
 to the Sky. They are satisfied. Yesterday comes 
 Mrs. Delany, in her pink damask, like a rose, to 
 wish me joy. '' You have done well,"" she says. 
 "Do not listen to the envious and foolish noises 
 of the world ! There is such a hubbub as never 
 was \'* '' 1 do not hear it," said I. " Leinster 
 House is above the noises of the Town." At which 
 she clapp'd her hands and laugh'd excessively, 
 '' The Granvilles," said she, '' were slow to think 
 of my Dean, because he was rustical and came from 
 the fields. I wish now I had been as brave as you, 
 for I kept my dear Dean and my own perfect 
 
14 LORD EDWARD 
 
 felicity knocking at the door till my brother 
 Granville approved, which he does not yet." " For 
 the matter of that/' said I, '' there is but my own 
 heart to consult/' which set her ofi laughing 
 again. 
 
 ' But I do not like that he should be mis- 
 judged. He is the truest, simplest, humblest, 
 most loveable of men. The Duke, our brother, 
 has offer' d us Aubigny for as long as we will. 
 We do not want the world, so I have said yes. 
 Let the stupid world forget to be amazed at my 
 folly ! Believe me, I was never wiser, Sally/ 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE FALSE GODS COME 
 
 Eddie writes to his mother, who is visiting in 
 Paris, from Aubigny : 
 
 * I am very busy. I am now erecting a 
 beautiful fortification in the Orangery and am 
 quite dehghted with it : I wish you could see it, 
 for I know you would think it very pretty. 
 When it is finished I intend to put the cannons 
 of both our ships upon it and to fire away. 
 What is pleasantest of all, I laid it all out 
 myself. I also took a very pretty survey of 
 the fields round the Garonne and have, (though 
 I coloured it), made a very pretty plan : Mr. 0. 
 did not touch it hardly at all. I just coloured 
 the borders of the fields and left the inside white, 
 which makes a very good effect. I did all the 
 trees in Indian ink. I have now tired you 
 pretty well by my boastings ; but you know I 
 have always a rather good oppinion of whatever 
 I do.' 
 
 15 
 
16 LOED EDWARD 
 
 II 
 
 Presently lie is back in England and soldiering 
 in earnest. He is in the Sussex militia, of which 
 his uncle, the Duke of Richmond, is Colonel, and 
 covering himself and Mr. 0. with glory by his 
 knowledge of what he calls Castramatatmi, He 
 writes to his mother from Bonner Camp : 
 
 ' I have taken the first opportunity of giving 
 you an account of your dear sweet boy, and that 
 my letter may go down the better I will write 
 it without lines. It began pretty straight and even, 
 I am afraid but you will soon have a zig-zag line. 
 I am however sure you will not perceive it, your 
 eye will have got so accustomed to the zig-zag 
 walks of Stoke. Our camp is very pleasant although 
 the ground is very rough and bad : but when we 
 have dressed it a little it will be very beautiful. 
 My Uncle Richmond has been very busy and has 
 staid out all day with us ever since we came to 
 camp. . . . Before he let the men pitch he left 
 the pitching of his own company to me : and I 
 was not one inch wrong. Tell Mr. 0. he is to be 
 proud of his pupil." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Mr. 0. had certainly taught his pupil to spell 
 as the preceding generation had not learnt it, or 
 was it that spelUng was an exact science, only 
 
THE FALSE GODS COME 17 
 
 studied by the male sex ? The Dowager Lady 
 Kildare writes to her grand-daughter, Lady Sophia : 
 ' I am sensible your time may be employed more 
 to yr advantage than by divarting yr poor old 
 Granny, which the account of the Vermines did 
 that Tormented you on yr journey from Paris 
 to the venerable chateau you are now in. How 
 poor Ireland would be abus'd if the Inns were half 
 so nasty, but am sorry to owne that manny Houses 
 in Dublin are infested with Buggs, that I believe 
 the brede was imported hither by foreigne goods 
 from time to time, but hope will not encrease 
 by care of destroying them upon first appearance, 
 as they are not yet so generall as in London. They 
 are a filthy annimal.' 
 
 IV 
 
 In the Autumn of 1780, Eddie, then in his 17th 
 year, joined the regular army, being appointed to 
 the 96th Eegiment of Foot, which was stationed 
 at Youghal, in Ireland. He makes a sprightly 
 correspondent : 
 
 ' There is to be a great assembly to-night and 
 the misses are all in a great hurry to show 
 themselves ofi to the officers. I have a great 
 many civilities from the people here, — not from 
 the misses, — but gentlemen of the town : espe- 
 cially from both the Uniacks, and the youngest, 
 whom you saw, ofiered me his house, and has 
 
18 LOKD EDWAUD 
 
 insisted on providing me with garden-stufis of 
 all sorts from his country-house, when we are to 
 sail. I wish we may sail soon, though we hear 
 nothing of it as yet. As I write I have my dearest 
 mother's picture before me. How happy should 
 I be to see her ! Yet how happy I shall be to 
 sail ! . . . I have been to Lord Shannon's, where 
 I met Lady Inchiquin in the same old marron- 
 coloured gown I saw her in when we left Ireland ; 
 only indeed I must say (to give the devil his due) 
 that it was made up into a jacket and petticoat. 
 Miss Sandford was with her : she is a charming 
 girl, very pretty, with a great deal of wit, and very 
 sensible and good-humoured : in short, if I had 
 time I should have fallen desperately in love with 
 her : as it is I am a little touched. They both go 
 to Dublin to-morrow. I don't know what sort 
 of an account Lady Inchiquin will give of me ; 
 but I am sure Miss Sandford will give a very good 
 one. ... I am still le plus gai and the happiest 
 in the Kegiment.' 
 
 Very soon Lord Edward has his wish and is 
 sent out to the American War. Long afterwards 
 he was to say : ' Then I fought against Liberty : 
 now I fight for it.' But as yet the passion for 
 the Dark Eosaleen had not taken troublesome 
 shape within him. Eddie was at this time a 
 young man of a warmly dark complexion — ^he 
 
THE FALSE GODS COME 19 
 
 had thick, softly curling hair, beautiful dark eyes 
 and mobile lips. He was rather short but very 
 well-made and graceful. ' The colour of that 
 family is very beautiful,' says an onlooker. 'Can 
 you conceive of cheeks that are carmine, yet not 
 over-coloured ? The whites tinged to golden brown 
 as though the sun had kissed them, eyes like a 
 brown velvet pansy. Hair fine, dark and wild. 
 Add to these a gayety which touched to light and 
 warmth even the dullest, — a heart full of love 
 and unselfish devotion, a rich and sweet voice and 
 the gayest good-humour. That was Eddy.' The 
 Family called Eddie ' comical.' He was always 
 jesting. Wherever he went laughter abounded, 
 yet it was always honest laughter, such as Heaven 
 might smile upon. He was greatly beloved by 
 all he encountered, and by his own family was wor- 
 shipped. ' I never knew so loveable a person,' wrote 
 his commanding ofiicer. ' His frank and open 
 manner, his universal benevolence, his gaiete de 
 coeur, his valour, his chivalry, made him the idol 
 of all who served with him.' 
 
 VI 
 
 It was the fate of this charming boy to be for 
 ever in love. After the American War and the 
 campaign in the West Indies, he is at home for 
 a period, during which he falls head over ears 
 in love with Lady Catherine Meade, Lord Clan- 
 
20 LOED EDWARD 
 
 William's daughter. His temperament is such 
 that he brings his love affairs for his beloved 
 mother's eyes and judgment, which proves how 
 innocent they are. He is a detrimental, being a 
 younger son of an immensely large family ; and 
 all his beauty and gaiety cannot win him a way 
 into the heart of Kate's mother, who has widely 
 different views for her girl. He is distracted with 
 love. He can remember nothing but Kate. He 
 gets up in the morning hating to wake from his 
 dreams of Kate. Nothing is worth the doing 
 since it is not done for Kate. He goes out with 
 the intention of calling on someone, forgets all 
 about it, and goes along with the first acquaintance 
 he meets. He forgets to leave the place he has 
 come to, although he has no pleasure in it, and 
 if he dines he is late for dinner. Kate possesses 
 his mind completely. He goes cross-gartered for 
 all the world to see, in the pangs and tremors, the 
 delights and desolations of first love. He is at balls 
 every night and stays till morning, not knowing 
 or caring with whom he is dancing, so it is not 
 Kate. And Kate is kept out of his reach by a 
 prudent mother, who has fixed her gaze on the 
 Lord Powerscourt for a son-in-law. 
 
 VII 
 
 * Just think ! I make Ogilvie talk of Kate and 
 he does it, kind fellow. You ask me if I have 
 
THE FALSE GODS COME 21 
 
 seen the Siddons. I have not, nor do I suppose 
 I shall. I never think of going to anywhere pleasant 
 unless I am led to it by my friends. Then Je 
 m' amuse insensibly, but as for saying " I will go 
 see this " or '^ That will be pleasant, il ne m^ arrive 
 
 VIII 
 
 ' When we meet she looks at me so kindly 
 that I count myself the luckiest fellow under 
 Heaven. Then comes the dragon of a Mama 
 and gathers up her Beauty, and I am cast down 
 again. Did she look kind or did she not ? Is she 
 well disposed to Powerscourt or is it Lady Clan's 
 doing ? If I could be sure— why, I would carry 
 her off with drawn sword. If I had entirely lost 
 hope — I am in despair, you know — I should not 
 care a pin about what happened me either in 
 fortune or person. Are you on your high horse with 
 Lady Clan, or are you gracious ? I hope you are 
 kind to pretty, sweet Kate. I want you to like 
 her almost as much as I do — it is a feeling I always 
 have with people I love excessively. Did you not 
 feel to love her very much and wish for me when 
 you saw her look so pretty at the Cottage. I 
 think I see you looking at her and saying to your- 
 self : *' I wish my dear Eddy were here."' ' 
 
22 LORD EDWARD 
 
 IX 
 
 He is at Woolwich during this love-sickness. 
 
 ' I would give a great deal for Frescati this 
 morning. Do not let Ogilvie spoil you ! I can hear 
 him crying : " Nonsense ! fool ! fool ! all imagina- 
 tion ! By Heavens, you will be the ruin of that 
 boy ! '' My dearest Mother, if you mind him and 
 do not write pleasant letters and always tell me 
 something of pretty Kate I will not answer your 
 letters, nor indeed write amj to you. I must come 
 home really, my dearest mother; it is the only 
 chance I have against la dragonne ; for you will 
 see by her speech to Ogilvie she will do all she can 
 to make Kate forget me. Do not be afraid I 
 shall not work in Ireland. You know when I have 
 a mind to study I do better with Ogilvie than any- 
 one else. I am his soldier, you know. Heavens, 
 what pains he took at Aubigny to drive science 
 into my dull brain when I always wanted to be 
 out with the wind and the sunbeams ! I shall go 
 over my mathematics with him much better than 
 I could with anyone else, which will be the most 
 useful thing I could do. I know the dear fellow 
 will be against my coming. I am sick of wisdom. 
 I am never so happy as with you : you seem to 
 make every distress lighter and I bear everything 
 better and enjoy everything better when with you. 
 Good-bye, dearest of mothers. No one can ever 
 love you more than I . . . but I must not grow 
 sentimental. . . . ^ 
 
THE FALSE GODS COME 23 
 
 X 
 
 This fine plan was spoilt by Eddy's spraining 
 his ankle while with the Duke at Goodwood. 
 * I do think what with legs and other things/ 
 he says, ' that I am the most unlucky dog in the 
 world ! ' He flashes before his mother's eyes 
 a multiplicity of plans, as to what he shall do, 
 pending his return. Shall he take a course of 
 mechanics with Mr. Baly, followed by Euclid and 
 Algebra ? His dearest mother must see the advan- 
 tage of that. On the other hand, has he applica- 
 tion enough? Stoke, Lord George Lennox's place, 
 is only three miles off. There are two lovely 
 cousins there. (Oh, Eddy, Eddy !) * Stoke is 
 very tempting. The place will by and bye be 
 full of company. The shooting will be on. Will 
 these things draw me away ? The Duke will 
 be going about, and may wish me to follow 
 him.' Another scheme. Shall he go to a Scotch 
 University from August to January. ' It is 
 certainly the best place for mathematics. Look 
 at 0. ! I should not be drawn off so easily. 
 I should have my masters cheap, live cheap, 
 and be able to give my whole mind to the business. 
 On the other hand — I cannot bear the thought of 
 not seeing you for four months. And then Kate ! — I 
 do not know what to do. . . . You say in your letter 
 that Lady Clanwilliam goes to the country for the 
 Autumn. If she goes to the North, how pleasant ! 
 
24 LOED EDWAED 
 
 I might then be with dear Harry and see Kate 
 
 very often. I got two of your dear letters here — 
 
 how happy they made me ! But you say httle of 
 
 Kate. I do not think you Uke her enough, my 
 
 dearest mother : I want you to love her nearly 
 
 as much as I do. Pray tell me really what you 
 
 think of her. Yet I am afraid — but, no matter ! 
 
 Speak ! If you should find fault with her — ^but 
 
 it is impossible. You must love her. Show the 
 
 sensible part of this letter to Mr. 0. He says in 
 
 his letter, tout court *'She drank tea here." Did 
 
 you not think of me ? Tdl truth — did she think 
 
 of me ? for I am sure you observed. Your words 
 
 ''If she only likes you" frighten me. It is only 
 
 that I dread her mother's influence — ^it is very 
 
 strong. Suppose you were here and to say to me, 
 
 ^'If you ever think of that girl I will never forgive 
 
 you." \Vhat should I do ? even I who dote on 
 
 Kate ! and then if she only likes me my being there 
 
 would be of no use.' 
 
 Oh, Eomeo ! Eomeo ! "What a patient mother 
 the Duchess was to be sure ! 
 
 XI 
 
 Eddy's next letter is significant. He is at 
 Stoke, and if his mother goes abroad he will go 
 with her, ' for being in Ireland and not seeing 
 Kate I should hate. Though I am here ever since 
 the Duke went I am as constant as ever and go 
 
THE FALSE GODS COME 25 
 
 on doting upon lier : this is, I think, the greatest 
 proof I have given yet. Being here has put me 
 in much better spirits : they are so delightful. 
 I dote on Georgina. The other two have been at 
 Selsey but come back to-day. We all go to a 
 ball at Mr. Barnwell's. Lady Louisa has been 
 pleasanter than anything can be: I love her 
 very much. ... I have not been so happy since 
 I left Frescati as I am here. I get up at five 
 every morning, go to Goodwood and study with 
 Mr. Baly till two, and return here to dine. . . . 
 
 * I cannot write to Sophia to give her any 
 advice. . . . She has so much feeling and so 
 much heart that a thing such as that will make her 
 happy or unhappy for ever : if she was not so 
 very sensible I should not be near so afraid about 
 her. My sweetest mother, she has all your tender- 
 ness and sensibility, tvitJiout your good under- 
 standing and excellent judgment to manage it. 
 Not that I think her deficient in either one or the 
 other, and should be sorry to see her get more of 
 either quality if she was to give up the least of 
 her good heart for it. Being at a distance makes 
 me serious about it. If I were with you I should 
 be Marplot and giggle at the swain.' 
 
 XII 
 
 * I am glad sweetest Kate is grown fat. I love 
 her more than anything yet, though I have seen 
 
26 LOKD EDWARD 
 
 a great deal of Georgina. I own fairly I am not 
 in such bad spirits as I was, particularly when I 
 am with Georgina, whom I certainly love better 
 than her sisters. However, I can safely say that I 
 have not been infiddleto Kate — ^whenever I thought 
 of her, which I do very often, though not so con- 
 stantly as usual. This entirely between you and 
 me ... I love nothing in comparison to you, 
 my dearest mother, after all.' 
 
 XIII 
 
 The last paragraph of this else shameless letter 
 sums up Eddy's case. The false gods came and 
 went. In the result one is quite convinced that the 
 one love of his life was his mother. It is a relief 
 to the reader of this else callous epistle to know 
 that Kate married her Powerscourt after all. To 
 be sure there is this in extenuation of our Romeo. 
 There is no word to show that Kate loved him. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE ONE LOVE 
 
 The Duchess spends tlie summer montlis at Nice 
 and in the South of France, and her lover-boy 
 is to accompany her. He is impatient for their 
 meeting after a somewhat extended absence. ' Do 
 not stay long at Oxford/ he writes, ' for if you do 
 I shall die with impatience before you arrive. I 
 can hardly write I am so happy. I do not at all 
 envy you seeing Mrs. Siddons. I cannot envy 
 anyone at this moment, for I am certainly the 
 happiest dog in the world. Think of seeing Henry, 
 Sophia, and you all in one day ! ' 
 
 II 
 
 He can do without Georgina, and even the 
 dwindhng and waning Kate, to be with his mother, 
 by the blue Mediterranean amid the orange groves. 
 But he has to leave her when the Parliamentary 
 Session opens, for his brother, the Duke, has made 
 him his member for Kildare. Eddy has always had 
 
 27 
 
28 LORD EDWARD 
 
 a flair for politics. He is to be found by the side 
 of Mr. Grattan and Mr. Curran, in the little patriot 
 band standing for the country against the Govern- 
 ment. At times he is dispirited, weary of the game 
 of politics, as his great-grandson was to be in our 
 own day. * When one has any great objects to 
 carry one must expect disappointments and not 
 be diverted by them, or even appear to notice them. 
 I therefore say to everybody that I think we are 
 going on well. The truth is the people one has to 
 do with are a bad set, I mean the whole, for those 
 we act with are the best." 
 
 He is homesick for the mother with whom 
 his heart made its real home. ' You cannot 
 think how I feel to want you. I dined and 
 slept at Frescati the other day, I and Ogilvie, 
 tete-a-tete. We tallied a great deal of you. 
 Though the place makes me melancholy, yet 
 it gives me pleasant feelings. To be sure, the 
 going to bed without wishing you a good night, 
 the coming down in the morning and not seeing you, 
 the sauntering about in the fine sunshine, looking 
 at your flowers and shrubs without you to lean 
 upon one, was all very bad indeed. In settling 
 my journey there that evening I determined to 
 see you in my way, supposing you were even a 
 thousand miles out of it." 
 
THE ONE LOVE 29 
 
 III 
 
 He has heard of the death of someone's dearly 
 loved mother, and the fear of love is upon him. 
 
 ' It is time for me to go to Frescati. Why are 
 you not there, dearest of mothers ? but it feels a 
 little like seeing you too to go there. We shall talk 
 a great deal of you. I assure you I miss you in 
 Ireland very very much. I am not half so merry 
 as I should be if you were here. I get tired of every- 
 thing and want to have you to go and talk to. You 
 are, after all, what I love best in the world. I 
 always return to you and find it is the only love 
 I do not deceive myself in. I love you more than 
 you think I do — ^but I will not give way to such 
 thoughts, for it always makes me grave. I really 
 made myself miserable for two days since I left 
 you by these sort of reflections : and in thinking 
 over with myself what misfortunes I could bear, 
 I found there was one I could not. But — God 
 bless you.' 
 
 It was a misfortune he was not to be called upon 
 to bear : but who could foresee what was to come 
 in those golden days ? 
 
 IV 
 
 His intention, which he knows he will not keep, 
 is to join his mother at Nice as soon as he is free 
 of his Parliamentary duties. ' This,' he says, ' is 
 
30 LORD EDWARD 
 
 my pleasant, foolish plan — it would certainly be 
 charming. My sensible plan is to go and stay at 
 Woolwich till Autumn and then meet you all at 
 Paris. If I do the latter (which I do not think I 
 shall, for it is a great deal too wise) I should come 
 to Paris with great eclat, for I should by that time 
 be very rich, and be able to live away a little, so 
 far as keeping horses and a pha3ton.' 
 
 He adopted neither plan. He was always one 
 for planning, and the dehghts of planning. He 
 went to Gibraltar instead. He was a born 
 gardener as he was a born soldier and lover. 
 The gardening passion, the passion for laying 
 out and planting, was something akin in him to 
 the military passion for laying out a camp and 
 marking the disposition of soldiers in the field. 
 
 The gardening came to him from his mother; 
 the soldier spirit from the great race of the 
 Earls of Kildare, only recently merged in the 
 Dukes of Leinster. His flair for politics came of 
 course from his mother's family. Charles Fox was 
 his fiirst cousin. Lady Sarah Napier — once Lady 
 Sarah Lennox — ^his aunt, was a born poUtician. 
 If she had married George III, as she very nearly 
 did ; if the King had not listened to his IVIinisters — 
 to Lord Bute, jealous of the Holland influence — 
 and married the plain little German Princess of 
 Mecklenburg, what efiect would it have had on 
 the events of to-day ? What a leaven Lady 
 Sarah's wit, her charm, her spirit, her beauty, 
 above all her love of Ireland, her love of freedom, 
 
THE ONE LOVE 31 
 
 her fair-mindedness, her great political gifts, would 
 have made in the Hanoverian blood ! It might 
 have caused a revolution ; the sons of her blood 
 were not likely to be rois jaineants , but it would have 
 won passionate loyalty — and one must not forget 
 that the Lennoxes were of the Stuart blood but a 
 little way back. The gardening and the soldiering, 
 as well as the spirit, the wit, the courtesy, the 
 beauty, the charm, the love of Ireland, are in Lord 
 Edward's descendants of to-day — some of them, 
 alas, gone out, like a light extinguished, on the 
 battle-fields of Flanders. 
 
 Here is Eddy in two of his moods : ' I am de- 
 lighted with this place' (i.e. Gibraltar), ' never was 
 anything better worth seeing, either taking it in a 
 military light or as a matter of curiosity.' He 
 goes on to describe the Eock as it presented itself 
 to him. He dwells on its garden aspect : ' It will in 
 time be a little Paradise. Even at present in some 
 of its wildest, rockiest parts you find charming 
 gardens, surrounded with high hedges of geranium, 
 filled with orange balm, sweet oleander, myrtle, 
 cedar, Spanish broom, roses, honeysuckles,' — he 
 runs through the lovely names as though he smelt 
 and tasted the fragrance they represent — 'in 
 short, all the charming plants of our own country, 
 and others. Conceive all this collected in spots of 
 the highest barren rock you ever beheld, on one side 
 
32 LORD EDWARD 
 
 seeing, with a fine basin between you, the green 
 hills of Andalusia, with two or three rivers emptying 
 themselves into the bay ; on another side the steep, 
 rugged, and high land of Barbary, and the whole 
 strait coming under your eye at once. And then a 
 boundless view of the Mediterranean : all the sea 
 enlivened with shipping, and the land with the 
 sight of your own soldiers and the sound of drums 
 and fifes . . . making you proud to think that here 
 you are, a set of islanders from a remote corner of 
 the world, surrounded by enemies, thousands of 
 times your numbers, keeping it in spite of all their 
 efforts. . . . The General gives all officers that 
 choose gardens. Vegetation is so quick that you 
 can eat your peas, beans and French beans five 
 weeks after planting : you have a very tolerable 
 tree in three years ; poplars in two grow to a great 
 size. O'Hara and I walk the w^hole day from 
 five in the morning till 8 or 9 at night. He is 
 pleasanter than ever, and enters into all one's ideas, 
 fanciful as well as comical. We divert ourselves 
 amazingly with all the people here, but that is when 
 he is not ^^ all over General" as he calls it. . . . 
 ' I wrote you the other day a letter which I was 
 ashamed to send : I had got up particularly fond of 
 you, and had determined to give up all improve- 
 ment whatever and set out to you by the shortest 
 road, without stopping. I really cannot stay much 
 longer without seeing you. Often when I see a 
 ship saihng I think how glad I should be if I were 
 
THE ONE LOVE 33 
 
 aboard and on my passage to you. I have got 
 some seeds of a beautiful plant that grows Uke ivy, 
 with a purple flower and fine smell. I think it will 
 do very well for your passage at Frescati. A 
 dreadful scrawl, but I am in haste. I am to dine 
 with a Mrs. F., who has been up to the elbows in 
 custards to receive the General." 
 
 VI 
 
 Although he desires to fly he does not. There is 
 always a prudent Eddy restraining the impulsive 
 one, or perhaps the Beloved, with the Scotch and 
 shrewd Mr. 0. at her elbow, writes comisels of 
 prudence, and they prevail. He loved traveUing, 
 as did all the fine gentlemen of his day. After Gib- 
 raltar he travelled through Spain and Portugal, 
 where everyone was kind to him, accompanied 
 only by his black servant, Tony, who had picked 
 him up wounded during the American War and 
 nursed him back to health, and the muleteer 
 with his mules. While he writes in the most 
 lively strain of what he sees, his thoughts are 
 always turning to the Good Family and the one 
 beloved lodestar. The little Spanish and Portu- 
 guese girls remind him of Ciss and Mimi, the 
 daughters of the Duchess's second marriage, much 
 beloved by the children of the first. 
 
 * By this time you are at Barege,' he writes, 
 * quite settled in, and have had, I hope, neither 
 
34 LOED EDAVAKD 
 
 bickerings nor pickerings. I am sorry poor dear 
 Charlotte is not better ; glad Lucy is well, and hope 
 Sophia is not lachrymose. I sincerely hope Mimi 
 is grown obstinate, passionate and disobedient, 
 and that she don't mind a word Mde. Clavel says 
 to her ; that when she is at her lessons she only 
 keeps her eyes on the book, while all the time she 
 is thinking of riding on Bourra ; and that the 
 minute you are out of the room she begins talking 
 to Ciss. 
 
 ' I have been but three hours in Madrid. I 
 wanted to set off to you by post, and should 
 have been with you in that case in seven days. 
 But it would have cost me £40 : Tony remon- 
 strated, and insisted that it was very foolish 
 when I might go for five guineas and, in short, — 
 he prevailed.' 
 
 VII 
 
 * Dear, dear Eddy/ says the Duchess to Lady 
 Lucy, ' how constantly he is in my thoughts ! 
 In Edward nothing surprises me, dear Angel : he 
 has always loved me in an uncommon degree from 
 childhood. There are three of my children whose 
 greatest happiness is to be with me : for indeed I 
 may join dear Henry and sweet Eobert even with 
 our Angelick Eddy in this respect, for they have 
 shown me on all occasions how much they prefer 
 being with me to all other pleasures. God bless 
 
THE ONE LOVE 35 
 
 them all, Dear Creatures. I do envy you, seeing 
 sweet Eddy all day long. ... I do not pretend 
 to say that dearest angel Edward is not the 
 first object : you have all been used to allow 
 me that indulgence of partiality to Him, and 
 none of you, I believe, blame me for it or see my 
 excessive attachment to that Dear Angel with a 
 Jealous eye.' 
 
CHAPTEE IV 
 
 THE GOOD FAMILY 
 
 The Duchess tempers her sweetness with severity, 
 or is it possible her severity was only for her 
 daughters ? There was an occasion on which her 
 daughter Sophia came up from Castletown to a 
 ball at Lady Bective's. The Duchess was at 
 Leinster House, and Lady Sophia very properly 
 desired to show herself in her finery to her mother. 
 But the young Duchess of Leinster, who was her 
 chaperon, arrived late, and whisked her off to the 
 ball, refusing the detour to Leinster House, since 
 Lady Bective had particularly wished the company 
 to assemble at nine. Lady Sophia, as anxious as 
 Cinderella when the clock was near the midnight, 
 only danced one set, being oppressed by a sense 
 of her lack of dutiful behaviour, and so in no 
 humour for dancing. She tells her Journal, which 
 she kept faithfully — the Fitzgerald ladies were 
 all journalists — ^what happened next day when with 
 a sinking heart she entered her mother's presence : 
 
 36 
 
 X 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY 37 
 
 ' She receiv'd me very coldly, and I perceiv'd 
 by her manner that I had very much displeas'd 
 her. I drove with her to Frescati. As there 
 was Lucy and Fowler in the coach she could not 
 say anything to me then, but when we had arriv'd 
 she told me what great displeasure I had occasion'd 
 her by my conduct. I certainly was very much in 
 the wrong, and should have refus'd going with the 
 Duchess, as it prevented me going to my Mother. 
 I saw immediately how much to blame I was. 
 I felt miserable at what had happen'd, but was 
 afraid to let myself cry as company was to dine 
 here. I was oblig'd to exert myself to hinder my 
 tears as much as possible. When we went to bed 
 Henry came to my dressing-room. We had a 
 long conversation. He wanted to know what 
 was the matter with me. I told him the whole 
 Affair. After he left me I went to bed as fast as 
 possible to be at liberty to have my cry out. I 
 cried most part of the night, shock 'd at the very 
 idea of being disrespectful to my Mother, tho' 
 God knows I did not mean to do it, and it all 
 proceeded from want of thought. Next day my 
 Mother was as pleasant to me as if nothing had 
 happen'd, but I have not forgiven myself as soon 
 as my dear Mother has. I still reproach myself, 
 and cannot cast it out of my mind.' 
 
 Lady Sophia and Lady Lucy were keeping 
 their aunt, Lady Louisa Conolly, company at 
 beautiful Castletown, near Celbridge, the little 
 
38 LORD EDWARD 
 
 town amid the plains of Kildare, the Liffey flowing 
 gently through it, which has another association, 
 this time with Vanessa, more unhappy even than 
 Stella. The ladies at Castletown, except for an 
 occasional Dublin entertainment, led melancholy 
 lives as we should regard them. They had no 
 violent delights. 
 
 Of the four Lennox sisters Louisa was the 
 one who exemplified the feminine virtues as 
 they were regarded by the eighteenth century. 
 She was lovable, gentle, pious, and lachrymose. 
 Perhaps her lachrymosity was occasioned by 
 Mr. Conolly, who was a poHtician and a fidget. She 
 was a subject for laughter to the lively Lady 
 Sarah. She seems to have been a most admirable 
 wife to ]\Ir. Conolly, and never to have asserted 
 herself unbecomingly. Yet — stay ! I was about 
 to say that there was nothing in her of the spirit 
 of her sisters. But that would be disproved by 
 her attitude when the time came that saw the Good 
 Family on its knees, in tears, for the most beloved 
 of its members. 
 
 Castletown was kept up as befitted the wealth 
 of the great Irish Squire who owned it. When 
 Lord Edward visited the Alhambra he records 
 that the painting of one of the rooms was 
 in the style of the gallery at Castletown. 
 Under the wing of the aunt who has always 
 a suggestion of somewhat dowdyish viitues, the 
 young ladies lived such a life as made con- 
 sumption a common complaint in those days. 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY 39 
 
 They spent their time in an ineffectual business ; 
 stringing bugles, looking at prints of dresses, 
 reading aloud from the English newspapers, after 
 which they read from the Bible or the works of 
 some divine. While one read the others worked 
 at their carpet frames. The Castletown ladies 
 had not the varied employment of Mrs. Delany 
 of the shell work and embroidered chair-covers. 
 It was winter weather, and the gentlemen hunted 
 or were in Dubhn for the Parliament. When they 
 came home they were exceedingly diverting, 
 though occasionally they were ' in that state 
 when they are not fit for the conversation of 
 our sex.' 
 
 II 
 
 Sometimes the ladies went walking. An 
 ' enormous ' walker in those days could walk three 
 miles. Lady Sarah was not very far away and 
 must, one supposes, have come like a beautiful 
 fresh wind into these languors. She tells a different 
 tale of Castletown from what I have written. 
 Perhaps they kept the dullnesses for the hours 
 when the gentlemen were absent. 
 
 Lady Sarah says : 
 
 * Castletown goes on as usual, always the 
 receptacle for society, comfort and friendship, 
 and very often for innumerable personages, some 
 old, some young, some agreeable and some 
 very intollerable. The Christmas is the general 
 rendezvous of the nobility, gentry and mobility. 
 
40 LORD EDWARD 
 
 It was very full and very sociable, which is un- 
 common in a large company, but the long gallery 
 divides the party so much that one is capable of 
 being very quiet at one end though there is 
 dancing at the other end/ 
 
 III 
 
 ' I still rejoice that I was never Queen, and 
 shall to my life's end,' says Lady Sarah, one of 
 those days, and goes on to compassionate the 
 unfortunate royal lover upon whom the clouds 
 had descended long before the night. ' I did for 
 one moment wish I was his wife, and that was 
 in reading the physicians' report. I own I did 
 almost exclaim *'Dear soul, if I were yours I 
 would never leave you for an instant but try to 
 calm your sufiering mind.'' ' 
 
 With this return to the past she is moved to 
 think of her own happiness inher ' port after stormie 
 seas,' despite poverty and its attendant cares. She 
 has her compensations, her * Donny,' her strong, 
 sturdy boys, whom she calls her ' puppies ' : * If you 
 could see themyou would comprehend their likeness, 
 for even Castletown can scarcely suffice to their 
 spirits and riots.' If she is poor it is in the country, 
 where it is quite easy to be poor, where, in fact, 
 the best people are poor. That '27 thousand a 
 year' of Lady Louisa's husband is a quite ex- 
 traordinary accident. The Family of all the gifts 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY 41 
 
 i 
 
 and graces carried poverty as an added grace, 
 
 to be worn like a rose. 
 
 IV 
 
 Lady Sarah coming in and out, full of the new 
 comfortable nest she and Denny were making for 
 themselves within the walls of the Castletown de- 
 mesne, would be indeed as a fresh wind. The Good 
 Family was irresistible when it touched on domesti- 
 city. They would have said that God having chosen 
 first to make a garden on earth made next a House. 
 It was one of their gifts to make of a house a Home 
 — a sufficiently rare gift, even in women, to be 
 precious. They must have had the gift to per- 
 fection, for they have the faculty of re-creating 
 for us that house and that garden and filling it 
 with the graciousness of domesticity which is one 
 of God's dearest gifts to earth. ' I have had many 
 very charming circumstances,' Lady Sarah says, 
 'to alleviate distresses. The living in this house' 
 (i.e. Castletown, which was always open to her 
 and Mr. Napier and ' the puppies ') ' has enabled 
 us to build ours, for it has already cost us in out- 
 of-doors 13 hundred pounds and not furnished 
 yet, and I assure you that there is not above 3 
 hundred of it that we can accuse ourselves of 
 having spent unnecessarily ; that is in ornamenting 
 the place by plantingj laying down grounds and 
 adding some very necessary comforts to the house. 
 
42 LORD EDWARD 
 
 
 
 At present I am in tlie full enjoyment of the 
 diversions of jancy and scheeming with, my sister, 
 and I go there almost every day, sit in the different 
 rooms which want only papering, and settle how 
 charming each will be. Then we admire the 
 orchard in full bloom upon the grass we have 
 lately sown, the turn of a new walk, the look of 
 a clump that is or is to he!' 
 
 Eddy is frankly and deHghtfully ' not too good, 
 for human nature's daily food.' 
 
 ' I have no Dublin news to tell you,' he writes. 
 ' Besides I am rather stupid. I got drunk last 
 night at a Patriotick Dinner, which, as it seldom 
 happens to me now, makes me very miserable 
 next day.' Other times, other manners ! 
 
 Here is a disedifying passage in a letter of Lady 
 Sarah's, too delicious to be suppressed. She writes 
 to Lady Sophia: 
 
 'I must now give you an account of my 
 distresses since you went. On Thursday I went 
 to Lady Lamison's and to Mrs. Meynell's, 
 which as it was hot certainly did fatigue me, but 
 I was sure to make up for it on Friday by a quiet 
 evening and early going to bed. Mr. Ogilvie 
 sat and chatted with me till 10., and at 11. I was 
 preparing to go to bed when in walks Mr. Napier 
 drunk as an owl, with 2 Colonels whom I had never 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY 43 
 
 seen, and Eddy as DrunJc as his good Uncle. 
 " Sarah, I have brought these gentlemen to supper. 
 Give us some bread and cheese." You have no 
 idea of my hlanh face, for one of the Footmen 
 was gone to bed very ill. I did not know what 
 there was in the House, or if the Cook was up to 
 dress it : and I saw that Donny was not in a way 
 to understand reason on any subject. However, 
 I put the best face I could on it, and we managed 
 tant hien que mal, and my only reason for conversa- 
 tion was worrying Eddy about his love of wine, 
 for the 2 Colonels would not utter for fear of exposing 
 themselves. I gave them strong drink to make 
 them more drunk that they might go the sooner. 
 As for Eddy he stuffed and he drank comme quatre 
 and was my only Coynfort, for Mr. N. was wise 
 and stupid. At last Eddy went, and I retired to 
 bed at one o'clock, being too much worried by this 
 supper to sleep. At 3 Mr. Napier came up and 
 showed me a Boat close to the shore where he 
 and MacDonald had discovered thieves in, and 
 they had been lying out on the terrace with Pistols, 
 in case the Thieves stirred. This pretty bit of 
 intelHgence kept me en Fair for 2 hours more. 
 The Boat went off, and we were safe for that 
 night.' 
 
 VI 
 
 Eddy is always so much of a hero of romance 
 that one rejoices in his occasional weaknesses, lest 
 
44 LORD EDWAED 
 
 the human stomach should revolt from too much 
 goodness. Another time he is, to say the least 
 of it, unreasonable with Lady Sophia, if indeed 
 he is not a little ' gone ' on Louisa Staples with 
 his unconquerable propensity for falling in love. 
 
 ' While we were at Tea,' writes Lady Sophia, 
 * we heard a great Rap at the Hall-door which 
 made us all start and wonder who it could be. 
 It was Henry and Edward. We work'd and they 
 chatted to us, and were as pleasant and agreeable 
 as possible and kept us up till past 12 o'clock. 
 Next day we all met very late at Breakfast. 
 Henry and Edward entertain' d us excessively 
 with an account of a ridiculous Quarrell they had 
 had in the morning, but were very good Friends 
 again. Eddy was very curious about a Letter 
 I receiv'd to-day from Louisa Staples — and when 
 we came up to bed he wanted me to show it to 
 him, which I would not do. He put himself in a 
 violent Passion with me. I only laugh' d at him, 
 and told him it would not be fair in me to show a 
 letter that she desir'd me not to show to anybody ; 
 we had a long argument about it, and he said that 
 if I really loved him I should have no secrets from 
 him. I told him that anything about myself I 
 certainly wou'd tell him, but I did not think it 
 was a right thing to tell my Friends' secrets. 
 He said that was all nonsense. I said I never 
 wanted to know his Friends' secrets, why was he 
 so curious about mine? He then said that he 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY 45 
 
 would tell me a thing he was desir'd never to 
 mention to anybody. My answer was that he 
 might do as he lik'd, and he did tell it me. How- 
 ever I was determined to be faithful! to Louisa 
 and did not show her letter. Wlien he heard me 
 in my Eoom he calFd out to me and said that he 
 forgave me, that I had put him in a great Passion.' 
 
 VII 
 
 The Good Family did not hesitate to call a 
 spade a spade. It would have been contrary to 
 everything in Lady Sarah's character to have been 
 mealy-mouthed. Here is her straight answer to 
 her niece, Lady Sophia, refusing to help her in 
 her ' panegerick ' on a Duchess who shall be 
 nameless. ' I hnow that her Heart is bad. It 
 was so 22 years ago and it seldom softens with 
 age, impudence and drunkenness, and the cunning 
 persevering passion of Interest, all of which your 
 fine Duchess possess' d early in life, all except the 
 drinking, which is of late increased, I hear. The 
 rest I know J 
 
 VIII 
 
 * By the bye,' writes Lady Lucy, ' have you 
 heard of the pretty piece of work at the Opera 
 the other night ? The Prince found Charles and 
 Mr. Lascelles in his box with Mrs. Fitzherbert. 
 
46 LOED EDWARD 
 
 They immediately withdrew, but he flew into the 
 most dreadful passion, calFd them all sorts of 
 names and scolded Mrs. Fitz so loud that all the 
 House heard it. He was Drunk, as you may sup- 
 pose : the next day he begg'd her pardon/ 
 
 IX 
 
 Lady Lucy was the liveliest of the sisters, and 
 the one closest in touch with Lord Edward. One 
 can imagine that they all enjoyed rallying Sophia, 
 who comes down to us with a spinsterish air. 
 Sophia must have been like her aunt, Lady Louisa — 
 thoroughly dependable, but somewhat of a drab bird 
 by the phoenixes who inhabited the same nest. 
 
 Lord Edward's daughter says : ' My Father 
 had the discernment to appreciate Aunt Sophia's 
 sense and good qualities, for, someone taxing him 
 with loving his half-sisters, Mimi and Ciss Ogilvie, 
 the best, he said, "You are quite mistaken. I 
 love Sophy, and there is more good in her little 
 finger than in all of them put together." ' 
 
 Still Lady Sophia was cast for the part of the 
 maiden aunt, and most admirably did she fill it 
 in her tender care for Lord Edward's orphans. 
 
 Lady Lucy was ' comical,' like Lord Edward. 
 One wonders how Lady Sophia liked this letter 
 from her comical sister, written at a date after 
 her brother's marriage. 
 
 ' We long to get accounts of our dear travellers. 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY 47 
 
 Were you sick ? Was Lady Edward nervous ? 
 Was Eddy ridiculous ? Tliat I need not ask. 
 Oh how we miss you. How we longed for you 
 Christmas Day. I am sure you eat your mince- 
 pies just before you sail'd ; or perhaps the Captain 
 had provided some for the passage, in which case 
 I'll be sworn you eat heartily of them. I hope 
 you did not make too free with the grog. We 
 have been stunned, stupified, deafened by the Bells, 
 that have never ceased ringing since you went, 
 Day and Night — ^not for your going, but in honour 
 of Christmas, and a wedding, at which, with shame 
 I speak it, the Bridegroom behaved very much as 
 you would probably do on a similar occasion. He 
 got Drunk and forgot the bride and could not be 
 brought to go home to her — very different from 
 Sir Charles. Affairs go on swimmingly there, 
 by the bye, for tho' Punctilio won't allow her 
 to hear the ceremony named as yet, she and Sir 
 Charles retire after breakfast and he kisses her 
 from ear to ear. Uncle Selby is all for a speedy 
 celebration and damns Punctilio.' 
 
 One remembers Eddy's humorous way of 
 regarding a suitor for Sophia's hand. At a much 
 later date, when the Good Family's loyalty was 
 under suspicion, Mr. Ogilvie urged on Lady Sophia 
 to quit her retirement at Thames Ditton and 
 come to town. One can see his face as he wrote 
 this argument, and hers as she read it : ' We all 
 agree that the World thinks your Ketreat very 
 
48 LORD EDWARD 
 
 odd, and I daresay, if not prevented by your 
 appearance, soon will good-naturedly say that you 
 are retired like Miss Keppel formerly, and will 
 soon add that you have had Twins, like the Lady 
 in the School jor Scandal, You must come up 
 for a few days and show your dear little Chien 
 de Visage at the Opera, etc., and then you may go 
 back in perfect security.' 
 
 One is very often loved the better for being 
 laughed at with tenderness. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE PILGRIM OF LOVE 
 
 Eddy is more desperately in love with Georgina 
 Lennox than ever he was with ' sweet pretty Kate/ 
 Perhaps the vehemence of his passion frightened 
 the young lady. Perhaps she did not want to 
 marry a Phoenix whom all his world adored. 
 Perhaps she preferred a plain honest gentleman, 
 and was dismayed at what her violent young lover 
 expected of her. Anyhow, she runs away from 
 him : she hides behind her father's broad back. 
 He shelters her. He understands better than a 
 mother. Is it strange, is it capricious, incredible, 
 that Georgina should be terrified of such a lover ? 
 The good gentleman asks no questions. It suffices 
 for him that his little female thing is frightened. 
 She shall have her childhood out, uninterrupted 
 by rough splendid wooers. 
 
 The Duke comes over from Goodwood. He 
 swears by Eddy. What ! Is Georgie coy to such 
 a soldier, lover, hero of romance as Eddy ? He 
 
 49 E 
 
50 LOED EDWAKD 
 
 and Lord George walk round the zigzag walks of 
 Stoke, delicious for lovers, the Duke with a dog 
 of the Eanger breed at his heels, all eagerness for 
 the suit of his favourite nephew. Himself a good 
 easy man, he advocates stern measures with little 
 Lady Georgina. Lock her in her room; put her 
 on bread and water till she comes to her senses. 
 His eyebrows beetle over his eyes, and his lips 
 are pursed. Girls and their fancies are a plague. 
 He has had enough of it in his family. 
 
 He trusts that George will know how to reduce 
 his obstinate child to the far from disagreeable 
 choice of such a lover as Eddy. The boy is at 
 present somewhat romantical in his notions; it 
 is the Irish blood : but he will settle. He will 
 follow the Duke of York yet in command of our 
 Armies. Why, he might be such a one as Corporal 
 John, without that hero's love of the money-bags. 
 
 ' He has the prettiest knowledge of the Science 
 of War,' says the Duke, ' of any young soldier I 
 have ever known, and brave to rashness. You 
 should hear Doyle upon him. The rascal disobeyed 
 orders and went out alone. He was wounded in 
 combat with two of the enemy. It would have 
 been insubordination if it hadn't been so splendid. 
 Lord, he is like the young Alexander.' 
 
 ' That,' says Lord George coldly, ' will not 
 win my girl's heart ! ' 
 
 * The men adore him. He is the idol of his 
 friends. He is gentle to all women.' 
 
THE PILGEIM OF LOVE 51 
 
 ' I cannot constrain my daughter's afiections/ 
 Lord George returns. 
 
 At that the Duke flies into a rage and dashes 
 Georgie's affections. He dashes all women freely. 
 ' Have I ever had any peace from them ? ' he 
 demands passionately. ' Look at Sal ! I grant 
 you she is in clear water at last, but poor as a 
 church mouse, her little boys attending the village 
 school. And Emily, married to a dashed Scotch 
 tutor ! Not but what O.'s turned out better 
 than could have been hoped. Oh, Love, Love, 
 I'm plagued with the very name of it ! ' 
 
 II 
 
 After the Duke had taken himself of! in a 
 passion Lord George, his kind eyes brooding and 
 his lips set, wrote a letter to poor Eddy. 
 
 My dear Lord, — Your letter was only 
 delivered to me as I was getting down to dinner. 
 I take the opportunity of Lady Charlotte's going 
 to-morrow to answer it by her. Your setting out 
 this morning was so unexpected to me that you 
 will, I trust, look on it as the cause of my not 
 being in the way to take leave of you. However 
 all things considered we, maybe, have neither of 
 us any reason to regret it, as it has saved us an 
 awkward adieu after the result of your conversa- 
 tion with my daughter, to whom I have on this 
 occasion, as I have always with her sisters, left 
 
52 LORD EDWARD 
 
 every matter of the sort to be determined by 
 themselves. With respect therefore to the manner 
 of your proposal it was not so material to me, 
 from the perfect security I always feel in my 
 daughters' conduct, and as to the propriety of 
 yours, which you are so good as to say you hope 
 I approve of, it is now needless to enter into since 
 you did not think it necessary to consult me on 
 it before. But nevertheless, my Dear Lord, what 
 has passed shall not make any alteration in those 
 Sentiments I have already for you. 
 
 I am, with great truth, my Dear Lord, 
 Your sincerely affectionate Uncle, 
 
 Geo. Henry Lennox. 
 
 Lady Sarah Napier has a note somewhere. 
 ' How often I have observed in reasonable gentle- 
 men a jealousy, doubtless unknown to themselves, 
 of a Daughter's suitor. I am not altogether sorry 
 that Eddy is not to have Georgina. The poor 
 child is distressed lest it break up the happy 
 friendship of the famihes. And my brother the 
 Duke has called George a Numbskull. They were 
 too near related.' 
 
 Ill 
 
 Let us receive from the same vivacious pen 
 a picture of the child who set Eddy's heart ablaze 
 to the extinction of the little flame for Kate. 
 
 ' Georgina is rather little and strong-made ; 
 
THE PILGRIM OF LOVE 53 
 
 her countenance is reckoned very like mine, so I 
 must not say as I have said of her sister Louisa 
 that, like my sister Leinster, her mouth and 
 countenance are full of ten thousand graces. 'Tis 
 a pity I must be modest in describing of her since 
 she is like me. She has little eyes, no eyebrows, 
 longish nose, even teeth and the merriest of smiles. 
 But all her livelyness comes from her mother's 
 side. She has all her witt, all her power of satyre 
 and all her sweet goodnature too, so if she is not 
 led to give way to the tempting vanity of dis- 
 playing her witt she will be delightful. Dear 
 little Georgina, I fear, will experience the dangers 
 attending on such a possession. Her manners are 
 of course, at fifteen, more lively and less prudent 
 than her sisters ', but there is the same good-humour 
 and complaisance in all.' 
 
 IV 
 
 Eomeo could not endure the refusal of his 
 suit, so without telling even his mother, lest she 
 should dissuade him, he flung himself off across 
 the ocean to New Brunswick in Nova Scotia, where 
 his regiment was stationed. 
 
 ' Dearest, dearest Mother,' he writes from Halifax, 
 June 24, 1788, 'I got here three days ago after a 
 passage of 28 days, one of the quickest ever known. 
 We had a fair wind every hour of the way. I shall 
 lose no opportunity of writing to you. By what I 
 
54 LOED EDWARD 
 
 hear they are all Irish in this town. The brogue 
 is not in greater perfection in Kilkenny. I am 
 lodged at a Mr. Cornehus O'Brien's — who claims 
 relationship, which I accept — and his horse, for 
 thirty miles up the country. I start to-day. I 
 love Georgina more than ever. I long to hear 
 from you. God bless you ten thousand times. . . .' 
 
 He is not too love-sick to describe the new 
 world and its people, as he sees them in his voyage 
 up-country, with great liveliness. His Republican 
 feelings begin to show in his letters : 
 
 ' The equality of everybody and their manner of 
 life, I like very much. There are no gentlemen ; 
 everybody is on a footing, provided he works, and 
 wants nothing. The more children a man has the 
 better ; his wife being brought to bed is as joyful 
 news as his cow calving : the father has no uneasi- 
 ness about providing for them as this is done by the 
 profit of their work. By the time they are fit to 
 settle he can always provide them with two oxen, 
 a cow, a gun, and an axe, and in a few years, if they 
 work, they will thrive. I came by a settlement 
 along one of the rivers which was all the work of 
 one pair. . . . Conceive, dearest Mother, arriving 
 about 12 o'clock on a hot day at a little cabin upon 
 the side of a rapid river, the banks all covered with 
 woods, not a house in sight, and there finding 
 
THE PILGRIM OF LOVE 55 
 
 a little old clean tidy woman spinning, with an 
 old man of the same appearance weeding salad. 
 We had come for ten miles up the river without 
 seeing anything but woods. The old pair, on our 
 arrival, became as active as though five-and- 
 twenty, the gentleman getting wood and water, 
 the lady frying bacon and eggs, both talking a 
 great deal, telHng their story, how they had been 
 there thirty years, and how their children were 
 settled ; and when cither's back was turned re- 
 marking how old the other had grown, all with 
 the greatest kindness, cheerfulness and love to 
 each other. 
 
 ' The contrast of all this with the quietness of 
 the evening when the spirits of the old people 
 had a little subsided and begun to wear oil with 
 the day and the fatigue of their little work, sitting 
 quietly at their door on the same spot they had 
 lived thirty years together ; the contented thought- 
 fulness of their countenances, which was increased 
 by their age and the solitary life they had led, 
 the wild quietness of the place ; not a living 
 creature to be seen but me, Tony and the guide, 
 sitting with them all on a log. The difference of 
 the scene I had left, the immense way I had to 
 travel back to see anything I loved, the difference 
 of the life I should lead from theirs — perhaps at 
 their age, discontented, disappointed, wishing foi 
 power, — etc. — my dearest Mother, I beheve if it 
 was not for you I never should go home.^ 
 
56 LORD EDWARD 
 
 VI 
 
 How fresh and vivid the colours of this idyll, 
 as though 'twere painted only yesterday ! What 
 a writer was lost in him ! The plain short words 
 and sentences of Defoe, the vivid keen touches, 
 the life-hke detail, the atmosphere, the tempera- 
 ment. Oh, it is not well to have all the gifts ! 
 Something should have been flung into the sea to 
 appease the jealous gods. 
 
 ' I own I often think,' he goes on, ' how happy 
 I could be with dear Georgina in some of the spots I 
 see. I envied every young farmer I met whom I saw 
 sitting down with ayomig wife and a fine baby that 
 he was going to support with his labour. Dearest 
 Mother, I sometimes think 'twill end well, — that 
 she will relent towards the one whose only fault is 
 loving her too much. I dream of her httle dear eyes 
 and her laughter. Do you see her ? And is there 
 any word of Bathurst ? If he is with her I am 
 on fire. Tell 0. that I am sometimes obliged to 
 say to myself '' tu Vas voulu, Georges Dandin/^ 
 He won't believe me, I know. He will be in a 
 fine rage when he hears I should have been 
 lieutenant-colonel if I had stayed in the 60th. 
 Fate seems to destine me for a major ! But oh, 
 those homes ! Dearest Mother, they distract me. 
 If I could but carry Georgie off here. I envy 
 the poor Indian with his squaw and papooses. 
 But I must not go on like this. Tell Ogilvie I 
 
THE PILGEIM OF LOVE 57 
 
 hope he misses " that little dog, Edward/^ some- 
 times/ 
 
 VII 
 
 He is back again with his regiment. 
 
 ' Pray tell Ogilvie I am obliged to think. He 
 will say he is glad to hear it. I get up at five : 
 go out and exercise the men from six to eight, then 
 breakfast : from that to three, read, write and 
 settle all the different business of the regiment : 
 at four dine ; at half -past six, parade and drill 
 to sundown : from that till nine o'clock walk by 
 myself, build castles in the air, think of you all 
 and the pleasant things that may yet happen : 
 when I am tired of myself, home to bed, and sleep 
 till the faithful Tony comes in the morning — his 
 black face is as yet the only thing I feel attached 
 to. Dearest Mother, if I could carry you here 
 I should live tolerable happy ! There is certainly 
 something in the soldier's life that keeps up one's 
 spirits. I feel like my Uncle Toby at the sound 
 of a drum, and the more I hear it the more I like 
 it. There is a mixture of country life and military 
 life here that is very pleasant. I have got a 
 garden for the soldiers that employs me a great 
 deal. I flatter myself that next year it will 
 provide the men with plenty of vegetables. 
 Another of my amusements is my canoe. I and 
 another officer went up the river in her for thirty 
 
58 LORD EDWAED 
 
 miles. It is very pleasant to go in this way 
 exploring, ascending far up some river or creek, 
 and finding the most beautiful spots in Nature, 
 quite wild and unknown. A canoe here is like 
 a post-chaise at home, and the rivers and lakes 
 your post-horses. You would laugh to see the 
 faithful Tony and I carrying one. 
 
 ' I do all I can not to think of you, — ^in vain. 
 Give my love to everyone. I love G. more than 
 ever, and if she loves me will not change. I often 
 think what it would be to come home to her as 
 well as you — and how every object would appear 
 so much better — the trees, the grass, the flowers, 
 increased in beauty. I never shall, I think, be 
 happy without her : neither do I wish to be 
 absolutely unhappy. I think it indeed wrong, 
 when one has so many blessings, not to feel and 
 enjoy them, because there is one one cannot 
 have.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 ' Seft. 2nd, 1788. — I have just got your letter 
 from sweet Frescati. How affectionate and rea- 
 sonable ! You cannot think how happy you have 
 made me. Being absent from you was un- 
 happiness enough without the addition of your 
 being a little angry. . . . The step I have taken 
 will certainly do me good in my profession. It 
 gives me the consolation that I am doing my duty 
 
THE PILGRIM OF LOVE 59 
 
 as a man, and a constant occupation hinders my 
 being so taken up with one object. Still, being 
 absent from you is very terrible to me. 
 
 ' I am very glad you are so quietly settled at 
 Frescati. You must find great pleasure in being 
 there after your rambling : but you must not 
 become too rooted there and too lazy to stir from 
 it, for I hope to serve as your courier yet ; and 
 to keep you in order on our journeys when you 
 know I always become such a tyrant. I am afraid 
 I shall think too often of our last year's journey. 
 We are going, a party of us, in canoes up to 
 the Grand Falls of St. John's, two hundred and 
 fifty miles up the river, and by all accounts 
 very beautiful. The contrast will be very great. 
 Instead of Blois, Tours, etc., a few Indian bark 
 huts. 
 
 * I know Ogilvie says I ought to have been a 
 savage, and if it were not that the people I love 
 and wish to live with are civilized and like houses, 
 etc., I would join the savages ; and, leaving all 
 our fictitious, ridiculous wants, be what Nature in- 
 tended me to be. Savages have all the real happiness 
 of life. They enjoy the love and company of their 
 wives, relations, and friends, without any inter- 
 ference of ambitions or interests to separate them. 
 If we were Indians it would be my duty to be with 
 you, to make you comfortable, to hunt and fish 
 for you. Instead of my uncle being violent 
 against letting me marry Georgina, he would be 
 
60 LOED EDWARD 
 
 glad to give her to me, so that I might maintain 
 and feed her. There would be then no need to 
 look forward to fortunes for the children, or how 
 you are to live ; no separation in families, no 
 devilish pohtics, no fashions, customs, duties, or 
 appearances to the world, to interfere with happi- 
 ness. Instead of being served and supported by- 
 servants everything is done by one's relations, — 
 by the people one loves, — and mutual obligations 
 must increase your love for each other. To be 
 sure the poor ladies are obhged to cut a Uttle wood 
 and draw a little water. The dear Ciss and Mimi 
 instead of being with Mrs. Lynch would be carrying 
 wood and fetching water, while Ladies Lucy and 
 Sophia were cooking or drying fish. As for you, 
 dearest Mother, you would be smoking your pipe. 
 Ogilvie and us boys, having, after breakfast, 
 brought in our game, would be lying about the fire, 
 while our squaws were helping to cook or nursing 
 our papooses ; all this in a fine wood, beside some 
 beautiful lake, which, when you were tired of, you 
 could get into your canoes and off with you else- 
 where. 
 
 ' I wish Ogilvie may get rid of Frescati so 
 easily. I really think, though I love it, it would 
 be a good thing. Perhaps you may settle in 
 England, and if things turn out as I still have 
 hopes and I marry dearest Georgie, it will be 
 happier for me. I cannot help having hopes that 
 Lord George may at last consent, and as long, as 
 
THE PILGEIM OF LOVE 61 
 
 there is the smallest hope of being happy with 
 her it is not possible to be happy without her. 
 I never can, I think, love anybody as I love her, 
 for with her I can find no fault. Dearest Mother, 
 after yourself I think she is the most perfect 
 creature on earth/ 
 
 IX 
 
 'Oct, 6th, 1788.— I begin to long very much 
 to see you. The truth is I do not know when I 
 am with you how necessary you are to me. I 
 contrive to be with you a great deal. I take fine 
 long walks and think of last year. I think of all 
 our talks, — our jokes — my passions when you were 
 troublesome and fidgety ; I think of Sophy's 
 ** You may pretend to look melancholy "" — and 
 Lucy's hot cheek, stuffed up in the coach and 
 dying to get out. I think of our pleasant break- 
 fast on the road to Orleans. In short, dearest, 
 I have you with me always : — I talk to you ;— I 
 look at your meek face when you submitted to 
 all my little tyranny. The feel of the air even very 
 often reminds me of you. We had just such a day 
 a few days ago as that when we came to Aubigny 
 and stopped at the pleasant village. Dearest 
 Mother, when shall we have such another 
 walk? 
 
 ' I am glad to tell you that I have been five 
 months away. By the time you get this I shall 
 
62 LORD EDWARD 
 
 have only three months to stay. I wish I could 
 go to sleep/ 
 
 A little later he writes : ' Our winter is setting 
 in violently — thank God. I shall visit you with 
 the swallows. I wish I could be frozen till then. 
 Good-bye. Ten thousand loves.' 
 
CHAPTEE VI 
 
 THE SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY 
 
 Eddy is disturbed, disgusted about politics. 
 His brother tlie Duke has gone over to the Govern- 
 ment. He and Lord Henry are in revolt, ready- 
 to act in opposition to the head of the family. 
 ' I am tired of thinking of this hanged stuf!,' 
 he says. Quixotically he would take no favours 
 from the Government, so he refuses the family 
 interest to make him lieutenant-colonel. ' I Uke 
 the service for its own sake,' he says, ' High rank 
 in it I do not aspire to. If I am found fit for 
 command I shall get it. If not, God knows, I am 
 better without it. I am afraid you will all say 
 I am very foolish about this : but it is a folly 
 that may have its fling : it hurts nobody.' 
 
 Very plain to read between the Hues the vexa- 
 tion of his own heart. 
 
 63 
 
64 LORD EDWAED 
 
 II 
 
 ' The Winter is quite set in and the rivers 
 frozen over, and I am skating from morning till 
 night. I begin in the morning as soon as it is 
 light, stay till breakfast, after breakfast, till it is 
 time to dress and parade. Our drilling is over 
 till Spring, except twice a week taking a good long 
 march. The snow will soon stop that, and then 
 I mean to go to Quebec in snow-shoes. I believe 
 I shall be out most of the Winter. The idea of 
 being out of doors, notwithstanding the inclemency 
 of the weather, and of overcoming all the difii- 
 culties of Nature by the ingenuities of man, 
 delights me. Everybody says it is much the 
 warmest way of living in Winter, for by being 
 in the woods you are sheltered from the winds ; 
 and at night, by clearing away the snow, banking 
 it up round, and, in the middle of the space, making 
 a large fire, you are much warmer than in the 
 best house. You may guess how eager I am to 
 try if I like the woods in Winter as well as in 
 Summer. I believe I shall never again be prevailed 
 on to live in a house. I long to teach you all how 
 to make a good spruce bed. Three of the coldest 
 nights weVe had yet I slept in the woods, with 
 only one blanket, and was as comfortable as in 
 a room. ... I cannot describe the feehngs one 
 has in these excursions, when one wakes, — ^perhaps 
 in the middle of the night, in a fine open forest, 
 
THE SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY 65 
 
 all your companions snoring about you, the moon 
 shining through the trees, the burning of the fire 
 — in short, everything delightful. 
 
 ' Dearest, dearest Mother, how I have thought 
 of you at these times and of all at dear Frescati, 
 and, being tired of thinking, lying down like a dog 
 and falling asleep till daybreak ; then getting 
 up, no dressing or any trouble, but just a good 
 shake and away to the delicious spring to wash 
 your face and hands. I have had two parties 
 with the savages, which are still pleasanter, — there 
 are des dames, who are the most comical creatures 
 in the world. 
 
 ' Tell dear Ogilvie that I am not affronted 
 by his remarks on the '' paucity of ideas '' and 
 " an empty skull '' ; I agree with him that they 
 are great blessings. Notwithstanding his say- 
 ing he didn't mean me I plead guilty. Imagine 
 your thinking I should be affronted ! ' 
 
 III 
 
 He is going with a little party of five through 
 the frozen woods and country never before traversed 
 except by Indians, by the St. Lawrence to Quebec, 
 a distance of one hundred and seventy-five miles. 
 He writes to that prudent Scot and stern monitor, 
 Mr. 0. Some of the Kildare gertry have been 
 playing him a shabby trick. Very like he was a 
 white blackbird to them or a Bird of Paradise 
 
66 LOED EDWARD 
 
 among common fowl. ' I believe there is un hien 
 clique of fellows in the county. Pray do not let 
 any of them into Kilrush, for they will only distress 
 and domineer over the poor tenants. I have only 
 spent my pay yet, and shall not want any money 
 till I get home. I am richer than ever I was yet. 
 I have always £25 or £30 to the good and pay 
 ready money. I have given away a good deal 
 besides, — ^more than at home. I certainly manage 
 very well. 
 
 ' Give my love to all the dear girls. Tell them 
 I am as great a fool as ever : I am afraid that it 
 will stick to me all the days of my life. I often 
 long to lay aside the character of Major commanding 
 His Majesty's Regiment to play the fool and buffoon. 
 I am sure if Ciss were here I should. 
 
 ' God bless you, my dear Ogilvie. Ten thousand 
 loves to my dearest mother. Tell her le petit 
 sauvage thinks of her constantly in the woods. 
 Indeed the more savage I am the better I love her. 
 She has a rope about my heart that gives hard tugs 
 at it, and it is all I can do not to give way.' 
 
 IV 
 
 He has made the journey in thirty days and is 
 at Quebec, where ' your old love. Lord Dorchester, 
 is very civil to me.' Here is an incident of the 
 j ourney, typically Eddyian : 
 
 ' After making the river we fell in with some 
 
THE SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY 67 
 
 savages and travelled with them to Quebec. They 
 were very kind to us and said we were " all one 
 brother, ell one Indian." They fed us the whole 
 time we were with them. You would have laughed 
 to see me carrying an old squaw's pack, which was so 
 heavy I could hardly waddle under it. However, I 
 was well paid whenever we stopped, for she always 
 gave me the best bits and most soup, and took as 
 much care of me as if I had been her own son : 
 in fact, I was quite V enfant cherie. We were quite 
 sorry to part : the old lady and gentleman both 
 kissed me very heartily. I gave the old lady one 
 of Sophia's silver spoons, which pleased her very 
 much. 
 
 ' When we got here you may guess what figures 
 we were : we had not shaved or washed during 
 the journey ; our blankets, coats, trousers, all 
 worn out and pieced : in short, we went to two or 
 three houses and they would not let us in. There 
 was one old lady exactly the hotesse in Gil Bias, 
 die me prit la mesure jusqu'd la tete, and told me 
 there was one room, without a stove or bed, which 
 I might have if I pleased : and when I told her we 
 were gentlemen she said quietly, '' I daresay you 
 are," and went off. However at last we got 
 lodgings in an ale-house, and I need not tell you 
 ate well and slept well. We went next day, 
 dressed out finely, with one of Lord Dorchester's 
 aides-de-camp to triumph over the old lady — ^in 
 fact, exactly the story in Gil Bias. . . . 
 
68 LORD EDWARD 
 
 ' I really do think there is no luxury equal to 
 that of lying before a good fire on a good spruce 
 bed, after a good supper, and a hard moose chase 
 in a clear frosty moonlight starry night/ (Here 
 follows a very spirited account of a moose chase in 
 which the quarry was run down after a day and 
 a half.) 
 
 ' At last, pursued him for three-quarters of an 
 hour in fine open woodland, came within shot — 
 he stopped, but in vain, poor animal. I cannot 
 help being sorry now for the poor creature and was 
 then, \\liile we hunted it was charming, but 
 when we had him in our power it was melancholy ; 
 however it was soon over and no pain to him. If 
 it was not for this last part it would be a delightful 
 amusement. I am sorry to say, however, that in 
 a few hours the good passion wore off and the 
 animal one predominated. I enjoyed most heartily 
 the eating him and cooking him. We are beasts, 
 dearest mother ; I am sorry to say it. ' 
 
 V 
 
 ' My letter is getting too long and all about 
 myself. You know I hate that, but I must tell 
 you about my intended motions. I set out for 
 Niagara as soon as possible, and on my return 
 expect to find my leave and a ship to take me 
 to my dearest mother. God alone knows how I 
 long to be with you. My heart cannot be content 
 
THE SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY 69 
 
 while I am so far away from you. Give my love 
 to all. How I long to feel all your arms about 
 my neck ! If Georgie should love me when I 
 go home I shall be the happiest fellow in the 
 world. 
 
 ' Ten thousand million blessings attend you, 
 dearest of mothers. I will see you soon. What 
 happiness ! It has been a long year, but I did all 
 I could to shorten it. I wish I was in the woods, 
 tired and sleepy : I should soon forget you all. 
 When I end a letter the thoughts of you all come 
 upon me so thick I do not know which to speak 
 to — so God bless you all. I am going foolish." 
 
 VI 
 
 After all, his love of adventure kept him longer 
 from that beloved side. Since he could not get 
 a ship at once he determined to go down the 
 Mississippi to New Orleans after seeing Niagara 
 and return home from the Southern port. 
 
 ' There was one family at Quebec, very pleasant 
 and very good to me — a mother and two pretty 
 daughters. Don't be afraid. I was not in love. 
 We were very sorry to part. However, it did not 
 last long, I tell it you because it was the only 
 kind feel I had for a woman since I left England ; 
 I wish it had lasted a little longer.' He is an 
 epicure in love. 
 
70 LOED EDWARD 
 
 VII 
 
 He travels with an Indian Chief, Joseph Brant, 
 canoeing down the rivers instead of crossing Lake 
 Erie in a ship. 
 
 * We go through a number of Indian villages. 
 If you only stop an houx they have a dance for 
 you. They are delightful people : the ladies 
 charming, and with manners that I like very much, 
 they are so natural. Notwithstanding the life 
 they lead, which would make most women rough and 
 masculine, they are as soft, meek and modest as 
 the best-b rough t-up girls in England. At the 
 same time they are coquettes au possible. Con- 
 ceive the manner of Mimi in a poor Squaw that 
 has been carrying packs in the woods all her life ! 
 
 * I shall reach the Mississippi soon and then 
 down to New Orleans, and to my dearest mother 
 at Frescati to relate all my journey in the little 
 Book Room. Ireland and England will be too 
 Uttle for me when I get home. If I could only 
 carry my dearest mother with me I should be 
 completely happy here.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 At Detroit he was adopted as an Indian into 
 the Bear Tribe and made one of their Chiefs. 
 They returned his love. The wandering had got 
 into his blood, for, by the time he arrived at New 
 
THE SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY 71 
 
 Orleans, whicli was not till well into another 
 Winter, he wanted to visit the Mexican Silver 
 Mines. That project faiHng, since he could not 
 get permission, he sailed for home, and arrived 
 in the early Spring of 1790, nearly two years after 
 he had set out. 
 
 IX 
 
 And now comes a tragedy for poor Eddy. His 
 dearest mother is not at Frescati, but in London. 
 He flies to her. He is met with the announcement 
 that the Duchess is giving a dinner-party. He is 
 about to launch himself into the midst of the party, 
 when his cousin, Henry Fox, comes into the hall 
 looking disturbed and unhappy. 
 
 ' Come with me, Eddy,' he says, ' into the 
 little parlour.' 
 
 ' But my mother . . .' 
 
 ' Is not yet aware of your presence. I fancied 
 I heard your voice in an interval of the conversa- 
 tion. I am quick of hearing. As soon as the 
 Duchess knows you are come she will fly to welcome 
 you.' 
 
 ' Man,' says Eddy, in a good-natured bewilder- 
 ment, ' I have been sick for a sight of her dear 
 face. It is nearly two years since we met ; I am 
 starved, I tell you. Perhaps I have grown, as 
 Ogilvie says, sauvage in my ways. I am going to 
 her. She will take me in her arms before the 
 
72 LOED EDWARD 
 
 company, before tlie whole world. I tell you I 
 cannot wait another minute. I am at the end 
 of my tether.' 
 
 ' My dear Eddy, be reasonable. It is apparent 
 that you have come in haste. What would the 
 company think of you if you were to appear with 
 the stains of travel upon you ? ' 
 
 ' Damn the company and the stains of travel ! ' 
 says Eddy. ' I want my mother ! She would not 
 care if I came hke an Esquimaux.' 
 
 ' She shall come to you,' says Henry Fox, still 
 pushing Eddy towards the little parlour. 
 
 ' It is not what I dreamed of,' says Eddy, 
 wistful and disappointed — ' that a dinner-party 
 should come between me and my mother. Good 
 Lord, man, do you know how I have suffered all 
 these months when one infernal obstacle after 
 another rose up to keep me from her dear 
 face ? ' 
 
 ' She shall come to you. Think — ^you do not 
 want to meet her before a roomful of people. She 
 has been longing for you. She will fly as soon as 
 I have whispered in her ear.' 
 
 ' Why, that is true,' says Eddy, suddenly 
 reasonable. 'I would not meet her under the 
 eyes of strangers. Who are her guests ? It is the 
 worst of chances that she should be entertaining. 
 I only desired to sit down in the midst of the 
 family. Do you know that I am bursting to 
 talk and to have their news. Is Ogilvie here ? 
 
THE SENTIMENTAL JOUENEY 73 
 
 Is Lucy ? Is Ciss ? Anyone of them will keep me 
 company till these people are gone/ 
 
 Henry Fox closes the door of the little room, 
 leaving him. Eddy stands by the fireplace, finger- 
 ing the ornaments upon the mantel, too impatient 
 to know what he is doing. Some chill has come 
 upon the ardour of his home-coming. He wants his 
 mother to dissipate it, to assure him it is only a 
 teasing cloud of the brain caused by the fatigue 
 of the too -rapid journey. 
 
 The door opens, and he is in her arms. She is 
 fondling his dark head, weeping with joy. 
 
 * I thought the time would never pass, Eddy,' 
 she says. 'My dear Angel, you have tried me. 
 You must never leave me again/ 
 
 The cloud has passed away. They sit, side 
 by side, hand in hand. The Duchess has forgotten 
 her guests. Eddy is happy. He has not yet 
 even asked for Georgie. In the round mirror 
 above the sofa opposite he can see himself and 
 his mother, very clear and small, in the silvery 
 depths of the mirror, she in lace and diamonds, 
 he dusty and unkempt. 
 
 He is the first to remember the guests ; and 
 only when she has thought that he must be hungry. 
 
 * I shall have food brought to you,' she says 
 
 ' Why,' asks Eddy, laughing, ' I am very well 
 disposed for the company of my kind. I have 
 been so long without it. Have you dear Henry 
 with you and the girls ? True, my baggage follows 
 
74 LOED EDWAED 
 
 me, but Tony lias brought my valise with a change 
 of clothing. Let me wash and change before 
 I join your party. I am not so hungry as all 
 that. . . .' 
 
 Then he reads calamity in her dear eyes. Why, 
 he had known it was there all the time. 
 
 She holds him to her as fondly as when he had 
 been a sick child. 
 
 * Can you bear a great blow, — in my arms ? ' 
 she asks. * I could not bear that you should endure 
 it elsewhere, alone and away from me.' 
 
 ' Good God ! ' he cries, ' Georgie is dead ! You 
 have not deceived me. I have missed her name 
 from your letters." 
 
 He buries his face against her lace sleeve and 
 sobs. He is not himself because of the rapid 
 travelling and want of sleep. 
 
 * Not that, Eddy,' the Duchess replies. ' She 
 is as well as ever she was in her life. Better. She 
 has married the Lord Bathurst. To-night is my 
 wedding-dinner to them.' 
 
 She sees the blood come into his eyes. He goes 
 away from her to the marble chimney-piece, which 
 is carved with a design of Diana and Endymion. 
 He lays his forehead down upon it. 
 
 The Duchess does not return to her guests that 
 night, but sends word to say that she is indisposed. 
 It is not till after the guests have departed that 
 the Good Family know that Eddy has come 
 home. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 POT POURRI 
 
 A YEAR later Eddy is back in Dublin for his Parlia- 
 mentary duties. He has met the Lady Bathurst 
 and made his felicitations with what Lady Sarah 
 calls ' a Stoick courage.' She is so pretty, so 
 pleading for forgiveness, that poor Eddy can only 
 kiss her hand and turn away. 
 
 The Duchess and her daughters are in London. 
 He writes with a recovery of spirits. 
 
 ' Dublin has been very lively this week and 
 promises as much for the next, but I think it is all 
 
 the same thing — ^Lady A and Lady D and 
 
 a few competitors for their places. I have been a 
 great deal with these charming beauties. They 
 want to console me for London, but they won't 
 do it, though I own they are very pleasant. Henry 
 and I have been living at Leinster House quite 
 alone. We generally ride to the Black Eock. I 
 hate going by the gate through which I used to 
 run to my dearest mother. I won't say anything 
 about it for fear of tempting you — ^but the passage 
 
 75 
 
76 LOED EDWAED 
 
 is in high beauty. I meant to have gone and slept 
 there to-night for the fee] of you in it, but was 
 kept too late at the levy. I have dined by myself, 
 and intended giving up the evening to writing to 
 you, but have had such a pressing invitation from 
 
 Mrs. to sup with her that I cannot refuse. I 
 
 hope it is to make up a quarrel which she began 
 the other night because I said she was cold. I 
 find it is the worst thing one can say of a Dublin 
 woman — you cannot conceive what an affront it is 
 reckoned/ 
 
 II 
 
 During those years of the later Eighties and 
 early Nineties the Duchess and her daughters 
 were constantly away from Ireland, either travelling 
 abroad or in London, with occasional flying visits 
 to Dublin. Of those years Lady Sophia kept some 
 sort of chronicle in a Journal which she called a 
 * Bubb of my own," from the oddly-named Bubb 
 Doddington, a society man and wit of the day. 
 They had a lodging in Harley Street, and they 
 went to Balls and the Opera, for water-parties 
 on the river down to London Bridge and Greenwich, 
 for drives in Lord Henry's curricle to Kensington 
 and Kew Gardens. Also, being the Good Family, 
 the ladies were interested in things other than 
 gaieties, yet the gaieties had a preponderance, as 
 is perhaps right in the case of young ladies. 
 
POT£POURRI 77 
 
 III 
 
 Here is Lady Sophia, who has a quaint way 
 of speaking of herself in the third person in this 
 ' Bubb ' of hers. She allots rather more space 
 to Lord Henry's acting in private theatricals than 
 to the trial of Warren Hastings. 
 
 ' Very busy all the morning making up things 
 for the play. Din'd very early, and at Four O'clock 
 went to Richmond House Theatre to secure good 
 places. Mother, Ciss and Mimi were in the Duke's 
 Box, Sophia in the Pit in the first row in order to 
 see Henry well. He really was more delightful and 
 more charming than can be expressed. Everybody 
 that had seen Garrick thought Henry equal to him, 
 in some parts beyond him ; but Henry look'd 
 much more the character of Don Felix as he has 
 one great advantage over Garrick, that of having 
 a remarkable pretty figure, and looking more like 
 a gentleman, which I understand was not the case 
 with Garrick. Mr. Walpole and all the great 
 critics were charm'd with Henry, and as for the 
 ladies they left the Theatre dying with love for 
 him. 
 
 * This is the first day of Mr. Hastings' Tryal. 
 A great many people went to it. 
 
 ' Sophia was oblig'd to get up very early, which 
 she did not like much : breakfasted, then went 
 to call on Lady Talbot, and they both went 
 to the Tryal, where they staid till four o'clock. 
 
78 LOED EDWAED 
 
 Mr. Burke spoke, and they were delighted with him. 
 Sophia came home, rather pitying poor Mr. Hastings, 
 as the Tryal struck her to be a most awful thing, 
 and hearing himself accus'd of so many horrible 
 crimes : but he seem'd very indifferent about 
 them. 
 
 ' Sophia persuaded her Mother to go to the 
 Tryal, as she knew it would entertain her to hear 
 Mr. Burke. He was charming again, and Mother 
 very pleas' d at having gone. 
 
 We went to the Tryal again to hear Mr. 
 Burke, who really made one's blood run cold with 
 the account of all the Tortures and cruelties in 
 the East Indies. The Tryal, I understand, is likely 
 to be a party business, and of course no justice 
 done. We all went in the evening to see the 
 Play at Eichmond House. Henry was charming. 
 Mrs. Siddons was there. She rather disappointed 
 us in her praises of Henry, as she said much more 
 about Lord Derby, who certainly is not to be 
 nam'd with Henry. At the same time he is a very 
 good actor, but in quite a difierent stile. 
 
 * Mother was taken very ill in the night, which 
 vex'd us all very much ; for besides her being 
 ill we were all to have gone to the Tryal to hear 
 Charles Fox speak. 
 
 ' Mother better but still weak. Sophia and 
 Lucy got up early to go to the Tryal. Sophia 
 was to call for her ticket at Eichmond House, and 
 when arriv'd Edward had taken the ticket, not 
 
POT POUREI 79 
 
 knowing it was for Sophia, and so poor Sophia 
 return' d home, ready to cry at her second dis- 
 appointment, as Charles Fox is to speak to-day 
 and is not likely to speak any more upon the Tryal. 
 Edward came about six, so vex'd at Sophia's not 
 having heard Charles speak : he had not the least 
 idea the ticket was for her/ 
 
 IV 
 
 Lady Lucy, being Eddy in petticoats, is much 
 in love, so that her Journal is chiefly a record of 
 her love-affairs at this time, or rather of one love- 
 affair, which was no more happy than Eddy's. 
 Perhaps she liked to be in torments of love, and 
 certainly her rhapsodies ring much less true than 
 his. Like Lady Sophia's record they are most 
 femininely dateless. 
 
 ' We had many men in our Box at the Opera, — 
 one so like him ! ! The way of sitting, the look 
 of the head — and seeing him in the Pit I had an 
 illusion of past happiness. 
 
 * They all went to the Opera — not me. Mimi 
 and I played together the Harp and Harpsichord. 
 I am very fond of the Harp : it pleases me when 
 nothing else does. The music had its usual effect 
 upon me, but as usual made me wretched. 
 
 ' We had a Ball in the House. I danced with 
 Tom BHgh and Charles ; there was nobody else 
 we knew, but a precious set of quizzes. 
 
80 LORD EDWARD 
 
 ' Mama took me to make visits which I hate. 
 It snow'd for the first time this Winter. My 
 spirits, worried from having been remonstrated 
 with upon what I can't help. 
 
 ' Went to Lord Mount Edgecumbe's and Lady 
 SaUsbury's. Did not see him at any of these 
 odious places. In the evening to the Opera. 
 Nobody there. Where can he be ? Alas, why 
 should it concern me ? 
 
 * I went to the Opera with Ld. Henry. In the 
 corridor, while leaning on Ld. Robert's arm, he 
 spoke to me. God, I thought I should never 
 again have heard his voice — and addressed to 
 me ! I did not seek it. 
 
 ' Ld . Robert came and had a talk with me. 
 How kind my friends are ! This is a patience week 
 for me. 
 
 * We went to the Opera, and a miserable evening 
 I spent. What I suffered seeing him in the Pitt, 
 and for five minutes talking to some happy woman ! 
 While I — it did not last long however, and he 
 look'd out of spirits. My angel Mama came and 
 comforted me when we returned home. 
 
 * A day of great agitation to me. It was 
 arranged that he and the Family should be asked 
 to the Assembly. They were : he came : I saw 
 him, heard his voice and felt happier, tho' without 
 much cause. He is going out of town for a few 
 days. Still much agitated. It is my own fault, 
 I believe. I wish I were quiet in my grave. 
 
POT POUEEI 81 
 
 ' We went to a concert : it was Divine. Lord 
 Henry had given him a ticket which he returned 
 as he had been overturned in a carriage and is 
 confin'd from it. 
 
 ' I shall never forget if I live a hundred years. 
 Mama had an Assembly, but I went to a ball at 
 Ld. N.'s to meet his sister. I had a conversation 
 with her which will, I fear, throw a shadow over 
 my future life. 
 
 ' Did not go out all day : felt ill. It is not 
 surprising. Agitation, I believe, is not so distruc- 
 tive to the health as the cold stupor of despair. 
 
 ' In the morning Lord Robert brought me a 
 letter from his sister in answer to one I had wrote 
 her desiring her to ask her brother for a drawing 
 he had of mine. She returned it and said he had 
 offer'd to do it himself. How can I bear it ? ' 
 
 Again the colours of life in this picture are 
 as fresh as if it was made yesterday, though the 
 girl who made it has been dust these hundred 
 years. She does not tell us who this gentleman 
 was, but one gathers from the context that there 
 was another lady in the case. Cannot one see 
 Lady Lucy, leaning upon her desk in a Winter 
 room of one of the high houses in Harley Street, 
 writing down her hopes and despairs ? Sometimes 
 the Family goes to Tunbridge Wells or Malvern. 
 
82 LOED EDWAED 
 
 Eddy writes from Paris : 
 
 Tuesday, October 30th, 1792. The First Year of 
 the Eepublic. I often want you, dearest Mother, 
 but I should not have been able to bear Tun- 
 bridge for any time/ Indeed it was not likely in 
 the midst of such violent dehghts that Tunbridge 
 should content him! 
 
 Lady Lucy's unhappy love-affair runs on to 
 the year after Lord Edward's marriage. However, 
 that is in the future, so far as this chronicle is 
 concerned. There is yet another page or two of 
 Lady Lucy, like the nightingale, pressing her heart 
 upon the thorn. It needed a new distraction to 
 drive out the old one. 
 
 ' Walked with my brothers, a large family - 
 party, in the Square. I met his sister and walk'd 
 with her. It is a great weakness, but it gave me 
 the only pleasure I had felt for a long while. 
 
 ' Play'd my harp in the evening alone. There 
 is a Ball at Almack's. I thought of it with tolerable 
 composure. 
 
 ' Went to the Opera. We had a mob of men 
 in the Box. I felt more gay than I had done for a 
 long time. I saw at a distance that form I have 
 so lov'd, and it only contributed to my poor spirits. 
 That is a remains of my weakness ; it is like the 
 pleasure one takes in looking at the picture of 
 what one loves : the soul was wanting, and it was 
 the soul that so entirely attached mine. 
 
 ' Walk'd all morning with my brothers, altho' 
 
POT POUERI 83 
 
 it rained. Dined at Ld. Templetown^s, and to the 
 Duchess of Gordon's in the evening. It was very 
 pleasant for our Assembly. The Good Family 
 all sat on a couch and were much attended to. 
 
 ' I never see him of late. I wish I did not miss 
 him so much. 
 
 ' I walk'd in Grosvenor Sq. with his sister, and 
 had a conversation with her that has quite overset 
 my ideas. Adieu to Tranquillity again : I had 
 hardly attained it. Opera in the evening : he 
 was not there. 
 
 ' There was a Ball at our neighbour, Mr. 
 Codrington's, where I supos'd he was. I listened 
 to the fiddles, and imagined the one with whom 
 he danc'd. 
 
 ' There was an Opera but I did not go to it, 
 but to Ly. Spencer's, where I thought I should not 
 see anything particular ; but they were all there, 
 the family and the Miss. He had been there, 
 but had gone to a ball where Mimi met him. He 
 asked a great deal about me. How strange ! 
 
 ' Walk'd once more with his sister in the Square. 
 She is going out of Town. I don't make her out at 
 all. She is venj like her Brother. 
 
 ' There are very few men in town. Unhuman 
 altogether. All the World is unhuman. I am 
 very unhappy.' 
 
84 LOED EDWARD 
 
 VI 
 
 So, as far as the Journal goes, Lady Lucy's 
 love-affair passes into oblivion. We know nothing 
 of the lover. Did he shilly-shally ? Was he 
 already an engaged man and did he suffer as she 
 did yet keep his word, being a man of honour ? 
 It is all gone with yesterday's roses. But how 
 fragrant it is ! And how living ! Lady Lucy's 
 clinging to the lover's sister because so she gets 
 near him. It is happening every day. It will 
 happen. ' I too have been in Arcady ' ; and 
 though women vary they are yet alike. Lady 
 Lucy recovered from what one perceives to have 
 been as sweet as it was bitter. One suspects that 
 she was in love with Love. And though one 
 gentleman disdained her she had plenty of suitors. 
 She is in quite a different mood when she dismisses 
 poor Mr. A., who is fortunate in his anonymity. 
 
 'Dearest Sophia, — You did right to tell Tina 
 about Mr. A. if you thought it would amuse her, 
 but don't talk of it to other people, for I don't 
 think it right, even by him, to talk of those sort 
 of things, and he begs I will not wound his fedings 
 by divulging it. Edward will dye of it : I knew 
 that day that he meant something particular, and 
 so I told Edward : however, I never saw or heard 
 anything of him till the day I left Malvern, when 
 the whole country was white with May. You 
 know how sweet and beautiful it is, and you can 
 
POT POUHEI 85 
 
 imagine all the gentle, pretty scene as I sat in the 
 garden to break the seal of Mr. A.'s letter just 
 handed to me. 
 
 ' I own I wonder' d what it could be about, 
 and why the uncouth wretch should have written 
 to me. Poor wretch — it is not ill- wrote. He 
 desires leave to mention his proposals to Mr. 
 Ogilvie and Mama, and he has it in his power to 
 settle £1500 a year upon any lady who honours 
 him with her hand : then he says that beyond 
 the power of language to express he loves me — 
 ugh, grimy wretch ! ! ! You begg'd that I would 
 tell you all about it, so I have done as I would be 
 done by, though I hate to think of him.' 
 
 Mimi writes : ' Sophy, have you heard about 
 that vile, that grimy A., having dared to propose 
 for Lucy ? He wrote a fine Romantick Love 
 Letter, throwing himself and pdf at her feet. 
 He says he is no fortune-hunter or adventurer, 
 but an English gentleman, and as such he thinks 
 himself (wretch !) not unworthy of her, great as 
 she may be. Now did you ever hear of such impu- 
 dence ? Eddy will, I know, die of it. I think 
 she gave him great d^ecouragement, and I don't 
 much wonder at the monster. Papa was in a fury. 
 Mama still thinks it a joke of that fribble, Eddy* 
 We all scream and laugh, as you may think. It 
 was answered as it deserved with a cold and decided 
 refusal. Ah ! ! ! Oh ! ! ! ' 
 
86 LORD EDWARD 
 
 VII 
 
 In lier Journal Lady Lucy writes about this 
 time : ' Poor Orson ! Poor Beast ! I could not 
 be as harsh to him as I would have been before I 
 knew myself how it felt to fling a heart where it 
 should be trampl'd under-foot. When one has 
 given one's self, heart and soul, to a Person, one 
 cannot but regard it as an Outrage for another 
 Person to claim so much. Yet I could not punish 
 the poor wretch as it deserv'd. I remember'd, 
 through the high sunshine of the Malvern garden, 
 that day in the rain when for the first and last time 
 he clasped me in his arms and I felt the rain or 
 his tears on my face. It is but one memory to 
 live upon, and my heart goes famish'd. I was not 
 so angry with the poor wretch as the others. They 
 have not been hurt as I have been.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 A little later there is word of another lover, 
 to whose ways Lady Lucy exhibits a very easy 
 tolerance. 
 
 ' So B. has been flirting, and you, dear love 
 Sophy, are angry with him, which I love you for- 
 But if you had known that odd creature better 
 you would not have expected him to leave off 
 -flirting. You might as well bid him not eat or 
 drink. I don't much mind that, unless it was 
 
POT POUERI 87 
 
 serious, and indeed if it was, why should I mind it ? 
 We made no promises to each other. He has 
 often told me that he wou'd wish me to amuse 
 myself while he was away, provided I wou'd be 
 glad to see him when he return' d. So pray dont 
 give him angry looks or cut him on account of his 
 flirting. If he came your way he would really 
 amuse you, the Quiz." 
 
 Another entry in the diary : 
 
 ' I have wrote to poor Sophy, who dreads 
 that B. will hurt me again by his flirtation with 
 Miss G. She does not know, no one knows, that 
 I am past being hurt. Love is like the small-pox 
 and I have been innoculated for it. B. is well 
 enough, and I believe he values me beyond others. 
 Sophy praises me that I am not jealous. If she 
 could but know the transports of jealousy I 
 suffer' d when I saw that other but converse with 
 a woman. That is all dead in me since his 
 wedding-day. I am past such inhuman suffering.' 
 
 IX 
 
 A little later she is very unkind to a lover. 
 Again she writes to Lady Sophia : 
 
 * I am sure you will be glad to hear that I am 
 likely to get over that foolish antipathy I have had 
 to Rats as C, one of my favourite Beaux, is so like 
 that Annimal that it is impossible not to be struck 
 with it, and yet I don't shudder at his approach, 
 
88 LORD EDWARD 
 
 which gives me hopes that I may not faint away 
 when next I see a mouse, as at Malvern/ 
 
 * Everybody seems gone wild for dancing/ 
 says Lady Lucy to her Journal. ' Ciss and I have 
 a very pleasant set of partners this year, most 
 of them young things and in the Guards. It is 
 so moving to have them setting off after a Ball to 
 join the Duke of York. We despise those that are 
 loitering about Bond Street, and all that will not 
 go we cut.' 
 
 XI 
 
 Who was this fine philanderer, and who this 
 foolish maid ? 
 
 * Poor Georgina went near to fulfilling Eddy's 
 prophecy, but I gave her much good advice 
 and imparted to her some of the indifference 
 which has taken the place of long anguish in 
 my heart, so that she gets over her love for 
 that stupid Shepherd who was breaking three 
 women's hearts at a time. I would not have 
 poor Georgie suffer, as I did, such painful 
 alternations of hopes and fears as stretch'd me 
 on the rack in times past. I have sav'd poor 
 Georgie, but as for Henriette she is desperate about 
 him ; and little Mrs. S. cries in publiuK when 
 he sits by Henriette at Supper and looks Ian- 
 
POT POURRI 89 
 
 guishing in her eyes. I wish you could have seen 
 the Dss. of Richmond's rage at Ly. Milner's when 
 he was with Mrs. S. : she actually called me to an 
 account why Mama was hand-in-glove with that 
 very slippery sort of a little Body. " I don't 
 understand what sort of a footing She is upon. Has 
 she any husband ? '" " Yes, ma'am.'" '' I don't 
 believe it. Why don't she go to him ? " '' She 
 is going, ma'am." '' How many guineas a day 
 will you give me till she goes ? " I thought I 
 should have died of it, but don't you love her for 
 being so interested and good natur'd for Henriette ?' 
 
 XII 
 
 Mrs. S.'s husband was perhaps with the Duke of 
 York. Lady Lucy tries to tell Edward the feel 
 of dancing with the young things in the Guards 
 who set off after a Ball for the War. He is dis- 
 pleased. What has come over ' that comedy, 
 that bufioon, that dear ridiculous Eddy ' ? 'It 
 put Ned in such a rage our being so merry, for we 
 are literally a Laughing Club that meet in our Box 
 at the Opera. We are sometimes a little noisy to be 
 sure : he never speaks a word now but to attack 
 us, and he even scolds Mama for being so young.' 
 
 Ciss adds to this : ' Ned seldom makes his 
 appearance in our Box. " Lord God," he says, 
 '' what should I do amongst all those Boys ? 
 You are much too young and too riotous for me ! " ' 
 
CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 LE CITOYEN EDOUARD FITZGERALD 
 I 
 
 The French Revolution drew Lord Edward like 
 a lodestar. One day he is writing to his mother : 
 ' I have been in town since Saturday. I return 
 to Boyle Farm again to-morrow. I spent a 
 delightful week. Dear Harry as usual charming. 
 He is perfect. I dined with Charles Fox on coming 
 to town — he was quite right about all the good 
 French news. Is it not delightful ? It is really 
 shameful to see how it has affected all our 
 aristocrats. I think one may fairly say the Duke 
 of Brunswick and his Germans are bewitched.' 
 
 II 
 
 The next letter is from Paris, where he is lodging 
 with Mr. Thomas Paine. 
 
 ' We breakfast, dine, and sup together. The 
 more I see of him the more I like and respect 
 him. I cannot express how kind he is to me : 
 there is a simplicity of manner, a goodness of 
 heart and a strength of mind in him that I 
 
 90 
 
LE CITOYEN EDOUAED FITZGEEALD 91 
 
 never before knew a man possess. I pass my 
 time very pleasantly, read, walk, and go quietly 
 to the Play. Ogilvie would be mucli entertained 
 and interested if he was here. I can compare it 
 to nothing but Eome in its days of conquest — 
 the energy of the people is beyond belief. . . . 
 Direct to 
 
 Le Citoyen Edouard Fitzgerald, 
 
 Hotel de White, au Passage des Petits, 
 Pres du Palais Eoyal.' 
 
 A few weeks later than the date of this letter 
 Eddy, at a banquet in Paris given by the British 
 residents to commemorate the French victories, 
 formally renounced his title in favour of the Eepub- 
 lican ' Citoyen.' There is not a hint of the Terror 
 in the letters that follow. There is in the Irish 
 a very strange likeness to the French character. 
 Did the far-distant Norman blood stir in the 
 Fitzgeralds that they were so very French ? They 
 had lived so much in France that they had in a 
 sense assimilated French thought as they fell 
 naturally into French speaking. Eddy is en- 
 thusiastic about all he sees. The great military 
 nation casts a spell upon him. ' I am delighted 
 with the manner they feel their success : no foolish 
 boasting or arrogance, but imputing all to the 
 greatness and goodness of their cause. In the 
 coffee-houses and play-houses every man calls 
 the other camarade, frere, and with a stranger 
 
92 LORD EDWARD 
 
 immediately begins, " Ah ! nous sommes tons 
 freres, tons hommes : nos victoires sont pour 
 vous, pour tout le monde." In short, all the good 
 enthusiastic French sentiments seem to come out. 
 The Town is quiet, and to judge from the theatres 
 and public walks, very full. The great difference 
 seems in the few carriages and the dress, which 
 is very plain.' 
 
 Ill 
 
 Mr. Moore, who is timid, indicates many figures 
 in this moving drama by asterisks, giving an 
 unnecessary air of mystery to his tale. Here is 
 a charming picture of a French great lady, reduced 
 
 by the Revolution. ' Dear is here. I see 
 
 a great deal of her : she is as pleasant as ever : 
 the same good heart and delightful manner. How 
 she dotes on you ! but what I admire is the manner 
 she bears the change of circumstances, — with a 
 good sense and philosophy beyond description, 
 even as you yourself would do. She goes in her 
 hackney coach or walks to her friends and her 
 soirees, crottees jusq^au cou, with the same cheerful- 
 ness as ever: and is just the same, with her one 
 servant and maid and little dinner of soup and 
 houillie as when Me. La Marquise with two grands 
 lacquais. Indeed if it were not for her children 
 I rather think she likes it better.' 
 
LE CITOYEN EDOUAED FITZGEEALD 93 
 
 IV 
 
 ' I dine to-day with Madame Sillery/ 
 
 V 
 
 An evening or two before that momentous 
 announcement being at the theatre, he had caught 
 sight, through a loge grillee near him, of a face 
 strikingly like that of a lady sometime dead, for 
 whom he had had a great affection. It was the 
 face of a very young girl— some say that she was 
 but fifteen at the time of the marriage — a Romney 
 face of softness and wald grace, beautiful eyes, 
 a bewitching mouth, a wonder of dark hair wildly 
 twining and curhng. Turning to someone with 
 the question, ' Who — who is that beautiful child ? ' 
 he was answered that she was Pamela — the alleged 
 adopted daughter of Madame de Genlis, generally 
 believed to be her child and the child of Philippe 
 Egalite the Due d'Orleans, that strange and cynic 
 revolutionary, who had voted in the Assembly for 
 the execution of his cousin, Louis the Sixteenth, 
 and followed the same road himself by and bye 
 when the Revolution began to eat her children. 
 Madame de GenHs, with Mademoiselle d'Orleans 
 and Pamela, had just returned from England, 
 where she had been living for over a year in retire- 
 ment. She had emerged from this retirement 
 to spend a week or two with the Sheridans at 
 
94 LOED EDWAED 
 
 Isle worth, and Lord Edward had been summoned 
 to meet her, but had refused because he detested 
 a blue-stocking. 
 
 VI 
 
 * Fool ! D olt ! Blockhead ! ' he apostrophises him- 
 self on his discovery. * You have lost some weeks 
 of time that can never be recovered ! ' He hurried 
 to the box which contained this star of beauty, 
 knocked, was bidden to enter, and, making himself 
 known, was received most graciously by Madame 
 Sillery, as she chose to be called with a Eepublican 
 simplicity. He was ofiered a seat in the box. 
 His eyes and those of the lovely Pamela met. 
 They saw nothing of the Play that night. He 
 accompanied the ladies to their lodging — supped 
 with them. From that moment he was seen 
 everywhere by Pamela's side. In four weeks' time 
 she was his wife. Meanwhile Lord Edward, for 
 the renunciation of his title at the English Festival 
 in Paris, had been punished by dismissal from the 
 Army, a disproportionate punishment for a boyish 
 bit of theatricalism, and a most harsh and crushing 
 one to him, whose passion was for soldiering. 
 
 VII 
 
 He kept a stifi upper lip under this blow. 
 One can only conjecture what it meant to him, 
 
LE CITOYEN EDOUAED FITZGERALD 95 
 
 for he said nothing. Perhaps like his friend and 
 fellow-rebel, Wolfe Tone, he would have trolled 
 
 ' Tis all in vain 
 For soldiers to complain. 
 
 It is January 2, 1793, when he announces to his 
 mother : 
 
 * We shall dine with you the day after to- 
 morrow. We shall not be able to get from the 
 Custom-house time enough to see you to-morrow.^ 
 
 He had then been nearly two months a married 
 man. After three weeks with the Duchess he 
 and his bride crossed to Ireland, as a newspaper 
 of that time records : 
 
 '2^t}i January. — Yesterday morning arrived the 
 Princess Royal, Captain Browne, from Parkgate, 
 with the Right Hon. Lord Edward Fitzgerald, his 
 lady and suite, and several other persons of quality.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 The Good Family was very angry at the harsh 
 treatment of its darling by the authorities. One 
 of the sisters. Lady Charlotte Strutt, writes to 
 Lady Sophia a day or two before Lord Edward 
 brings home the bride, with a spirit that would 
 have made her probably a Suffrage lady in our 
 days. 
 
 ' There were dangers attending some of them 
 which made me more than usually anxious to hear 
 of the Good Family. I understand your feehng 
 
96 LORD EDWARD 
 
 about not going to Court : I should not be surprised 
 if my mother never went there after their treat- 
 ment of Eddy. Not that it is them but Mr. Pitt, 
 who deUghts in trying to humble such Noble 
 Families, but that is the way of showing when 
 people are displeas'd : 'tis not like Party Business ; 
 'tis an insult in my Eyes which, unless Eddy was 
 in actual Rebellion, the Good Family must resent. 
 At least I should were I in question ; but we 
 married Women ought to divest ourselves of these 
 Family prejudices and see and hear only with the 
 Eyes of our husbands' Families. There is an old 
 saying that Women should have no Religion till 
 they married. It should be the same with regard 
 to Politicks in England. For my part I am too 
 old to change my creed, and I admire what they 
 are doing in Ireland. ' She goes on : ' How 
 delighted they will all be in Ireland with Pamela. 
 I reckon she will be made a great Fuss with in 
 Dublin where they have Taste. I think I see 
 them all in their different ways so curious to see 
 and hear her. The Wall-Flowers and that sort 
 will, I think, be afraid of her at first, and be so 
 surpris'd at Eddy's getting her of all people. I 
 can see Bishop Marley — eyeing her and then coming 
 out with some commical remark or other in a half- 
 mutter, and then looking again and saying he is 
 convinc'd now — in his way.' 
 
LE CITOYEN EDOUAKD FITZGERALD 97 
 
 IX 
 
 The Family on the whole took Pamela to its 
 heart. The idea of Eddy as a married man seemed 
 to them a most humorous one. 
 
 ' How commical to see Eddy with a wife ! ' says 
 Lady Charlotte. Lady Sophia incidentally tells 
 her 'Bubb' the story of Eddy's falling in love, 
 somewhat differently from Mr. Moore. ' Dear 
 Eddy first got acquainted with Pamela in Paris/ 
 she says, ' when he was there last October, but he 
 fell in love with her on the journey to Tournay. 
 An English gentleman and him took that j ourney 
 to England at the same time that Madame de 
 Genlis did with the Duke of Orleans' family, who 
 were exiled at Tournay by the National Conven- 
 tion. , . . But, in short, it was on that journey, 
 and, being a vast deal with them at Tournay, he 
 was so in love that when his Fellow- Traveller 
 proposed to him to continue the journey to England 
 Edward found he could not leave her." She goes 
 on to say that Madame Sillery, before whom he 
 laid his proposals, sent him off to England to tell 
 his mother and obtain her consent, which he set 
 out to do, but on the way was overtaken by a 
 messenger with a letter acquainting him that his 
 proposal had been conveyed to Pamela and that 
 he might return from England ' avec con fiance.' 
 Eddy found his mother at Tunbridge Wells, and 
 was received as ever into her loving arms. When 
 
98 LORD EDWAED 
 
 she saw his heart was set upon the marriage, she 
 very readily gave her consent. 
 
 ' By the account Eddy gave my Mother of 
 Pamela's discretion and character, besides her per- 
 sonal charms and accomplishments, she thought 
 she was the Girl in the World to suit Eddy, and 
 the only drawback her having so small a fortune. 
 
 * He staid a very short time at Tunbridge 
 and came to London, where I was, having left 
 them all at Tunbridge to come to Town to consult 
 Doctor Mosely on a Rheumatick Scorbutick com- 
 plaint. I was not a little happy at seeing Dear Eddy, 
 for whom I had had many an uncomfortable feel, as 
 it was the time there were so many ill-natured 
 stories about him in London, and a little before 
 that time he had been scratched out of the Army List. 
 What a shameful piece of business that was too ! 
 and when one recollects that there is a Person in 
 whose power it was to prevent their doing it — it 
 makes the circumstances still more aggravating. 
 
 ' I am one of those that can never forget the 
 abominable ill-usage Eddy has met with from His 
 Majesty and his detestable Ministers, one excepted, 
 as he is my Relation and one for whom I have 
 naturally a great affection, and admire and esteem 
 his many great and good qualities. But there 
 have been Occasions when he has put aside those 
 Good Qualities and they have lain dormant, just 
 at the moment when the Natural Ties of Affection 
 should have brought them into action ; and he 
 
LE CITOYEN EDOUAED FITZGEEALD 99 
 
 ought never to have allowed such unmerited 
 proceedings towards a young Man who bore so 
 high a Character in the Army, and who has both 
 fought and bled for his Country in the last American 
 War. And how has his Services been payed ? . . . 
 ' The Dear Fellow dined with me the day he 
 came to Town. I am still his " Silk and Steel/' 
 his '' Mother Confessor '" as he was used fondly 
 to call me. How great was my surprise when 
 he told me he was about to be married : and when 
 he named the person I was still more so, as there 
 was something so very odd and extraordinary in 
 the Idea of his Mating with a young person that 
 was educated by Madame de Sillery, whom he 
 used to laugh at formerly, and thought her Plans 
 d'Education all perfect nonsense and delighted in 
 worrying my Mother (who admires all her writings 
 to the Greatest Degree) by telKng her her charming 
 Madame de Genlis, tho' she wrote such pretty 
 books, her own character was not free from censure 
 and that she was imagined to have been the Duke 
 of Orleans' Mistress. He v/as not the only person 
 I have heard say so. But to return to his love. 
 After my first surprise was over the Idea of his 
 going to be married did divert me so, I did nothing 
 but laugh every time I thought of it. At the 
 same time I was delighted to hear it, and we spent 
 a very comfortable Evening, he and I, talking it 
 all over. He staid but three days in London and 
 set ofi immediately again for Tournay.' 
 
100 LORD EDWARD 
 
 X 
 
 The Fitzgerald s were all prodigiously taken 
 with Pamela, although the connection can hardly 
 have been pleasing. Lady Sarah Napier, always 
 clear-minded and candid in speech, has a 
 characteristic and perhaps not wholly unbiased 
 opinion of the lady w^ho was almost certainly 
 Pamela's mother. The letter in which she expresses 
 it is written to Lady Susan O'Brien, the daughter 
 of Lord Ilchester, who had made a romantic run- 
 away match with a beautiful but apparently 
 ineffective poor Irish gentleman. She and Lady 
 Sarah were hfe-long friends. 
 
 ' Your account of M. Sillery and her eleves 
 answers my idea of her, all pleasing to outward 
 appearances and nothing sound within her heart, 
 whatever may be so in the young minds whom 
 she can and does, of course, easily deceive. I 
 hope we have got our lovely little niece time enough 
 out of her care to have acquired all the perfections 
 of her education, which are certainly great, as she 
 has a very uncommon, clever, active mind and 
 turns it to most usefull purposes, and I trust 
 our pretty little Sylphe (for she is not like other 
 mortalls) has not a tincture of all the double- 
 deahng, cunning, false reasoning and Kes with 
 which M. S. is forced to gloss over a very common 
 ill-conduct, because she will set herself above others 
 in virtue, and she happens to be no better than 
 her neighbours.' 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 PALE PRETTY PAMELA 
 
 Let us see now liow Pamela struck the Good 
 Family and others. Lady Sarah goes on : 
 
 ' I never saw such a sweet little engaging, 
 bewitching creature as Ly. Edward is, childish to a 
 degree, with the greatest sense. The upper part of 
 her face is like poor Mrs. Sheridan' — (the lovely 
 Mrs. Sheridan whose picture with the sleeping 
 child, her finger on her lip, is so exquisite, like a 
 Madonna of Annibale Carracci) — ' the lower like 
 my beloved lost child, Louisa ; of course I am 
 disposed to doat on her. I am sure she is not vile 
 EgalitSs child ; c'est impossible,'^ 
 
 II 
 
 Lady Sophia writes : ' Eddy was back again 
 in London in the course of a fortnight with his Dear 
 Httle Wife to whom t^e all took a prodigious fancy, 
 and I do hope and trust Dearest Edward has met 
 with a woman that will fix him at last, and likely 
 to make him happy the remainder of his life. 
 
 101 
 
102 , ^ LORD EDWARD 
 
 Besides being very handsome she is uncommonly 
 agreeable, sensible, very pretty, with the most 
 engaging, pleasing manner I ever saw, and very 
 much accomplished.' 
 
 Ill 
 
 Eddy writes to his mother from Dublin. April 
 1793: 
 
 ' My dearest Mother, — I have been very idle 
 and so has my dear little wife : but I hope you will 
 forgive us : she is afraid you are angry with her. 
 The truth is that sitting up so late has made us late 
 in the morning, and we get on so agreeably and 
 chatter so much in the morning that the day is over 
 before we know where we are. Dublin has been 
 very gay, — a great number of balls, of which the 
 lady misses none. Dancing is a great passion with 
 her : I wish you could see her dance : you would 
 dehght in it : she dances with all her heart and soul. 
 Everyone seems to like her and behave civilly and 
 kindly to her. There was a kind of something 
 about visiting with Lady Leitrim, but it is all over 
 now. We dined there on Sunday and she was quite 
 pleasant, and Pamela likes her very much. 
 
 ' We have not been able yet to go to Castletown 
 to stay, but intend going there next week. I had 
 one very pleasant day with dear Aunt Louisa, and 
 had a long talk about you, which was not the least 
 pleasant part of it. We have been four or five 
 times to Frescati ; but the weather has been too 
 
PALE PRETTY PAMELA 103 
 
 cold to enjoy it well. If the weather comes mild 
 I think I shall go and stay there, for I long for a 
 little country and a little fine weather. 
 
 ' My differing so very much in opinion with 
 the people that one is unavoidably obHged to live 
 with here, does not add much to the agreeableness 
 of Dublin society. But I have followed my dear 
 Mother's advice and do not talk much on the 
 subject, and when I do I am very cool ; but all 
 my prudence does not hinder all sorts of stories 
 being made about my wife and me, some of which 
 I am afraid have frightened you, dearest Mother. 
 It is rather hard that when, with a wish to avoid 
 disputing, one sees and talks only to a few people 
 of one's own way of thinking, we are at once all 
 set down as a nest of traitors. All this has not 
 much changed my opinions, but I keep very quiet, 
 do not go out much except to see my wife dance, 
 and, in fact, — keep my breath to cool my porridge.' 
 
 IV 
 
 It is worth while putting down what the ' Doblin 
 Lidies," as the Good Family called them, were saying 
 about Pamela while they watched her ' dancing like 
 a wave of the sea," too gay, too beautiful, too 
 charming, to escape the gossip of the dull and the 
 spiteful. 
 
 ' How very provoking the Irish ' Lidies ' must 
 be,' writes Eddy's beloved half-sister, Mimi, 
 
104 LOED EDWAED 
 
 ' with their prudish ideas about that dear Pamela's 
 beauteous chemise. I reserve mine for some fine 
 occasion and I expect it to cut a great dash/ 
 
 And Lady Lucy : 
 
 'Ly. Henry gave us an account of Pamela going 
 to a Ball, not in mourning, but for fancy all in 
 black, even black stockings, with pink upon her head. 
 You may imagine the surprise of the Dohlin Lidies : 
 indeed they stared her out of countenance, for 
 she came home to Edward, who was in bed, quite 
 in a rage, pulled open his curtains and told him : 
 ^'Edward je ne veuxplusaller au Bal des gens d'une 
 telle imfolitesse! '' Don't you think to see her, 
 dear pretty thing ? ' 
 
 Lady Sophia writes in her diary: 
 
 ' There are sad ill-natured stories about Pamela in 
 Ireland. ... As the stories are too horrid in their 
 nature for people really to believe I look upon it as of 
 no real importance, for no person that has the warm 
 feelings of a Christian can believe for a moment such 
 vile reports, viz., that a Lady had seen her in the 
 streets of Dublin with a Handkerchief on her Neck 
 spotted with Louis the Sixteenth's blood, which 
 some of her Friends had sent her from Paris. I 
 suppose it is some of those amiable Ladies that are 
 envious of Lady Edward's beauty and accomplish- 
 ments that have invented these shocking reports. 
 There are a set of those good-natured Ladies that 
 are very capable of doing it, in Dublin especially, as 
 Ly. Edward is very quick-sighted and has great 
 
PALE PHETTY PAMELA 105 
 
 discernment in knowing people's characters im- 
 mediately, and I daresay she put on one of those 
 dignified proud looks, so pretty with her childish- 
 ness, which she can do when she wants to keep 
 people at a distance, and that has been the cause of 
 their saying such shameful things of her. I have 
 settled too that some of the Ladies who were 
 formerly in love with Eddy had thought, I daresay, 
 whenever he married he would marry a person of 
 the same stamp as themselves, and when they came 
 to find they were mistaken, their envy began to 
 fabricate whatever was most ill-natured/ 
 
 A letter from Miss H. Bowdler to Miss E. 
 Ponsonby, one of the Ladies of Llangollen, refers to 
 these tales : ' I am greatly shocked at the account 
 I hear from various quarters of Me. de Genhs and 
 Pamela. Can it be possible that lovely Form can 
 really contain the mind of a Fiend ? I hear that 
 when everybody else put on mourning for Louis 
 XVIth, the unfortunate Monarch, she wore red 
 ribbons, which she said were '^ couleur de sang des 
 Aristocrats," with many other circumstances too 
 shocking to repeat. I thought her heart had been 
 all tenderness and benevolence, purity and inno- 
 cence. . . . My account of Pamela comes from 
 so many difierent quarters that I fear there is too 
 much truth in it." 
 
106 LORD EDWARD 
 
 VI 
 
 Let us set against this gossip Lady Sarah 
 Napier's tender, laughing description of Pamela 
 when domestic matters had laid aside her dancing 
 for the time. The Good Family seem to have 
 regarded her with something of the same tender 
 amusement which was their attitude to the most 
 beloved of the brothers. 
 
 ' Pamela is like a ball, and she wears an Indian 
 bed-gown, Eddy calls it, which is no more than a 
 Maid's night bed-gown and makes her look so 
 large, so loose, so odd, that I think a man would 
 laugh at the immense size and a Cloak would not 
 be amiss. But her looks are excellent. She has 
 made with her own fingers the most perfect pretty 
 set of Child's linen you ever saw. So my sister 
 must never accuse her of not finishing work, for it 
 is farfait 
 
 ' She intends to have no Maid to attend the 
 child : in fact the Passion with which that Baby 
 becomes a mother and Nurse is an excellent passion 
 for a young wife to take, and if carried to extremes 
 can never do harm ; it's better than a gaming-table 
 or driving or hunting. Eddy is as fat as a pig, and 
 so contented and pleased it would do my dear 
 sister's heart good to see him.'' 
 
PALE PEETTY PAMELA 107 
 
 VII 
 
 They were the years of pure idyll, although 
 already the clouds were gathering on the horizon. 
 
 Eddy writes : 
 
 ' Frescati, May the Qth, 1793. — Dearest Mother, 
 — Wife and I are come to settle here. We came 
 last night, got up to a delightful Spring day, 
 and are now enjoying the little Book Room, 
 with the windows open, hearing the birds sing, 
 and the place looking beautiful. The plants in 
 the passage are just watered and, with the passage 
 door open, the room smells like a greenhouse. 
 Pamela has dressed four beautiful flower-pots, and 
 is now working at her frame while I write to 
 my dearest Mother : and upon the two little stands 
 there are six pots of fine auriculas, and I am 
 sitting in the bay window, with all those pleasant 
 feelings which the fine weather, the pretty place, 
 the singing birds, the little wife and Frescati give 
 me, — with your last dear letter to my wife before 
 me, — so you may judge how I love you at this 
 moment. I am delighted at the Malvern party, and 
 am determined to meet you there or wherever you 
 are. I dote on being with you anywhere, but 
 especially in the country. I long for a little walk 
 with you leaning on me — or to have a long talk with 
 you sitting out in some pretty spot of a fine day, 
 you with your long cane in your hand working at 
 some little weed at your feet, and looking down. 
 
108 LOED EDWAED 
 
 talking all tte time. I won't go on in this way, for 
 I should want to set out directly and that cannot 
 be, so I shall give you some account of what we 
 have been doing. We were here a fortnight with 
 
 the Henries and were very pleasant. We 
 
 ' May 8th. — My dearest, I was stopped in my 
 letter by my dear wife being taken very ill : she is 
 now much better and going on as well as possible. 
 She has not kept her bed by the doctor's advice, 
 but lies on the couch in the Book Eoom. I was 
 frightened a good deal the first day at her great 
 weakness, but she is much stronger to-day, and 
 I feel very comfortable about her. Emily will 
 write and tell you about her better than me. We 
 have luckily had two of the finest days that ever 
 were, so we have all the windows open. Not to be 
 far from her I am amusing myself dressing the little 
 beds about the house, and have had the little green 
 field mowed and rolled : the little mound of earth 
 that is round the bays and myrtle before the house 
 I have planted with tufts of gentianellas and 
 primroses and lily- of -the- valley, and they look 
 beautiful peeping out of the dark evergreens ; 
 close to the root of the great elm I have put a patch 
 of lily-of-the-valley. I have got the beds well 
 dressed and the whole thing looks beautiful, and I 
 mean to keep it as neat as possible while here ; in 
 short, dearest Mother, I only want you here and 
 little Wife well ; for in the midst of the feelings of 
 the fine weather I want her to enjoy them with me. 
 
PALE PEETTY PAMELA 109 
 
 ' The dear little pale pretty wife sends her love 
 to you. ' 
 
 VIII 
 
 ' Frescati, June llthj 1793. — We returned here 
 yesterday from Castletown, where we had been a 
 week. We had promised to go there a long time, 
 but could not prevail with ourselves to leave this 
 sweet place where we are so comfortable. We 
 passed a very pleasant week, but were delighted 
 to return here yesterday evening and enjoy this 
 place, which is now in perfection. All the shrubs 
 are out, lilac, laburnum, syringa, spring roses and 
 lily- of- the- valley in quantities, four pots full now 
 in the Book Koom ; in short, the whole thing is 
 heavenly. I believe there never was a person who 
 understood planting and making a place pretty 
 as you do. The more one sees Carton and this 
 place, the more one admires them : the mixture of 
 plants and the succession of them are so well 
 arranged. ' 
 
 IX 
 
 ' I do not think we shall be '' up " this six weeks ' 
 (Eddy is still one of the Kildare members of Parlia- 
 ment), ' which I am vexed at, as it will delay us 
 seeing you — but we shall enjoy Frescati." 
 
 It is December before they come back from 
 
no LOED EDWARD 
 
 visiting the Duchess at Malvern. Under ' DubHn, 
 Saturday, 27th December, 1793," he writes : ' We 
 arrived here last night after a good journey of 
 thirty-nine hours, all well and not much tired. We 
 intend to go to Carton to-morrow, and thence to 
 Castletown. We eat your pie on board ship — it 
 was excellent.' This must have been the occasion 
 about which Lady Lucy rallied Lady Sophia, though 
 there is no mention of Lady Sophia as a fellow- 
 traveller. ' I am not yet accustomed to be away 
 from you, and think of dear Malvern with great 
 regret, — so peaceful and so pleasant.' 
 
 X 
 
 They are at Castletown — he has been too busy 
 to write, with balls, hunting, and sitting after 
 dinner : then to the Duke's at Carton. 
 
 ' Next week we go to Frescati, the quiet of which 
 I long for. I assure you I often regret our dear 
 quiet Malvern, and no party will ever be so pleasant 
 to me. My dear little wife has, on the whole, been 
 pleased and amused, which is very pleasant for me. 
 I have never received an answer from her Mother, 
 so that Pamela is still ignorant of what has hap- 
 pened.' What had happened was the execution 
 of PhiHppe Egalite, Due D'Orleans and Pamela's 
 father. * Politics do not go well, I think. The 
 leaders of the Opposition are afraid of the people 
 and distrusted by them. Leinster really is the 
 
PALE PEETTY PAMELA 111 
 
 only man who seems fair and honest and not 
 frightened. . . . Conolly is the same as usual — 
 both ways ; but determined not to support Govern- 
 ment. His militia has frightened him, he swears 
 they are all republicans, as well as every man in the 
 North. He concludes all his speeches by damning 
 presbyterians. He means well and honestly, dear 
 fellow, but his course of proceeding is wrong. 
 Grattan I can make nothing oi/ 
 
 XI 
 
 About this time Lady Sarah Napier writes to 
 Lady Susan O'Brien : 
 
 ' As for Ireland, I know for certain that if Govt, 
 gives the Catholicks their just rights all will go on 
 happily, smoothly, loyaly and well : and as cer- 
 tainly I know that the tricks play'd by Govt, to 
 sow division and avoid acting honestly, will bring 
 on a strong inclination to join the French if they 
 land. This is the present crisis to save Ireland, and 
 alas, I see no step except to ruin it. ' If she had only 
 been a man and a Minister, or, as she came near to 
 being, the Queen of England ! 
 
 XII 
 
 ' Frescati, Feb, 6tJi, 1794. — I have got an under- 
 gardener (myself) to prepare some spots for flowers 
 and to help Tim. I have been hard at work to-day 
 
112 LORD EDWARD 
 
 and part of yesterday (by the way, weather so hot 
 I go without coat, and birds singing hke Spring) 
 clearing the little corner to the right of the house, 
 digging round roots of trees, raking ground, and 
 planting thirteen two-year-old laurels and Portugal 
 laurels. I have also trimmed the rose-trees. The 
 flowers and shrubs had all got out of the little green 
 paling — I am now putting them inside, and mean 
 only to have a border of primroses and polyanthus 
 outside, if I have any. I mean from thence to go 
 to the rosery and then to the little new planted 
 corner. I am to have hyacinths, jonquils, pinks 
 cloves, narcissus, in the little beds before the 
 house and in the rosery. 
 
 ' I am now going to make my gardener work, 
 for he does nothing if I am not with him. Bless 
 you all ! This is too fine a day to stay longer 
 writing. I wish to God you were here. . . . 
 Give my love to the dear girls. Are they in 
 beauty ? Has dear Ciss thrown ofi her country 
 prudishness, as Lucia says ? I think I see dear 
 Lucia's eyes rejoicing at the rattling pavements, 
 and hear all her funny jokes on coming to London. 
 When I let myself go to think of you all I do so 
 long to be with you and be of your party. You 
 are so much fleasanter than other people, besides 
 my Love of you.' 
 
PALE PRETTY PAMELA 113 
 
 XIII 
 
 ' Feb, 19th, 1794. — I live here constantly. Pam 
 has not been in town since we came. She goes to 
 the Manufacturers' ball on Friday. She is quite 
 well — eats, drinks, and sleeps well : she works a 
 good deal and I read to her. I have left of! garden- 
 ing, for I hated that all my trouble should go for 
 that vile Lord W. (Lord Westmoreland the Vice- 
 roy, who had been about taking Frescati), and my 
 flowers to be for aides de camp, chaplains and all 
 such followers of a lord lieutenant.' 
 
 XIV 
 
 With Frescati, the most peaceful part of the 
 idyll was over. I do not think that Lord West- 
 moreland ever possessed it. The long low house 
 still stands just as it was, but it has been divided 
 into three residences. Several years ago I went to 
 see it, and was kindly entertained by the family 
 of Mr. Kennedy, who then inhabited the portion 
 containing the Book Room. It was just after 
 wild weather, when there had been a very calami- 
 tous shipwreck in the Bay. All along the coast the 
 little homes were in mourning for the drowned life- 
 boat men. There was driving rain the day we 
 were at Frescati. The friend who brought me 
 there in her closed carriage indicated beyond the 
 driving rain the direction in which might be seen 
 
114 LOED EDWARD 
 
 the funnels of the wrecked vessel — an Italian or 
 Spanish boat — above the waters of the Bay. I 
 remember Lord Edward's Portugal laurels and 
 laurustinus all shining in the wet. We had tea 
 in the Book Room. It had a groined ceiling, blue- 
 fretted, with gold stars. On the wall of the stair- 
 case there was a medallion of a female head. They 
 said it was supposed to be Pamela, and that her 
 spirit wandered about the house at night wringing 
 its poor hands. As I sat with the teacup in my 
 hands I looked at the sodden lawn on which Lord 
 Edward had set his Spring flowers. I have always 
 remembered the place as in Winter rain, with a 
 sense of heartbreak about it. The last time I 
 passed, one of the three houses was to let. There 
 seemed a sadness and gloom over all. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 DEAR DOMESTICITIES 
 I 
 
 There was something of the home-builder as well 
 as the garden-maker about Edward, as there was 
 about his mother, as there is about his descendants 
 of our own day who most nearly resemble him. 
 Though dear Frescati is done with, delight is not 
 at an end ; there is still Summer and the sun, 
 although the clouds gather ever and ever more 
 threateningly. While he was still at Frescati 
 he had written : 
 
 ' I don't know whether Aunt Louisa wrote you 
 word that Conolly wants to give me his lodge at 
 Kildare, all furnished and ready. However I don't 
 think I shall take it : indeed I am determined not : 
 it is too much to accept as a present.' 
 
 However, he thinks of it a year later, less 
 than a year later, when he is making up his 
 mind to relinquish his gardening at Frescati 
 so that the 'vile Lord W.' shall not enjoy the 
 fruits. He thinks of it tentatively, although 
 Wicklow has attractions. He debates the pros 
 and cons. ... 
 
 115 
 
116 LORD EDWARD 
 
 II 
 
 ' March 4, 1794. — I received your dear letter on 
 my road to Town the other day, and was dehghted 
 with it. I do not think you are just in thinking 
 me such a Blab. I really think I am quite the 
 contrary. However if I was I am certainly not 
 now, for I don't see people enough to make me 
 Blab. One only Blabs to people one lives a great 
 deal with, and about people who live a great deal 
 together. So write away without any fear and 
 comfortably. Except to Sophy and my wife 
 nothing shall go farther. I agree with you quite 
 about trifles. Nothing is a trifle, especially in such 
 a large family as ours, and if everything is told and 
 repeated it takes off all comfort in writing or 
 talking, for as each person may be supposed to 
 have her Friend, the smallest trifle by the time it 
 has gone thro' the Family and their Friends may 
 be highly magnified. 
 
 ' Pam went to a Ball the night before last. 
 She looked very pretty She goes again this week 
 to the Play or some party. We mean to go for 
 the future always to the Leinster Hotel, where 
 there are very good rooms, and we like it better 
 than Leinster House, as we thought they were 
 not pleasant the last time we were there, and 
 being at dear Mother's house spoiled us for liking 
 other peoples'. I was at first angry with Leinster^ 
 but it has gone off ; and now I am glad of it as 
 
DEAR DOMESTICITIES 117 
 
 I feel more comfortable in not depending on any- 
 body. We are as comfortable as possible, and Pam 
 is grown fat and well. 
 
 ' We go to New Bridge, 26 miles from this, 
 and mean to stay three days to look about us. I 
 have heard a beautiful description of that part 
 of the County of Wicklow. I think I shall like 
 anything in the County of Wicklow better than 
 Leinster Lodge or Kildare, the country is so much 
 more beautiful ; and if one is to settle why not 
 choose a pretty spot and pretty country. It is 
 worth while paying a little more rent and curtail- 
 ing in other things. I own I like also not to be 
 Lord Edward Fitzgerald, ''the County of Kildare 
 member,'' to be bored with '' This one is your 
 Brother's friend," — " That one voted against him.'* 
 In short, by what I hear I shall be very quiet, not 
 a gentleman nearer to me than six miles, except 
 a young Mr. Tighe, whom I like. 
 
 ' I am a little ashamed when I reason, and say 
 to myself, ''Leinster Lodge would be more profit- 
 able. Ninety persons out of one hundred would 
 chose it and be delighted to get it." It is, to be 
 sure, in a good county, plentiful, affords every- 
 thing a person wants, but it has not mountains 
 and rocks, and I do like mountains and rocks and 
 pretty views and pretty hedges and pretty cabins — 
 and a pleasanter people. 
 
 ' Dear Frescati ! I shall be sorry to leave it. 
 I look at all the trees and places with regret. I 
 
118 LORD EDWARD 
 
 hope, however, to see everything blossom before 
 I go : for two or three days more will bring all 
 the lilacs out completely. My dear little wife is 
 very well — goes on delightfully. I never saw her 
 look so well. She is grown both broad and long. 
 Indeed she has quite taken a fit of growing. 
 
 ' I think I see dear Lucia in high London go, 
 which I suppose she is in at present. I think 
 I see her dear face full of Kensington Gardens, 
 Opera, warm Spring, notes, funn, and a little love, 
 I daresay. Somehow or other she is always the 
 striking feature of the Family when one turns one's 
 eyes to your London time. I wish I could put 
 under your dear eyes three flower-pots stuffed 
 w4th jonquils picked, and four with them growing, 
 the least having eight bells, a pot of purple stocks, 
 and four pots of gentianella, all dumped together. 
 I should like them better if I saw them with my 
 dearest, dearest mother." 
 
 Ill 
 
 In these letters it is always June, and the 
 Summer air and the songs of birds are in them, 
 though they date from Autumn or Winter. After 
 all, he decides on the prudent course, and writes 
 from Kildare Lodge the 23rd of June 1794 : 
 
 * I write to you in the midst of settling and 
 arranging my little family here. The day is fine — 
 the spot looks pretty, quiet and comfortable — I 
 
DEAR DOMESTICITIES 119 
 
 feel happy, and these things never come without 
 bringing my dearest Mother to my heart's re- 
 collection. How you would like this little spot ! 
 It is the smallest thing imaginable, and to numbers 
 of people would have no beauty : but there is a 
 comfort and moderation in it that delight me. 
 I don't know how I can describe it to you, but I 
 will try. 
 
 ' After going up a little lane and in at a close 
 gate, you come on a little white house with a small 
 gravel court before it. You see but three small 
 windows, the court surrounded by large old elms ; 
 one side of the house covered with shrubs, on the 
 other side a tolerable large ash ; upon the stairs 
 going up to the house two wicker cages, in which 
 there are at this moment two thrushes singing 
 a gorge de^loyee. In coming into the house you 
 find a small passage-hall, very clean, the floor tiled ; 
 upon your left a small room : on the right the 
 staircase. In front you come into the parlour, 
 a good room, with a bay window looking into the 
 garden, which is a small green plot surrounded by 
 good trees, and in it three of the finest thorns I 
 ever saw, and all the trees so placed that you may 
 shade yourself from the sun all hours of the day ; 
 the bay window covered with honeysuckle and 
 roses. 
 
 ' Going upstairs you find another bay-room, 
 the honeysuckle almost up to it, and a little room 
 the same size as that below : this with a kitchen 
 
120 LORD EDWAED 
 
 or servants' hall below makes the whole house. 
 There is on the left in the courtyard another 
 building that makes a kitchen ; it is covered by 
 trees so as to look pretty : at the back of it there 
 is a yard which looks into a lane. On the side 
 of the house opposite the grass plot there is ground 
 enough for a flower garden, communicating with 
 the front garden by a little walk. 
 
 * The whole place is situated on a kind of ram- 
 part, of a circular form, surrounded by a wall 
 which towards the village and lane is high, but 
 covered with trees and shrubs, the trees old and 
 large and giving a great deal of shade. Towards 
 the country the wall is not higher than your knee, 
 and is covered with bushes ; from these open 
 parts you have a view of a pretty cultivated 
 country till your eye is stopped by the Curragh. 
 
 ' This, dearest mother, is the spot as well as 
 I can give it you : but it don't describe well : 
 one must see it and feel it ; it is all the little peeps 
 and ideas that go with it that make the beauty. 
 My dear wife dotes on it and becomes it. She is 
 busy, in her little American jacket, planting 
 sweet peas and mignonettes. Her table and 
 workbox, with the little one's caps, are on the 
 table — I wish my dearest mother were here and 
 the scene would be to me complete.' 
 
DEAR DOMESTICITIES 121 
 
 IV 
 
 What a simple heart this is, so ready to make 
 its own dehghts ! Think of the one who comes 
 from the splendid spaciousness of Carton, of 
 Leinster House, of Castletown, to say nothing of 
 Goodwood and Stoke, to such a tiny habitation 
 as a City madam might turn up her nose at ! 
 Surely never was a heart so grateful, so easily 
 made glad. There is nothing too small to be 
 detailed, so that the Duchess can see for herself 
 the spot which holds her best-beloved child. He 
 writes again : 
 
 ' I will now answer some of your dear letters. 
 Pam is as well as possible, better than ever : 
 the only inconvenience she finds is great fulness, 
 for which she was bled this morning, and it has 
 done her a great deal of good. I can't tell 
 you how dehghted she was with your china, and 
 how it adds to the little menage : it is beautiful, 
 and your dear way of buying it and giving it goes 
 to my heart. What would I give to have you here 
 drinking tea out of it ! Ogilvie flattered us with 
 the prospect the last day we dined with him. 
 If you do not come we will go to you when you 
 think Pamela will bear it. I don't know how 
 nursing and travelling will do, but if the child 
 should prove strong it won't mind it. . . . 
 
 ' I have tired you by this long scrawl. I have 
 not said half I feel, for it is one of those dehghtful 
 
122 LOED EDWAED 
 
 days when one feels and thinks more than one 
 can say or write. I won't read over my letter 
 for fear of not sending it. I have read it over and 
 feel it rather full of sentiment, feels and feeling, 
 but it slipped out, Sarahish, but if I do not send 
 it you will get no letter.^ 
 
 V 
 
 One of these days Pamela writes : 
 
 * II veaux mieux tard que jamais, n'est ce pas, 
 Chere Sophy ? mais je vous disais avec verite, 
 et non pour m'excuser, que dans le tems oii j'ai 
 re9ue votre Bonne Aimable lettre j'avois de si 
 viollants meaux de tete que je ne pouvois me me 
 voir pour travailler a la laiette de mon Cher petit 
 Enfant, mais un saigne m'a Absoluement gairie ; 
 et je me porte aussi bien qu'il est possible. La 
 chere petite Creature remue quelquefois si fort qu'il 
 me fait Mai. Je vous prie de dire aux dear gerls 
 que je suis tout a fait affrontee qu'elles appellont 
 mon Petit '' St. Fav " et " Ducrest " (the latter one 
 of Madame de Genlis's names). ' J'ai peur que 
 cela ne lui porte Malheur ; mais elles seront bien 
 attraperes lorsque je leurs presenterai un Cher 
 Petit Eddy avec des grands yeux Bleus. Sophy, 
 quel doux moment pour moi lorsque je presenterai 
 a la Chere Adorable Grande Maynan TEnfant de 
 son Cher Edward. Les larmes m'en vient aux 
 yeux d'avance. Pauvre Pamela oublira pour un 
 
DEAK DOMESTICITIES 123 
 
 terns les Malheiirs. Je siiis sure que vous etes bien 
 heureuse d'etre a jolie Boyle Farm, avec la chere 
 Maman ; nous parlous, Eddy et Moi, sans cesse 
 de cette chere Famille; nous sommes sans cesse 
 avec elle. Nous voyons la chere Maman toujours si 
 Acharnee a son livre, et nous disens God bless her ! 
 Les larmes nous vient aux yeux. . . . J'aime 
 beaucoup Kildare. Nous sommes heureux depuis 
 le Matin jusqu'au Soir. Nous nous promenons 
 beaucoup, et les Promenades et les Routes sont 
 charmants. Eddy me lis beaucoup tout haut, 
 pendant que je travaille a la laiette que vous 
 donnez a votre petit neveux ou niece. Je vous 
 aime trop pour vous Tavoir refuse, mais en verite, 
 chere bonne Sophy, cela est trop. Loves a la chere 
 Mere et Mr. 0. et aux cheres Soeurs." 
 
 This letter, from which tenderness and charm 
 breathe, makes one love Pamela and more deeply 
 compassionate her cruel fate. 
 
 VI 
 
 That she was a wise little mother this bit from 
 a letter to Lady Lucy, when le eher petit Eddy had 
 come, is a proof : 
 
 * Dear little hoy se porte a merveille ; il est 
 le plus aimable petit Enfant que je connoisse. 
 Je suis sure que vous Taimerez, car il resemble a 
 notre Edward, mais pas autant que je le voudrois : 
 il est toute la journee a Fair, et se begne tons les 
 
124 LOED EDWARD 
 
 matins dans de Teau froide ; aussi il a une sante 
 parfaite. Aimez moi toujours et croyez que si ma 
 main est une vilaine paresseuse mon Coeur ne 
 Test pas/ 
 
 VII 
 
 To go on with these dear domesticities. Eddy 
 writes before the event : 
 
 ' Dearest Mother, — I ought to thank you 
 for your kind thoughts about us at this moment, 
 for your present of the requisites, which you were 
 quite right in supposing we had not thought of. 
 Pam is going on as well as possible, strong, healthy 
 and in good spirits. We drive and walk every day : 
 she never thinks of what is to come, I believe, or 
 if she does it is with great courage : in short, I 
 never saw her, I think, in such good spirits. Seeing 
 her thus makes me so, and I feel happy and look 
 forward with good hope. 
 
 * I had a delightful letter from the girls at 
 Hastings, one of the best letters I have ever read, 
 so full of fun, humour and wit, and everything 
 well told. I have not answered it yet, and I am 
 almost afraid, mine must be so stupid ; for, I con- 
 fess, Leinster House does not inspire the brightest 
 ideas. By the by Vv^hat a melancholy house it 
 is ! You cannot conceive how much it appeared 
 so when first we came from Kildare ; but it is 
 going off a little. A poor country house-maid 
 
DEAE DOMESTICITIES 125 
 
 we brought with us cried for two days, and said 
 she thought she was in a prison. Pam and I amuse 
 ourselves a good deal by walking about the streets, 
 which I believe shocks the Dss. not a little, dear 
 soul. 
 
 ' My little place will be charming next year : 
 this last month and the present would require my 
 being there, but I must take care of the little 
 young plant that is coming, which will give me 
 great pleasure, I hope.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 'Dublin, October 20th, 1794.— The dear wife 
 and baby go on as well as possible. I need not 
 tell you how happy I am. It is a dear little thing 
 and very pretty now, though at first it was quite 
 the contrary. I wish I could show it to you all. 
 Dear Mother, how you would love it ! Nothing 
 is so delightful as to see it in its dear mother's 
 arms, with her sweet pale delicate face, and the 
 pretty looks she gives it. 
 
 ' By the by, dearest mother, I suppose you 
 won't have any objection to being its god-mother, 
 though I own I feel scrupulous, as you were so 
 kind to her about her lying-in clothes ; and I do 
 hate taking your poor guineas for such foolish 
 nonsense : still I should like, as there are such 
 things, that it should be you. Charles Fox and 
 Leinster are to be the godfathers.' 
 
126 LOED EDWARD 
 
 IX 
 
 Dublin, November ith, 1794. (The Duchess 
 has been very anxious about Lady Lucy, who is 
 ill. After the most tender inquiries the letter 
 goes on :) 
 
 ' I am sure it will be some comfort to you to 
 know that my dear wife goes on charmingly : 
 a most excellent nurse and the little boy thriving. 
 I do not see much hkeness in him to anybody : 
 he has Pani's chin, the eyes blue, but not like 
 either of ours. However, at present, one cannot 
 say much as he doesn't open them much. Pam is 
 to drive out the first fine day, and in two or three 
 days after that we go to Carton. Their little St. 
 George and Edward are to be christened at the 
 same time. How I long to show you the little 
 fellow, and how I should love to be with you now 
 to comfort you and keep up your spirits and occupy 
 you a little by making you nurse my little boy ! 
 
 ' Nov. nth. . . . I have been preparing these 
 last few days to go to the country. I have sent 
 off dear Pam and the baby to-day and follow to- 
 morrow : they are both well — have been both out 
 walking. Pam gets strong, and the little fellow 
 fat and saucy : he has taken such a fancy for the 
 candle that it is almost impossible to make him 
 sleep at night. A cradle he don't like, and always 
 wants to have his cheek on his mamma's breast. 
 He every day grows more like me, I think, in 
 
DEAR DOMESTICITIES 127 
 
 his mouth and nose ; but the eyes I don^t yet 
 make out. 
 
 'Dearest Mother, I try to give you details of 
 things that will interest you ; and if our dear Lucy 
 is better I know they will. It is terrible to have 
 her thus ; to have all that good-nature, softness 
 and gaiety subdued by sickness goes to one's 
 heart.' 
 
 ' Carton, Nov. 25th. — We have been here for a 
 week. Pam was not well for a day, but it was 
 only a little bilious attack, and a ride or two on 
 the pony quite put her right : she is now going 
 on perfectly well, walks every day, gains her 
 strength and good looks. The little fellow is 
 dehghtful, improving every day, takes his walks, 
 and, in short, is everything we could wish : he must 
 be taken great notice of ; spoken to and danced, 
 or otherwise he is not at all pleased. 
 
 ' My httle place is much improved by a few 
 things I have done and by all my planting ; by 
 the by, I doubt if I told you of my flower-garden — 
 I got a great deal from Frescati. I have been at 
 Kildare since Pam's lying-in and it looked delight- 
 ful, though all the leaves were off the trees — so 
 comfortable and snug. I think I shall pass a de- 
 lightful Winter there. I have got two fine large 
 clumps of turf which looks both comfortable and 
 pretty. I have paled in my little flower-garden 
 before my hall-door with a lath paling hke the 
 cottage and stuck it full of roses, sweet-briar, honey- 
 
128 LORD EDWAED 
 
 suckles and Spanish broom. I have got all my beds 
 ready for my flowers, so you may guess how I long 
 to be there to plant them. The little fellow will 
 be a great addition to the party. I think when I 
 am down there with Pam and child of a blustery 
 evening, with a good turf fire and a pleasant book, 
 coming in after seeing my poultry put up, my 
 garden settled, — flower-beds and plants covered 
 for fear of frost — the place looking comfortable and 
 taken care of, I shall be as happy as possible.^ 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE LAST IhOPE 
 
 A THOUSAND pities Eddy could not, like Adam, 
 have remained in Eden — like him, Husband, 
 Father, and Gardener. It is not possible for him. 
 He is too ardent, too great-hearted. Already 
 he has brought upon himself the displeasure 
 of Mr. Pitt by his schoolboy renunciation of 
 his title in Paris. None of the Good Family is 
 much in favour with the people, English or 
 Anglo-Irish, who believe in the iron hand in 
 deaHng with the native Irish. Of the Fitzgeralds, 
 the greatest of Norman families, it had been said 
 that they had become more Irish than the Irish. 
 There has been a deal of pother as to whence 
 Eddy drew his revolutionary ideas and ideals 
 — America, Paris, Pamela, have been variously 
 accredited. But he is the third great rebel of his 
 race, if, after Silken Thomas, the great Earl of 
 Kildare can be called a rebel, he who burnt 
 the Cathedral of Cashel in Tudor days and gave 
 as an explanation that he had believed the 
 
 129 K 
 
130 LOED EDWARD 
 
 Archbisliop to be inside. ' If all Ireland cannot 
 
 rule this man,' said tlie King of England, ' then 
 
 let this man rule all Ireland.' And so made him 
 Lord Deputy. 
 
 II 
 
 Early in 1793, very soon after Edward's return 
 to Dublin with his bride, there was a scene in the 
 House of Commons in which he acted ' very 
 Eddyish,' as Lady Lucy would have said. Let 
 Lady Sophia relate it : 
 
 ' In the course of a debate he spoke in rather 
 too warm a manner, saying that he look'd upon the 
 Lord Lieutenant and the majority of the House 
 of Commons as Enemies to Ireland, and that they 
 were the cause of the present situation of the 
 country. This made a great noise in the House, 
 but Edward repeated the same words and they 
 were order' d to be taken down by the Clerk. 
 Edward withdrew with some of his Friends, to 
 whom he said, having spoken his clear opinion 
 he would not retract it. Being inform' d that the 
 terms and the manner in which he express' d himself 
 were unparliamentary, he said he was not much 
 accustom'd to Parliamentary speaking, and was 
 ready to make an acknowledgement to that 
 effect to be read to the House. Lord Hillsborough 
 very good-naturedly undertook to read the apology. 
 The paper being read it was objected that it did 
 
THE LAST HOPE 131 
 
 not express his being sorry for what he had said> 
 and Edward, refusing to make any further con- 
 cession (he was perfectly right) he was order'd to 
 attend next day at the Bar. He attended accord- 
 ingly and said : "I am sorry to find that certain 
 expressions I used last night were unparliamentary 
 and have given this House offence. I hope this 
 apology will suffice. I shall be sorry to leave this 
 House at a moment when there are questions 
 of great importance coming on." The latter part 
 of this was objected to, and the House divided. 
 For accepting it as a sufficient apology 133, against 
 53. Majority for accepting 80.' 
 
 Ill 
 
 This language of Lord Edward seems tame 
 enough beside Mr. Grattan's. 
 
 * Do you imagine/ he asks, ' that the laws of 
 this country can retain due authority under a 
 system such as yours, a system which not only 
 poisons the source of the law but pollutes the 
 seats of judgment ? The present administration 
 is an enemy to the law ; first, because it has 
 broken the law ; secondly, because it has at- 
 tempted to poison the true sources both of legisla- 
 tion and of justice : and however the friends of 
 that administration may talk plausibly on the 
 subject of pub He tranquillity, they are in fact the 
 ring-leaders of sedition placed in authority. Rank 
 
132 LORD EDWARD 
 
 majorities may give a nation law, but rank majorities 
 cannot give law authority/ 
 
 IV 
 
 Eddy loves Mr. Grattan and damns tlie Beres- 
 fords. It is the Beresfords who stand in the way 
 of the country's liberties. These were gay days in 
 Dublin. They were days when Dublin, beautiful 
 and stately as we see her, a Capital City, how- 
 ever impoverished and stripped of her privileges, 
 was in the making. The gaieties of the Rutland 
 Viceroy alty were not over with the untimely 
 death of the splendid Duke. He had been succeeded 
 by a clown. Lady Sarah comes in with anecdotes 
 of the new Viceroy, Lord Buckingham : ' Here are 
 two true annecdotes of Ld. B. On the Queen's 
 Birthday he gave a Ball at the Castle — undressed 
 'tis true — all the men were ordeid to come in 
 green, the Marquess's own livery. On the Thanks- 
 giving Day he gave a dinner and left out all the 
 delegates : he order' d his aide de camps to wait 
 in a row behind his chair, and strange to tell all 
 obey'd both his orders.' 
 
 But the Right Hon. John Beresford, First 
 Commissioner of the Revenue, though he was an 
 enemy of the people, was the greatest of town- 
 
THE LAST HOPE 133 
 
 planners and town-builders. It was a time when 
 the Anglo-Irish nobihty were splendid patrons 
 of the Arts. John Beresford found Dublin mud 
 and left it marb le . To him D ub lin owes the master- 
 pieces of James Gandon's genius, the Custom House 
 and the Four Courts, with many of the bridges 
 over the river and many new streets, including 
 Westmoreland Street between Carlisle Bridge and 
 the Houses of Parliament. Those last years before 
 the loss of the Irish Parliament were the most 
 splendid in the history of the Irish capital — the 
 sun-setting, before the night when famine after 
 famine should lay Ireland waste and make the 
 grass to grow in the streets of Dublin. Mr. Beres- 
 ford, aided by the enormous family interest in 
 Church and State, was the most powerful man in 
 Ireland. It was said that he carried in his pocket 
 the Law, the Revenue, the Army and the Church, 
 and that he might well be called the King of Ireland. 
 The Viceroys — there were eleven of them during 
 the twenty years before the Union — accepted 
 the Beresford power and the family pretentions, 
 with one notable exception : him the Beresfords 
 destroyed, and with him the hopes of Ireland. 
 
 VI 
 
 About 1790 Lord Charlemont, that ideal high- 
 minded gentleman and patriot, a man of great 
 cultivation of mind, a patron of the Arts, as good 
 
134 LORD EDWARD 
 
 as he was gifted and charming, had with the aid 
 of Mr. Grattan founded a "WTiig Club in Dublin, 
 and shortly afterwards a second in Belfast. Lady 
 Sarah gives an account of this notable happening 
 to Lady Susan O'Brien : ' Lord Charlemont, Mr. 
 Grattan, Mr. Conolly, and the Duke of Leinster 
 have worked hard to settle a Whig Club, and it is 
 wonderful in its effects : it makes for order, method, 
 union and business, so that for the first time the 
 Opposition is a Phallanx and not a rope of sand. 
 And the consequence is that they are to have this 
 very day a majority of 100 and upwards, and the 
 members are but 300 in all, so that the Ministry 
 have taken the alarm and sent off expresses to 
 London about it.' Lord Castlereagh was by the 
 way an early member of one of these Clubs, and 
 a very Jacobin in his wild and generous notions. 
 If only he had died young ! 
 
 VII 
 
 More than a century later Lord Edward's great 
 grandson was to discover that when he asked in 
 Dublin of a man ' What is he ? ' he was answered : 
 ' He is a Catholic,' or ' He is a Protestant.' In 
 Ireland of to-day and yesterday all the difficulties 
 are connected with religion, and it may safely 
 be said that if Ireland could be entirely Catholic 
 or entirely Protestant there would be no Irish 
 problem. The Irish Parliament, even including 
 
THE LAST HOPE 135 
 
 the Whigs who were the popular party, left it 
 to the last decade of its existence to consider if 
 the laws against the Catholics could not be ame- 
 liorated. A small and grudging measure of reform 
 was brought in and passed in 1792, when the clatter 
 of the French Eevolution was a warning sound 
 to rulers that the people were up and calling for 
 justice. That measure of reform permitted no 
 representation in Parliament to the Catholics, 
 so that they could only hope to be represented 
 by their Protestant fellow-countrymen, as indeed 
 they sometimes were, generously and fairly. It 
 was a time when any question of justice or kindness 
 to the Catholics was left to the heart and conscience 
 of the Protestants. To the credit of a certain 
 high-minded section of Protestants, it is to be 
 said that the personal safety and honour and 
 property of the unfortunate Catholics were safe 
 in their hands. It is still said of some Irish County 
 families, as of the Blakes of Galway, that they 
 never betrayed the Catholic friend or neighbour, 
 wholly at their mercy through the iniquitous 
 Penal Laws. About 1791 there came out of the 
 "Whig Clubs, to which Anglo-Ireland had taken 
 with enthusiasm, the Society of the United Irish- . 
 men, of which Belfast was the cradle. 
 
136 LOED EDAVAED 
 
 VIII 
 
 For more than half the last decade of the 18th 
 century the United Irish Society was very fashion- 
 able among the great Whig families and their 
 sympathisers. The men wore green cravats, and 
 the ladies went to their balls at the Eotunda 
 wearing gowns of green poplin, or white poplin, 
 sprinkled plentifully with shamrocks. Some of 
 the great Whig ladies had their doubts about the 
 alHance between North and South. Dissent in those 
 days, for all Wesley had brought the world to hear 
 him, was less acceptable to many than Catholicism 
 itself — and the Presbyterian North stank in the 
 nostrils of others besides Lady Sarah Napier, who 
 perhaps had the excuse of her Stuart descent to 
 make her hate the Presbyterians. She writes in 
 1792, and might have been writing in 1916 : 
 
 ' The horrors of Paris exceed all immagination, 
 but I don't fancy there is the least danger of 
 the like in England or Ireland. In the former 
 all spirit is gone, and an Englishman and pas- 
 sive obedience are synonymous terms : in Ireland 
 there is great spirit left, and it only depends on 
 Govt, to turn it into proper channels. If they 
 will but divert it to objects of improvement 
 all Irish will eagerly catch at a new object 
 of improvement. Govt, does very foolishly in 
 trying to raise up quarrels between the Catho- 
 licks and Protestants for the purpose of an 
 
THE LAST HOPE 137 
 
 excuse for a union tliat will ruin Ireland,— 
 for the nasty Presbeterians will run away with 
 the hoyie,^ 
 
 IX 
 
 A year later the same vivacious correspondent 
 is writing again : 
 
 * I suppose you won't forgive my saying no- 
 thing of our Irish Politicks as they sound so 
 terrible. That good-natured Mrs. Crewe wrote 
 to beg of us to tahe shelter at Crewe Hall. We 
 got her letter of terror just as we were preparing 
 for a Ball at Castletown, where we had passed a 
 very merry Christmas, although cannons are sent 
 down to the County of Louth within 20 miles of 
 us. The truth is that it is all a bug-bear ; unless 
 the Catholicks are very ill-used indeed nothing will 
 tempt them to join the small portion of Levelers 
 and Presbeterian disturbers of the peace which 
 every County now produces. . . . Next week will 
 probably settle all about the Catholicks. If they 
 get their franchise you may rely on it all will go 
 smoothly : if not, God knows the consequences. 
 The Duke of Leinster is the most steady friend to 
 the Cathohcks, and has set up a Club calFd " The 
 Association of the Friends of the Constitution, 
 Liberty, and Peace,'" to separate it quite from 
 Levelers and Govt., and it takes very much, I find 
 to my great joy, for I cannot bear the 2 ques- 
 • tions being mixed,' 
 
138 LOED EDWARD 
 
 X 
 
 Lady Sarah writes from the Park Gate, Chester, 
 whence packets sailed for Ireland, to Lady Susan 
 O'Brien : 
 
 'm Sep. 1794. —The date of my letter 
 mil announce me not in perfect good Jiumour, 
 when I explain that we arrived in Chester early 
 in the evening, were told by the agent of the 
 Packet that a small vessell would perha'ps sail to 
 oblige us the next evening tide, but intended only 
 to sail the day after that. We accordingly took 
 our sleep and came to this place at 4 o'clock fully 
 expecting to have some trouble to persuade the 
 man to sail at night, when behold he (the only 
 vessell either here or at L'pool) was sailed on the 
 morning tide, with the finest wind and so much of 
 it as gives us no hope of a vessell coming in, and 
 when once the wind gets Westerly it generally 
 remains so long. I have no remmedy but by con- 
 versing with my friends to persuade myself I 
 am content. ... I must next tell you our London 
 doings. I passed a day with my Sister Leinster 
 at Boyle Farm, which is now the seat of luxury 
 and beauty and ingenuity : it would have taken 
 me a week to see all the fine things in the house. 
 The grounds are enlarged and improved by the 
 growing of the trees, and the pavilhons opposite 
 are improved by addition of trees and buildings, 
 otherwise the natural beauty of Thames Ditton 
 
THE LAST HOPE 139 
 
 can never alter. My dear sister and her girls 
 enjoyed it so much this hot Summer. At Boyle 
 Farm dined Charles Fox, who, like me, was all 
 enchantment with the place, and we were trying 
 to find out old spots and old trees of our acquaint- 
 ance. I had but a minute's time to talh to him, 
 for he was to go home 10 miles after dinner, but in 
 that short space I said I had seen you. I told him 
 of Ld. Ilchester's marriage, which amused him, for 
 he knows litterally nothing at St. Anne's Hill : he did 
 not know that Lord Fitzwilliam was to go to Ireland : 
 In short, he says that nobody tells him news because 
 they conclude he knows it all, and he has but 
 one newspaper which tells nothing but the War/ 
 
 XI 
 
 ' That Lord Fitzwilliam was to go to Ireland,' 
 That indeed was great news for Ireland. The 
 Fitzwilliam Viceroy alty and all it involved was 
 the one plank between Ireland and Revolution. 
 In July the Duke of Portland and his Whig friends 
 had joined the Cabinet, one of the conditions being 
 that Lord Fitzwilliam should succeed Lord West- 
 moreland as Viceroy of Ireland. At first there 
 was some doubt as to Lord Fitzwilliam's plans 
 of action, although none about his good intentions. 
 It was feared he would be hampered by those 
 behind him. * No mortal here yet knows, (it is 
 the 9th of October and Lord Fitzwilliam expected 
 
140 LORD EDWARD 
 
 on the 28tli) writes Lady Sarah, * on what system 
 he is to govern. There is a mystery as yet impene- 
 trable, and each party hint such opposite measures 
 that Lord Charlemont, Duke of Leinster, and 
 Mr. Conolly, for certain, also Mr. Ponsonby for un- 
 certain, say that they wait to see if it is a change 
 of men or of measures ; if the former, they lament 
 most sificerely, for they love Ld. Fitzwilliam, that 
 he should be made the engine of Mr. Pitt to con- 
 tinue a system of Government so destructive to 
 Ireland, which unhappily is so ripe for troubles 
 that all they want is an excuse : and millions are 
 to be found in the general neglect of all depart- 
 ments, the misuse of money, and leaving the country 
 defenceless. To reform all these flagrant abuses 
 which so i^nmediately ^prevent the securing of peace 
 in Ireland is the first object, and to do this he 
 must raise the liornet's nest, viz. the Beresfords, 
 etc. Query, — can Ld. Fitzwilliam withstand such 
 an attack ? Certainly not if he is not strongly 
 suported in the EngHsh Ministry. Will the D. 
 of P. suport him ? Yes. Can he ? No, is my 
 answer, for Mr. Pitt will in an underhand way 
 encourage the very people that are turned out, 
 who will upset Ld. Fitz. — and, all things coming 
 back to their own channell, poor Ireland pays 
 for all these political commotions, unless they are 
 carried through with a steady hand. If Ld. F. 
 will and can do this, then every real well-wisher 
 of his country will suport him, and it will then 
 
THE LAST HOPE 141 
 
 appear if Ireland has more honest men or most 
 rogues in it, and they must take their fate according 
 to their deserts. Lord Westd. is so cross at this 
 change that he denies Ld, Fitz is coming at all : 
 and will do nothing for anybody in the meantime- 
 It creates an odd scene like " Duke and no Duke/' 
 and the toadeaters of the Castle don't know how 
 to look, whether to laugh or cry/ 
 
 XII 
 
 Lady Sarah's forecast was, alas ! only too 
 sapient. Lord Fitzwiliiam came to Ireland, bear- 
 ing the highest hopes for the people that ever 
 English statesman bore. As long as Ireland re- 
 members her history he will be remembered 
 and his recall deplored. He came with a gene- 
 rous policy towards the Catholics and an honest 
 determination to break the power of the Beres- 
 fords and their friends. 
 
 One of his first acts was to remove the Chief 
 Commissioner from the post he enjoyed and his 
 seat on the Privy Council. Mr. Grattan, with the 
 full sanction of Government, and with hardly a 
 dissenting voice from Ireland, was permitted to 
 bring in a Bill for the complete enfranchisement 
 of the Catholics. Everything seemed full of 
 hope and promise. Suddenly, after two months, 
 Lord Fitzwiliiam was recalled. The policy of the 
 Government was changed : the sanction to the 
 Bill withdrawn. The greatest calamity that has 
 
142 LORD EDWARD 
 
 ever befallen Ireland had happened. The Beres- 
 fords had triumphed. The cause of the people was 
 in ruins. Steadily, by this wicked vacillation and 
 treachery, thepeople were to be driven into rebellion. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Lady Sarah conveys the news in a fury, which 
 does her great English heart honour : 
 
 ' 28th March, 1795.— If Ld. Milton ' (who had 
 been Chief Secretary with Lord Fitzwilliam) ' goes 
 home you will know the whole history of your 
 friend, Mr. Pitt's trying to swindle Ireland out of 
 its money, and treat us like a conquered country, 
 making Ld. Fitzwilliam and Ld. Milton the innocent 
 swindlers. My intelligence is Mr. ConoUy and 
 my sister (particularly), and the whole people of 
 Ireland in general. I have just arrived from the 
 North, as this great event ended with Lord F.'s 
 sincerely lamented departure. A Ld. Lt. that 
 I really loved and highly respected and with whom 
 our friends joined, though he derived his power 
 from Pitt, can never again happen. That he 
 (Pitt) will keep his power till he has brought his 
 King's head or his own to the block I do now most 
 firmly beheve : the sooner Pitfs is there in my 
 mind the better ; tho' he has lost much of his 
 powers of mischief by taking in such a character 
 as Ld. Fitzwilliam ; it has turned many a heart 
 against him and will keep other honest men from 
 trusting him. Not that I blame him most for he 
 
THE LAST HOPE 143 
 
 is an open ennemy, and they might have expected it. 
 You (litckily for my judgment in politicks) remember 
 I foretold it all last Septr. If you have my letter 
 I beg of you to keep it, and when you see Ld. Milton 
 shew him the date and read the paragraphs that 
 foretell what has happen' d, that he may see that 
 even a woman, and one who don't live in Dublin 
 but picks up Sunday news at Castletown, can't 
 be bhnd to the well-known politicks of Ireland — 
 they are so plain. 
 
 ' But now for the history. The D. of P. had 
 positively settled that the Catholicks were to be 
 on the same footing as the Protestants in Ireland, 
 in everything, long ago, and he said he had full 
 powers : the time and the manner were alone left 
 to Ld. Fitzwilliam, who very wisely considered 
 that having an immense sum to ask for and much 
 mischief to reform, he could not do better than 
 secure popularity with a nation suspected (I 
 believe falsely) of not being averse to join the 
 French. The time therefore was excellent, and 
 the thing a promise from last year now performed. 
 
 ' The D. of P. never wrote to approve or disap- 
 prove, and kept Ld. F. in constant difficulties for 
 want of an ansr for 3 months, which quietly 
 brought on the time of the vote for the money. 
 The moment that was secure cold letters and 
 afronts were put upon Ld. F. and he desired to 
 be recalled. No ansr till the money bill was ready. 
 Then came a formal recall from the D. of P. and 
 
144 LORD EDWARD 
 
 showers of letters to Ld. F. to arraign his conduct 
 for the dismissal of 4 men, 2 of them clerks, as 
 Ld. F. so truly calls them, and this followed up 
 by his causing confusion and rebellion in Ireland 
 by hurrying the Catholick Bill. 
 
 'N.B. The Protestant party were never so 
 reconciled to it as at this session. All this is 
 fully explained in a letter shewn about from Ld. 
 F. to Lord Carlisle : and the newspapers of our 
 side (the Hibernian) will tell you the truth as to 
 the serious, solemn, decent, and sad multitude 
 of all ranks that follow' d him to the water-side. 
 The mob (if there was any, for all were well-dress'd) 
 was kept in perfect order. Not a' drunken man to 
 be seen at night even — all -fir,n and serious. Mr. 
 Pelham is come, and looked very fooUsh when Ld. 
 F. said : *^ If you have any official commands I 
 am ready to ansr them, but I will listen to no other 
 subject y I think the new ones and the old devils 
 come back are like a hackney coachman set to 
 drive manag'd horses, they looked frighten' d 
 and are doubtfuU which is the best way to save 
 their necks, whipping or coaxing. God send they 
 may be wise enough to try the last and all will 
 go on smoothly, for it matters not who does the 
 good if it's done for Ireland, tho' it enrages every 
 one to see Ld. Fitzwilliam robbed of the power 
 of exercising his good intentions.' 
 
 ' My nephew, Ld. Edward^ is in despair,' Lady 
 Sarah adds as an afterthought. ' My God, where 
 is all this going to end ? ' 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 ' THE BELOVED QUOITUOR ' 
 
 Lady Sarah's ' 3 months ' is inaccurate. There 
 were exactly fifty days between the day Lord 
 Fitzwilliam came and the Beresford triumph, 
 when amid the national mourning he left Dublin. 
 * Let my friends no longer suffer the Catholic 
 question to be mentioned/ he wrote, ' as entering 
 in the most distant degree into the question of 
 my recall. Had Mr. Beresford never been dis- 
 missed I should have remained." Lord Edward 
 might indeed despair. Lord Camden, Lord Castle- 
 reagh, Lord Carhampton, and Lord Clare — the Four 
 C/s — governed Ireland. Of these four gentlemen, 
 Lord Clare, the Chancellor, was if anything the worst 
 enemy of Ireland. John Fitzgibbon, Earl of Clare, 
 whose sister was Mr. Beresford's wife, was known 
 among the Dubliners of his day as ' Union Jack. ' 
 On the edge of rebeUion Lady Sarah reports : ' Govt: 
 now begins to be alarmed in earnest. They have 
 sat in council for 3 days. Report says there was 
 a division on the subject of arming the Yeomanry, 
 
 145 L 
 
146 LOED EDWARD 
 
 and that Lord Camden, Lord Carliampton and 
 others \vere clear for arming, (with caution however), 
 both Protestants and Cathohcks, and the Chancellor 
 vehemently opposed the allowing any Catholicks 
 to be armed : Lord Camden said it was declaring 
 War to them at once if you refused to join them 
 in the set of Yeomanry." 
 
 II 
 
 One can imagine how stormily these things 
 were discussed in the little cottage at Kildare, 
 where four friends gathered round the turf fire, 
 when the shutters were shut, the lamp lit, and the 
 wind that blew across the Curragh of Kildare 
 sighed around the little house on its rampart, 
 whistled through the key-holes and shook the 
 windows. It must have been somewhat close 
 quarters in the tiny house for the quartet, which 
 consisted of Edward and Pamela, Lady Lucy and 
 Arthur O'Connor, who had appeared in Lady 
 Lucy's Diary in the gay days when she and her 
 sisters were ball-going and opera-going in London. 
 
 ' We had company to dinner, Mr. O'Connor, 
 the man who made the famous speech. He is 
 Edward's great Friend — of course a great 
 Democrat.' 
 
' THE BELOVED QUOITUOR ' 147 
 
 III 
 
 For a year after Lord Fitzwilliam's recall Lord 
 Edward refrained from joining the United Irish 
 Society ; nor was Arthur O'Connor a member, 
 nor Emmet, nor McNevin, of the revolutionary 
 leaders. But the same malign fate or will that 
 forced on the Rebellion forced them into the arms 
 of revolution, who would have saved the country 
 otherwise if they could. Sometime early in 1796 
 Lord Edward and Arthur O'Connor both joined 
 the Society, the passing of the Insurrection Act 
 in February of that year having persuaded them 
 that there was nothing to be hoped for from con- 
 stitutional methods. Lord Edward had spoken 
 against the Act in terms of grave warning. It 
 passed into law — and there was nothing but the 
 open door of Revolution. 
 
 IV 
 
 Neither the fact that the Fitzgeralds belonged 
 to the greatest and most honourable of Norman- 
 Irish families, nor their great connections, saved 
 them from insolence on the part of those whom 
 Lady Sarah describes trenchantly as ' Irish 
 Buckeens, the worst sort of annimal in the crea- 
 tion, who neglect or rather never knew his duty/ 
 i.e. as officer of a Yeomanry Regiment. 
 
 Lord Edward and Arthur O'Connor had 
 
148 LORD EDWARD 
 
 attended the Curragh Races. At the close of the 
 proceedings they started out to ride back to Kil- 
 dare Lodge. Lord Edward, like so many of his 
 friends, had adopted a habit of republican sim- 
 plicity in his dress. He wore his soft dark hair 
 unpowdered, and about his neck a green silk hand- 
 kerchief. Eddy's mother tells the story of this 
 unpleasant adventure to Lady Sophia : 
 
 * Our dearest Eddy met as he was riding 
 out on the Curragh with a troop of impertinent 
 young officers, who bid him pull ofi his handker- 
 chief (7iot a green one). He refused, as you may 
 beheve, and said that though the wearing of it 
 was a matter indifferent before, such behaviour 
 would confirm his wearing it for ever. Upon their 
 insisting on it he told them that if they would 
 send him separate challenges he would fight them 
 individually if they chose it, but that nothing 
 should make him take ofi his Handkerchief. In 
 the midst of this Col. Taylor happening to ride 
 by enquired what was the matter, and was shocked 
 at the impertinence of these Boys who disgrace 
 the Army, and begg'd Edward would not deign 
 to answer them, but come with him to Genl. 
 Dundass, who expressed himself indignant at them 
 and desir'd Edward wou'd send for the Civil 
 Magistrate and have them severely punish'd, but 
 upon Edward's declining it he gave out a severe 
 reprimand in pubhck orders the next day. Now, 
 perhaps, you have heard all this, but you may 
 
' THE BELOVED QUOITUOR ' 149 
 
 also know nothing about it — and in that case 
 nothing that relates to our Beloved can come 
 amiss. It was very disagreeable, but the Angel 
 told Louisa that when he looked round on all 
 their Boyish faces, their youth, (all immagining 
 they were doing a fine thing by stopping him) 
 moved him and he could not help forgiving them 
 in his Heart ; is not this so like him ? ' 
 
 These young men were apparently not of the 
 * Irish buckeen ' class, which began to grow very 
 insolent. There is an unwritten page of Lady 
 Lucy's Diary. She was leaving the Rotunda 
 Assembly one night with the Conollys, when there 
 was a great gathering of people in the streets 
 to see the fine folk pass. She was muffled to the 
 eyes, as she describes it, the night being cold. 
 She had danced herself warm in her rose-pink 
 satin gown and hat of brown velvet, with a knot 
 of diamonds holding the feather, a present from 
 her aunt. Lady Louisa. She had been disagreeably 
 conscious during the evening of a handsome, 
 dissipated-looking young man who stood behind 
 pillars and stared at her. He was very con- 
 spicuous in his red silk coat and black breeches 
 and stockings, a dress which heightened the 
 swarthiness of his complexion. As he moA'ed 
 from place to place, following her, she noticed 
 
150 LORD EDWARD 
 
 that a group of young men accompanied him, 
 keeping in his background. His manner par- 
 ticularly annoyed her. Inquiring of a partner 
 who the gentleman might be, she was told that 
 he was Mr. P. of M., who had recently raised a 
 regiment of militia. 
 
 She prevailed upon Lady Louisa to leave the 
 Assembly early. They had come up from Kildare 
 that morning and were lodging at the Frederick 
 Street Hotel, since Lady Louisa, the most timid 
 of creatures, fancied a rebel, if not a highwayman, 
 behind every tree, in every ditch or patch of 
 shadow on the long road back to Castletown. 
 
 There was a great crowd in the courtyard when 
 they left, and much hurry and confusion, and 
 somehow Lady Lucy found herself separated from 
 her party and flung hither and thither like a cork 
 upon the surface of the water. While she stood 
 helpless a moment someone spoke beside her — 
 ' Here, Madam, is your chair.' She thought it 
 was the chairman who had brought her, and was 
 very glad to escape from the confusion of the 
 crowd to the safety of a chair. When she had 
 got in she opened a window to call to the chair- 
 man in front a question as to her party. 
 
 ' Her ladyship's chair is in front,' said the 
 fellow, and Lady Lucy sank back upon the cushions 
 reassured. 
 
 They emerged from the crowd in the court- 
 yard to the greater crowd in the street. Abuse 
 
^ THE BELOVED QUOITUOR ' 151 
 
 followed tliem, for the chairmen forced their way 
 through the crowd without 'by your leave,' 
 and Lady Lucy was jolted more than was 
 pleasant. Once clear of the crowd the chan^men 
 went at a great pace, and the jolting became so 
 violent that it threatened to bring on one of her 
 attacks of the bile, and caused her a fear that 
 her chairmen might be drunk. Terrified at the 
 idea she again opened her window and looked 
 through, expecting to see the well-lit new street 
 called after the Earl of Westmoreland, and her 
 aunt's chair in front going towards the Houses 
 of Parhament. She immediately perceived that 
 she was in no such safe place, but rather in a 
 villanous-looking street she had not known before, 
 which she suspected to be one of those running 
 down towards St. Mary's Abbey from the new 
 Sackville Street. 
 
 If she had been a different kind of woman, if 
 she had been like Lady Sophia or Lady Charlotte 
 or Mr. Ogilvie's daughters, or her cousins Henriette 
 and Louisa, she would have swooned. Being a 
 thing of spirit and Eddy's sister she hit the chair- 
 man in front of her a sounding thwack with her 
 fan between the shoulders, and asked him where 
 he was taking her to. 
 
 The fellow put down the chair so suddenly, 
 without warning to the other rogue, that it was 
 all but upset. He tm^ned about. There was a 
 street lamp near which shed a faint ray. He laid 
 
152 LORD EDWARD 
 
 his hand upon his heart. To her horror and 
 amazement she recognised the features of Mr. P. 
 ' I trust,' he said, ' that the fair Fitzgerald will 
 forgive the ruse of Love. It will be my life's task 
 to atone, once she is mine.' 
 
 ' That I will never be,' she said with great 
 spirit. ' Set me down at once. You shall be 
 punished for this.' 
 
 ' Oh,' he said, ' Love knows no law. I am 
 confoundedly in love with you. You'll be safer 
 with me, my lovely Rebel, in days to come than 
 with your rebelly brother Edward, or his rebel 
 Grace the Duke. As for punishment, why, I can 
 call to the most powerful faction in Ireland for 
 my protection.' 
 
 ' May I ask what you intend to do with me ? ' 
 she asked, with an appearance of calm. 
 
 ' No worse,' he replied, ' than to take you to 
 my house on the Liffey banks beyond Chapelizod 
 and keep you there till I find a parson to marry 
 us : I am in a hurry to see your sweet face again 
 without your hood, so you'll excuse my proceeding. 
 If I am not a satisfactory chairman, neither I nor 
 my friend was brought up to the trade.' 
 
 She thought of screaming, in hopes to bring 
 the Town Watch, at that time under an efficient 
 and careful officer. Major Sirr. But as she con- 
 fessed afterwards she felt that she was lost, that 
 a man who could act as Mr. P. was doing would 
 soon stifle her screams with his handkerchief. 
 
' THE BELOVED QUOITUOR ' 153 
 
 While she shrank back into the chair, he put in 
 his face impudently and begged a kiss. His hot 
 breath on her face, the smell of brandy which clung 
 to him, turned her faint. She felt suffocated. 
 As his lips sought hers, she screamed. There 
 was a sound of running feet. Mr. P. pressing her 
 backward in the chair heard nothing. He had 
 thrust his hand into her mouth roughly. 
 
 Suddenly she was free. Someone had taken 
 Mr. P. by the collar of his coat and pulling him 
 backwards had flung him with such great violence 
 against an area railing close by, that the rusty 
 rail gave way and he was precipitated into the 
 stone-flagged area below. The other chairman had 
 taken to his heels. Lady Lucy was looking into 
 her preserver's face, as though he were come 
 straight from Heaven. 
 
 VI 
 
 Only to one or two dear intimates was the story 
 of that adventure told. Pamela wept and clasped 
 her little hands, and Edward was very angry. 
 But Mr. P. had removed himself the next day to 
 none knew where — and the Family was agreed 
 that the less said about the matter the better. 
 
 Lucy's deliverer, Captain Foley of His Majesty's 
 Navy, was received into the Family's grateful 
 friendship, and all were agreed that his discretion 
 and his modesty were beyond praise. He had 
 
154 LORD EDWARD 
 
 conveyed his fair charge safely to the distracted 
 Lady Louisa, and not a whisper of the matter 
 had got abroad to be torn to pieces by the ' Dobhn 
 hdies/ who loved a scandal, and were quite capable 
 of saying that Lucy went of her free will. 
 
 Lady Sarah found in Captain Foley a likeness 
 to Mr. Napier when first she saw him as a saviour. 
 There was indeed a certain likeness in the noble 
 keen look, the fearless eyes, the fine, clear dis- 
 tinguished profile. But there was something else. 
 The bronze of the seaman was on Captain Foley's 
 countenance. Lady Lucy wrote of him that he 
 had grey eyes, grey as the sea, with dark lashes, 
 and that his eyes * beheld great distances.' It 
 was somewhat remarkable that she should have 
 known so much about his eyes. 
 
 ' I can never forget,' she tells her Journal, 
 * the great consolation and surety of deliverance 
 which came to me in my deadly peril from that 
 wretch's audacity, when, by the faint gleam of 
 lamplight, I saw that noble face. It was as though 
 God had sent an Angel to deliver me. He treated 
 me with so fine a courtesy and such a tender 
 respectfulness, that he must ever be dear to me. 
 He was with Lord Howe in the great action of 
 the 1st of June. Everyone praises him. My 
 Uncle Richmond commends him most highly. 
 His eyes follow me as I come and go. Alas, dear 
 and brave youth ! Alas, poor Lucy ! ' 
 
' THE BELOVED QUOITUOE ' 155 
 
 VII 
 
 At Kildare of Winter nights the Quoituor, as 
 Pamela calls it, talk of books and poetry : they 
 sing Irish songs ; and Pamela, in a softness of 
 motherhood that is lovelier than her young beauty, 
 sings little chansons and berceuses, her soft wild 
 hair falhng about the shoulders of her white frock. 
 When she sings a love-song she looks at Edward. 
 Then Edward must sing ' The Green upon the 
 Cape ' and ' The Shan Van Vocht ' ; and Arthur 
 O'Connor joins in in his rich baritone. His dark 
 eyes, a little yellowish in the whites, for he has 
 Spanish blood, seek out Lucy in the shadows 
 while he sings. 
 
 ' He has hair,' she writes, ' which reminds me 
 of nothing so much as a bunch of fine black grapes. 
 There is the sun and the fire of the South in him. 
 Our Northern men are the moonlight and the ice 
 as compared with such as he. His glance, his 
 smile, his voice, draw the heart out of my breast. 
 None suspects it. Eddy and Pamela love him. 
 We are the Amiable, the Beloved Quoituor. 
 Pamela has fifty adjectives for us. When I go 
 back to my mother at Ealing all this must be at 
 an end.' 
 
156 LOED EDWARD 
 
 VIII 
 
 There are evenings when things are not so 
 gentle and so pleasant, when they sit over the fire, 
 looking into the heart of it, and talk in passionate 
 whispers, when Lucy's heart is on fire with Eddy's 
 and Arthur O'Connor's, when Pamela, her babe 
 in arms, herself as soft and tender, watches 
 Edward with a growing fear in her great dark 
 eyes. 
 
 They read the newspapers aloud, one or the 
 other. Now it is Mr. Grattan's fiowing periods, 
 the fire within them. 
 
 ' I conceive the continuance of Lord Fitz- 
 wilUam,' says Mr. Grattan when already the 
 cause is lost, ' as necessary for the prosperity of 
 this Idngdom : his firm integrity is formed to 
 correct his mild manners, to reconcile, his private 
 example to discountenance a progress of vulgar 
 and rapid pollution ; if he is to retire I condole 
 with my country. For myself the pangs on that 
 occasion I should feel on rendering up my small 
 portion of ministerial breath would be little, were 
 it not for the gloomy prospects afforded by those 
 dreadful guardians who are hkely to succeed. I 
 tremble at the return to power of your old task- 
 masters : that combination which galled the 
 country with its tyranny, insulted her by its 
 manners, exhausted her by its rapacity, and 
 slandered her by its malice. Should such a 
 
*THE BELOVED QUOITUOE' 157 
 
 combination return to power I have no hesitation 
 to say that they will extinguish Ireland, or Ireland 
 must remove them. 
 
 ' I should have expected that there had been 
 a wisdom and faith in some quarter of another 
 country, that would have prevented such a 
 catastrophe ; but I know that it is no proof of 
 that wisdom to take the taxes, continue the abuses, 
 damp the zeal, and dash away the affections of 
 so important a member of the Empire as the people 
 of Ireland ; and when this country came forward, 
 cordial and confident, with the offering of her 
 treasure and blood, and resolute to fall or stand 
 with the British nation — it is, I say, no proof of 
 generosity or wisdom to select that moment to 
 plant a dagger in her heart/ 
 
 IX 
 
 O'Connor reads aloud in his rich Southern 
 voice and Eddy gets up and paces the little 
 room, while Lucy listens with burning eyes, and 
 all the time Pamela watches her lord with an 
 ever-increasing fear of love in her gaze. 
 
 X 
 
 Soon Mr. Grattan's worst fears are realised. 
 The persecution of the CathoHcs in Armagh, when 
 
158 LOED EDWARD 
 
 10,000 people were driven from their homes, if 
 not with the connivance, at least without the 
 opposition of the Government, forced the peaceful 
 inhabitants of Ulster into a general association 
 for self-defence. Lord Gosford, the King's Lieu- 
 tenant for the County of Armagh, speaking to a 
 meeting of magistrates on the 28th December 
 1795, said : 
 
 * It is no secret that a religious persecution, 
 accompanied by all the circumstances of ferocious 
 cruelty which have in all ages distinguished that 
 dreadful calamity, is now raging in this county; 
 neither age nor sex is sufficient to excite mercy 
 much less afford protection. The only crime 
 which the wretched objects of this ruthless perse- 
 cution are charged with is a crime indeed of 
 easy proof ; it is simply a profession of the Roman 
 Catholic faith or an intimate connexion with a 
 person professing this faith. A lawless Vendetta 
 having constituted themselves the judges of this 
 new form of delinquency, and the sentence they 
 have pronounced is concise and terrible — it is 
 nothing less than a confiscation of all property 
 and an immediate banishment.' 
 
 XI 
 
 AVhat was true of Armagh was true of the rest 
 of Ireland, which was delivered up to the Orange 
 Society and the new Yeomanry regiments, of 
 
'THE BELOVED QUOITUOR' 159 
 
 which no Catholic might be a member. So, 
 steadily, ruthlessly, was the country, and the 
 most gracious of her sons, pushed into rebellion 
 — that Mr. Pitt might accomplish his dream of 
 a legislative Union. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 *LIBERTE, EGALITE, FRATERNITE ' 
 
 In May, 1796, Lord Edward, being finally com- 
 mitted to a policy of revolution, accompanied by 
 Arthur O'Connor, and Pamela, wlio was expecting 
 her second baby, travelled to Hamburg, osten- 
 sibly to visit Madame de Genlis and her niece, 
 Henriette de Sorsey, who had married Mr. Matthie- 
 son, a Hamburg merchant. 
 
 On the way through London Pamela supped at 
 Devonshire House and sat next at table to the Duke 
 of York who, like his brother, the Prince of Wales, 
 had a very kind feeling for Edward. His Royal 
 Highness spoke seriously and kindly to Pamela, 
 revealing that the course of events was well known 
 to the authorities. Taking her hand very gently 
 and holding it in his he said, ' Dear Lady Edward, 
 let me advise you as a friend, most sincerely, to 
 use your influence, your whole influence, to keep 
 Lord Edward from going abroad. More is known 
 of the plans of those he thinks his Friends than you 
 can imagine : in fact, all is hnoivn,^ 
 
 That night Pamela flung herself at Edward's 
 
 160 
 
^LIBERTE, EGALITE, FRATERNITE' 161 
 
 feet imploring him not to go abroad. He lifted her 
 
 and held her to his breast, with tears in his kind 
 
 eyes. 
 
 ' " I could not love thee, Dear, so much, 
 Loved I not honour more." ' 
 
 he said : and poor Pamela was silent, for when 
 
 Edward conceived his honour to be involved even a 
 
 wife's prayers and tears must be in vain. 
 
 Pamela was left behind at Hamburg, being in 
 
 no condition to travel farther, while Lord Edward 
 
 and Arthur O'Connor went on to Basle, where they 
 
 were to consult with Hoche or Pichegru on the 
 
 matter of sending a French expedition to Ireland. 
 
 II 
 
 Pamela feared, and she was gentle. She 
 was not one to strangle the Tree of Liberty with 
 her light and charming vine. She adored her 
 husband ; she loved his country ; she was moved as 
 he was by the recital of the dreadful things that 
 were happening. More came to Kildare Lodge 
 than the Quoituor. There were many noble 
 lords, many highly placed gentlemen, many mem- 
 bers of the legislature, and officers of rank in the 
 home and foreign armies. They were such as 
 Emmet spoke of a few years later in his speech from 
 the dock : ' There are those with us in this move- 
 ment the latchets of whose shoes I am unworthy 
 to loose.' All that was generous and ardent and 
 young and noble was by Edward's side. Teeling, 
 
162 LOED EDWARD 
 
 one of the Northern United Irishmen, refers to one 
 or two of these by name — ' The Hon. and gallant 
 Plunkett, that intrepid soldier of fortune whose 
 fame will be recorded while Buda or the Danube 
 are remembered; the brave and devoted Bellew, 
 who would exchange the laurels of foreign conquest 
 to encounter peril and privation in the land of his 
 birth.' These would be officers in the foreign 
 armies of Spain or Austria, sons of the Wild Geese. 
 He goes on with his list, but, with the accursed 
 timidity of the day, he ceases to be explicit ; he 
 writes of Hhe most distinguished for virtue in 
 
 the noble house of M e, and the young and ardent 
 
 L — s — n,' like Moore, whose use of the asterisk at 
 the most thrilling moments drives the reader of 
 Lord Edward's Life to distraction. These noble- 
 men and gentlemen, who a little later came secretly 
 to Robert Emmet, as they came secretly in those 
 days to Lord Edward, stopped short of the dock 
 and the scaffold. They went away sorrowfully 
 because they had great possessions. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In these days it is piteous to find the Duchess 
 in a happy ignorance of her Angel's danger. Back 
 again at Hamburg he writes to her : 
 
 ' My deakest Mother, — I returned here two 
 days ago and found my little wife and child dehght- 
 fuUy well, and my sweet Pam overjoyed to see me. 
 
'LIBERIE, EGALITE, FEATERNITE' 163 
 
 I was as happy as possible. I have this morning 
 been reading over all your dear letters : how kind, 
 my dearest mother 1 WTiat a piece of work my 
 poor little itchy Edward has made ! What a 
 Debut ! As for him I am not very uneasy as I 
 don't consider it dangerous, but am vexed at all 
 the trouble it has given you. I had a very pleasant 
 Tour, am in raptures with Switzerland. I left my 
 friend O'Connor in Switzerland taking another 
 Tour. There never were two persons who admired 
 Switzerland more than we did. We saw it in the 
 true Rousseau enthusiasm. He is as fond of Rousseau 
 as I am. He entered completely into my way of 
 travelling, which was walking most of the way 
 getting into a Boat when we could, taking our 
 dinner in some pretty spot, and swimming when 
 we could. I returned in a dihgence by way of 
 Schaf!house, Ausburg, Nuremburg, Brunswick, and 
 the journey was troublesome enough to the Body, 
 but that you know I don't mind. I was an outside 
 passenger the whole way, which, tho' I got a little 
 wet now and then, made the journey pleasant 
 enough. I will tell you more when we meet. My 
 sweet Pam wants me to walk, and the post goes 
 soon, so bless my sweet Mother. I shall see you 
 now in three weeks. God, how happy I shall 
 be ! Kiss my dear Boy. How I miss its dear 
 face/ 
 
164 LOED EDWARD 
 
 IV 
 
 Lady Lucy had akeady chronicled in her Journal 
 the misdoings of little Eddy, unconscious infant. 
 
 * There is nothing thought of but the Itch which 
 is in the House. 
 
 * Not well. I saw Moseley, who ordered me 
 medicines. All the men-servants have got the 
 Itch. It was the child, httle Eddy, that first begun 
 it. He brought it from Ireland. We played at 
 commerce in the evening.' 
 
 Little Eddy's itch was, however, long over by the 
 time he was introduced to his sister, who records 
 in later life : 
 
 * I was born a week after my mother landed, 
 and Christened, my Godmothers being Mde. de 
 GenUs and Mrs. Mathiesson ; and my God- 
 father, General Valence, whose Christian name 
 was Adelaide, so I had plenty of names. Felicite, 
 Henriette, Adelaide, Pamela. We returned to 
 England when I was six months old and I was 
 brought to Great Shame when compared with my 
 Brother Edward, who was living with Grandmamma 
 Leinster : he was two years old, fat, fair and 
 blooming : and I was sallow and small, with dark 
 eyes, like an unfledged bird : and the comparisons 
 were so mortifying that Mama cried and my Father 
 carried me off in his arms to the nursery highly 
 afironted.' 
 
' LIBEETE, EGALITE, FEATEENITE ' 165 
 
 V 
 
 ' What a pleasant account you give of my Eddy/ 
 Lord Edward writes from Hamburg. ' The httle 
 dog: how I long to see it. . . . I shall enjoy leading 
 the Malvern hfe, and I shall have double satisfaction, 
 as my Pam has had also her share of pleasure with 
 her friends here. She is quite reasonable (as she 
 always is) and will bear the parting very well. 
 My little girl will bear the journey well, for it is 
 always sleeping and never cries.'' 
 
 Poor Pamela ! Little Eddy was left behind in 
 England with the Duchess, to whom Edward had 
 promised that if his first child was a boy she should 
 have his bringing up, to console her for the Eddy 
 from whom she must have long periods of separa- 
 tion. One sometimes feels that the Good Family 
 was high-handed in its ways with all who were not 
 of it. Pamela wept at giving up her baby at a 
 year old ; and leaving the child behind was bitter 
 to the young father, although he could refuse 
 nothing to the dominating Love of his life. One 
 would have supposed that the mother of twenty 
 children could have done without someone else's 
 precious first baby ! 
 
 Edward writes from Chester on his way to 
 Ireland : * We got here yesterday, all well. The 
 Wind is not yet fair but promises to be better to- 
 morrow when we go to Park-gate. I need not tell 
 you my journey was a little melancholy, but I 
 
166 LOED EDWAED 
 
 endeavoured to drive all distressing thoughts from 
 me. IIow I like your account of Norbury and 
 enjoy my little Edward's present. I think I see his 
 delight. It mil save your mechanical genius at 
 cutting out horses and give you some rest. Pray 
 tell Dear Ciss I am sorry it was not in my power 
 to see her. Dear Love, I don't repent leaving 
 Eddy, as I am sure it was a comfort to my beloved 
 Mother, and I hate to think that by my own 
 absence I have given her so much distress. ' 
 
 At the back of this letter Pamela has written : 
 * Comme notre Etourdi Edouard a oublie de give 
 you my best loves, et mille baisers a mon cher 
 Enfant, je prends la plume de ses grosses Pattes 
 pour vous dire encore combien je vous aime, et 
 que je suis sur que maintenant vous ne doutez pas, 
 car mon cher petit Dood Poy est le gage le plus sur 
 que je puisse veut donner de tendresse et d'estime. 
 Je ne puis voir un enfant de I'age de mon Eddy sans 
 un battement de cceur, mais hien vite je pense a 
 votre Bonheur et je suis consolee.' 
 
 Poor sweet Pamela ! Poor darling little 
 mother ! AVhat a heart-breaking letter ! 
 
 VI 
 
 A fortnight later Lady Lucy followed Edward 
 and Pamela to Ireland. Her Journal for October 
 1796 to May 1797 is concerned much with the doings 
 of the Quoituor. 
 
^LIBERIE, EGALITE, FRATERNITE 167 
 
 * Castletown, October 23rd, — I feel so happy to 
 be at dear Castletown. It so reminds me of the 
 Days of my Childhood. The Edwards came and 
 the Castlereaghs and Papa (i.e. Mr. 0.). He and 
 I made it up. Aunt Louisa and I went to Carton 
 in the morning. 
 
 ' Oct. 29tJi. — Edward and I walked to Carton 
 and saw Lord Clare.' 
 
 Apparently as yet the parting of the ways had 
 not affected social amenities. 
 
 ' Carton, Nov. 20. — We were a delightful party. 
 Ly. Edward was there the whole time and Eddy 
 backwards and forwards : we had beautiful dancing 
 and such a Ballet calFd Didone. Ly. Edward 
 composed it mostly ; I selected the music. 
 
 * Nov. 2L — I went to town. Mr. Ogilvie gave 
 us a snack at Leinster House. Ly. Ed. came to 
 town too. Mr. O'Connor came to see her, but 
 Mr. Ogilvie would not invite him in. ' 
 
 VII 
 
 In another place Lady Lucy records more fully 
 the happenings of that day. 
 
 ' One day when Ly. Edward and I were at 
 Leinster House dear Arthur came to see us, but 
 Mr. Ogilvie would not receive him. My dear little 
 sister, who, if she has any fault, it is that she is 
 too gentle, too wiUing to yield to others, accepted 
 this displeasing behaviour of Mr. 0. I, however, 
 
168 LORD EDWAED 
 
 contriv'd to save Arthur the indignity of being 
 turn'd away by a Footman. Since I knew his 
 dehcacy would recoil from entering a house where 
 he was not welcome I led him by the garden en- 
 trance into the gardens, leaving Mr. 0. and Ly. 
 Edward employ' d in conversation. All Mr. O.'s 
 Presbeterian dislike of Papists, and Frenchwomen, 
 and Eevolution as exemplified in that horrid 
 Egalite, cannot withstand poor pretty Pamela^'s 
 charm, and I knew he was not hkely to miss me 
 while he talked with her. Arthur and I walk'd 
 to and fro between the laurels, and when the rain 
 pelted we took shelter in the arbour over which the 
 Winter jessamine was climbing. 
 
 ' He asked me if I had seen Captain Foley since 
 my return to Ireland. 
 
 ' I answer'd that I had not, for he had rejoin'd 
 his ship. 
 
 ' He said to me then in the voice he knows so 
 well to make seductive and thriUing : " Could you 
 think of him?'' 
 
 ' I repHed that I had no occasion to think 
 particularly of Captain Foley beyond that he 
 was spoken well of as a serious and honourable 
 gentleman. 
 
 Ah,'' said he, with a deep sigh. '* You would 
 be safer in his possession than in that of one who 
 was pledged to Another before ever he had seen 
 your face. I should think of him," he went on. 
 "He is deep in love with you." 
 
* LIBERIE, EGALITE, FRATEENITE' 169 
 
 ' I found it so cruel he should speak in this 
 fashion that my senses reel'd : the tears rose to 
 my eyes, only to be slowly repress' d. 
 
 ' '' My God ! '' he said, standing up, and with an 
 air of the little arbour being too confining for him. 
 " Edward should stand alone. When I think of 
 that engaging creature, Ly. Edward, and of his 
 tender offspring, I could curse the fate that threatens 
 these innocents. Edward should be free as I am 
 free — as I must continue to be free. If I were to 
 ask any lovely Person," he turn'd and look'd at me 
 as he said it, '' to share a life like mine, over which 
 God knows what cloud of calamity hangs heavy, — 
 she would suffer jealousy : in my sleep I should 
 breathe another woman's name. 1 . . . " 
 
 ' He looked at me again, with the utmost tender- 
 ness. '' Lucia,'' he said, '' I am Ireland's man and 
 no woman's. She has been my secret Love through 
 boyhood and manhood. I would to God that 
 Edward too had but that one Love." 
 
 ' I confess I could not speak,' she goes on. 
 * If I could have spoken God knows what wild 
 thing I might have said. 
 
 ' Still with those wonderful eyes upon me he 
 murmur' d, '' You would be happy, Lucia, with 
 Captain Foley. I should think of him." 
 
 ' With that he left me, letting himself out of the 
 garden by the little gate with the spring lock. 
 When I had recover' d myself I join'd Ly. Edward 
 and Mr. Ogilvie. Mr. Ogilvie had been so well 
 
170 LOED EDWAED 
 
 entertain' d that I believe lie had hardly observ'd 
 my absence from the room. 
 
 'Dear Pamela, with her tender melting gaze! 
 She whispered to me as we left an enquiry as to 
 what I had done with le bien-aime Arthur. I am 
 sure she knows, but will never betray me. Leinster 
 was very civil to Captain Foley while he stay'd. 
 Well, well, — perhaps it would not be so agreeable 
 to have a female Edward in the Family which so 
 adores him. Poor Ly. Edward ! She wears her 
 cap of Liberty with a very French grace, but her 
 little heart is perturb 'd for Eddy. Arthur was 
 right. Patriots should only love the Little Old 
 Woman as Arthur calls her. I wonder when I 
 shall see him again.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 It is only six days after that interview in the 
 gardens of Leinster House. 
 
 * Nov. 27. — Ly. Edward and I left Carton and 
 came to Kildare, where we found Mr. O'Connor 
 and Edward. (My heart leap'd up at seeing him. 
 He avoided my gaze. If anything, his manner 
 was more gentle than usual.) Nothing could be 
 dearer, more comfortable than this little habitation. 
 Eddy delights in building a fire of turf : there is an 
 art in it. He built it high. The little room shone 
 with its light. Ly. Edward sat by a table making 
 clothes for the little Pamela. The wind howled 
 
^LIBERIE, EGALITE, FRATERNITE' 171 
 
 without. If we four " le tres Aimable Quoituor " 
 need never leave such warm shelter for a chilling 
 world ! Arthur read us " Juhus Csesar." He has 
 a beautiful voice. As he leant against the candle 
 light the curls of his hair had a purple tinge. 
 There is certainly no one like him. ..." 
 
 ' We walk'd upon the Curragh — a walk of ten 
 miles, to see Mr. Daly's lodge. Arthur walk'd with 
 me. He talk'd of the wrongs of Ireland. There 
 came a piper in the evening and we danc'd jigs. 
 No one looking at us could dream we had a care. 
 ' Nov. 21 ill. — We rode. Edward and I kept 
 together. Pamela fell behind with Mr. O'Connor. 
 They talked of her mother in Hamburgh. He is 
 very gentle with her.' 
 
 Now observe what odd company these ' Demo- 
 crates ' keep ! 
 
 * N(yv. 30th. — The Apothecary din'd with us 
 as he is a great democrats We danc'd in the 
 evening and had quite a ball : we made up 7 couple, 
 calling in servants and maids. (I danc'd with 
 him once. He has returned to his former manner 
 of kindness. I had a letter to-day from Captain 
 Foley's sister, with news of him, which I felt sure 
 he inspir'd.) 
 
 ' Dec. 1st. — A very bad day, but all in high 
 spirits. (If my heart aches none shall know it.) 
 Mr. O'Connor and Pamela diverted themselves 
 much and me a little, making a pocket-book for 
 me in which they stuck emblems. We laugh' d 
 
172 LOED EDWARD 
 
 immoderately. Mr. O'Connor writ a verse, in 
 which he said : 
 
 * " Lucia is spirit and fire 
 
 Beyond desert, beyond desire." 
 
 They took it for a jest. I carried the paper in 
 my Bodice. 
 
 ' Dec. 2nd. — Two men came from Town, great 
 Democrates and very agreeable men. We spent a 
 delightful afternoon, divided between dancing and 
 singing patriotic songs. I sang the "White Cockade," 
 and Ly. Edward the " Ca Ira," as though 'twere no 
 more than a cradle-song for little Pamela. After- 
 wards we had the most interesting conversation. 
 We had in the Apothecary, Cummins, whom we all 
 dehght in. He is a little man Hke a dancing master, 
 and all bows. He speaks like a book. If Mr. 
 Ogilvie could see us ! He is more proud for the 
 Good Family than any one of it. 
 
 ' Dec. 3rd. We rode. Edward went to sleep 
 early in the dineing room where we sat : Arthur, 
 Pamela and I had a conversation I never shall 
 forget. 'Twas most brilliant. I admir'd but am 
 not convinc'd. Alas, that such a mind as his 
 should consider itself bound to destruction ! 
 Pamela has not lost the Roman Catholick faith, 
 tho' she has heard so much philosophy. There is 
 not a trace of the Blue Stocking in her. I wish 
 he had more Hope. I was griev'd to tears for him. 
 A woman's Love might save him. 
 
aiBERTE, EGALITE, FRATERNITE' 173 
 
 * Dec, 4. — Eddy very angry with us for sitting 
 up. Eddy angry is a Sight. He will turn so 
 suddenly to laugh at himself. He and A. set off 
 on a Tour. Pamela and I very sorry. How I do 
 love this little place ! Ily a des lieux quon admire ; 
 il y en des autres qui touchent, Pamela and I had a 
 conversation as to whether one loves best the place 
 where one has been happy or that where one has 
 suffer' d. It had no ending. I said there might 
 be both, and then I burst into tears. Pamela was 
 very sweet. I think she guesses. She said in her 
 pretty way — ** There is only one Edward ; with 
 Edward one does not count the cost.'" We had a 
 peaceful evening and read Corinne. I am growing 
 as easy of weeping as poor Sophy. I shall do it no 
 more. ' 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 lucy's journal 
 
 The Journal continues : 
 
 * Bee. Wth. — I don't know what has happen' d 
 to the world. I awoke to a dark snowy morning. 
 But the sun might as well have shone. I was in high 
 spirits all the morning and romp'd with the Child, 
 who grows less like a little Owl. I like coaxing 
 it to be merry. Pamela look'd on and was happy. 
 At 3 o'clock They came back, to our great joy. 
 They made us laugh heartily with an account 
 of their Reception by O'Connor, the King of Con- 
 naught. Mr. Ponsonby was of their company. 
 He welcom'd them thus : " Arthur O'Connor, 
 you are welcome. House of Leinster, I am happy 
 to see you within my doors. Ponsonby, you may 
 sit down." He is the proudest man in Ireland, 
 and don't think anything worth his civihty that is 
 not Irish. 
 
 ' Dec, IZih, — We had a dance in the evening. 
 Our company was Cummins, and the Butcher's 
 daughters, who are rosy modest creatures. A. 
 
 174 
 
LUCY'S JOURNAL 175 
 
 and I danced together. We danced a great many 
 Irish jigs. Eddy is a famous hand at them. It 
 was pretty to see him dance with the elder of the 
 Butcher's daughters, to see the way she look'd 
 at him and dropp'd her eyes. They adore him. 
 
 ' Dec, 14. — We read Volney's Euins. Arthur 
 shock' d me by a thing he said. I keep reminding 
 myself I must not judge him by others. Though 
 I am shocked I cannot be repell'd. I could almost 
 wish that it were otherwise. 
 
 ' Bee, 15th. — AVe had a visit from Lord and 
 Lady Castlereagh that much disturbed our comfort. 
 To think that man began as a Lover of Freedom ! 
 They told us Henriette was ill, and that I was 
 expected to return with the horses that brought 
 them. Eddy and Arthur then settl'd to go to 
 town, Eddy was going before to take leave of 
 Mr. Ogilvy. The other would have stayed with us 
 — I went most unwilhngly, to find that Henriette 
 but suffered from the Bile. I must confess it, — 
 I had been looking forward to the time when he 
 and I should be so much thrown together, with 
 E. away and Pamela busy with her garden and 
 house and little Pam. I know 'twas better Aunt 
 Louisa should have call'd me. But oh, the pang 
 of going. I detest Lord Castlereagh excessively. 
 How happy I would have been at little Kildare. 
 — though I should have to pay for it when 'twas 
 over.' 
 
176 LORD EDWARD 
 
 II 
 
 * Castletown, Christmas Day. — Alarm of the 
 French being oS the Coast of Ireland. Troops 
 marching, all in consternation about the French. 
 They have been trying to work into Bantry Bay. 
 Mr. ConoUy croaks and is very Black, and my 
 Aunt Louisa weeps. I can scarce keep from 
 singing the song of the '* Shan Van Vochf If 
 they but knew how my thoughts were ! 
 
 'Dec, 28th. — Dear Eddy came over from 
 Kildare. I never saw him with such pleasure. 
 Aunt Sarah came and join'd us. She is as angry 
 with Govt, as we are. Eddy laughs and calls her 
 the Fair English Rebel. She says she is more 
 Irish than he. She tears my Lord Clare to tatters. 
 How I wish he could hear her. 'Tis hard to be 
 a woman. 
 
 ' Dec. 29th. — Eddy went to town. We are 
 greatly taken with Mr. Conolly's answer to Ld. 
 Camden, who sent for him and desir'd that he 
 should proceed to Derry to further the Yeomanry. 
 He said : *' I am ready to go North or South, and 
 to obey any orders given to me for the safety of 
 the kingdom, for tho' I never ask'd nor receiv'd 
 a place, and have serv'd in Parlt 30 years, tho' 
 I was against the American War and am against 
 this, there is not a subject in His Majesty's dominion 
 more resolv'd to uphold monarchy with my life 
 and fortune, but I do averr, and shall never alter 
 
LUCY'S JOURNAL 177 
 
 my opinion, that it is not a way to save a Kingdom 
 to corrupt its Parlt. As to the Yeomanry of 
 Ireland I know of no such description of persons, 
 but I will try what success I can have in my own 
 country, when ordered,'' 
 
 ' Aunt Sarah is delighted and would kiss Mr. 
 ConoUy. She says she could not restrain herself 
 from boxing His Excelly's ears if but she had been 
 present. 
 
 ' Bee. 29th. — Account of a prisoner that was 
 brought from Bantry Bay. He is French, and 
 was thrown on the coast by the storm. 
 
 * Dec. 3Qth. — Account of the French having 
 left Bantry Bay. Aunt Sarah says that she is not 
 the least afraid of the Catholicks, but somewhat 
 of the mob. She will guard her little garrison 
 with her five fine b oys, Charles at the head. Charles 
 has just got a new horse and thinks himself and 
 his horse the equal of Alexander and Bucephalus. 
 
 * Dec. dlst. — An acct received in the evening 
 of the French fleet being completely destroy' d 
 by Admiral Colpoys and Ld. Bradford. All here 
 in wild transports. I could weep as freely as 
 Aunt Louisa when she is in the mind. There is 
 not one here who shares my sentiments. I sing 
 the Song of the '' Shan Van Vocht '' in my heart, 
 and at night I walk the room declaiming to myself. 
 
 ' Castletown, January 1st, 1797. — The news 
 of the defeat of the French fleet was quite un- 
 founded. I knew it all the time. I long to see 
 
 N 
 
178 LORD EDWARD 
 
 Eddy. How will lie have taken it, dear Fellow ? 
 The wind continues easterly. While it does so 
 the French can do nothing. We hear a story 
 to-day of a boy who took off vegetables to the 
 Fleet. He reported that on the Admiral's ship 
 there was a tall man wrapt in a cloak who pac'd 
 the deck continually. The wind was very strong 
 off land. He seem'd to be unaware of anything 
 but the wind : into which now and again he star'd 
 with despair in his face. The boy says that he 
 mutter' d to himself as he walk'd up and down, 
 up and down, hke a poor annimal in a cage, '' My 
 God ! My God ! " I think it must be Mr. Tone. 
 
 ' Jan, 2nd, — I was not well, and spent most 
 of the day upstairs. Still in alarms. Aunt Sarah 
 and her Donny came from town. He has quarrelFd 
 with Lord Carhampton, who was going to employ 
 him. The Good Family will certainly never enjoy 
 worldly success, though it may have the approval 
 of Heaven and a good conscience. Aunt Sarah 
 came up to see me and scolded me. It was very 
 unpleasant. She wants me to think of Captain 
 Foley. She has heard some gossip. I think she 
 is sorry for me, but her own experience has 
 taught her, she says, that all is not to be lost for 
 Love. She made me feel very low : indeed I am 
 wretchedly so. My Journal tells me I have been 
 wretched before when I had a Passion for one who 
 was unworthy of it. But I was not so wretched. 
 Now — I could lose all for . . . I must not 
 
LUCY'S JOURNAL 179 
 
 think of it. He would be the first to say that my 
 peace and happiness must be secure. Has he not 
 commended Captain Foley for a brave ennemy, 
 saying that the bliss of Love is not for such 
 as he? 
 
 ' Jan, Zrd. — I hear every day from sweet 
 Pamela, who is in Town with Edward. I long 
 to be with them. Here I must keep my real 
 feelings hidden. I have been too unwell to move, 
 sufiering from a Bilious attack, else I must have 
 gone to them. 
 
 ' Jan. itli. — They think the French are leaving 
 Bantry Bay and the mouth of the Shannon. The 
 accurst wind never ceases. It has been in the 
 same quarter these three weeks or more. I think 
 it has to do with my Bihous attack. Admiral 
 Colpoys is off Ushant instead of the Coast of 
 Ireland. 
 
 * Jan. &h, — Had a letter from Eddy. He is 
 going to Belfast to Arthur who is ill. He desires 
 me to be ready for the Giant's Causeway, in all 
 the horrors of Winter. As though I should be 
 deterred by any severity of the weather ! Mamma 
 writes : ** How very odd that I should not hear 
 from any of you about what makes such a noise 
 here ! '' Poor Mamma ! I can tell her nothing. 
 I have had Confidence repos'd in me. Pamela 
 is for prudence and no Giant's Causeway — I 
 cannot tell why.^ 
 
180 LOED EDWARD 
 
 III 
 
 The letters from Pamela come day by day : 
 
 ' Cher ange, I must write and tell you that I 
 and my darhng Pammy are well and Eddy too : 
 at this moment he is asleep on the big sofa. You 
 see he don't lose his good habits. I want to 
 wake him to frank this, but I have not the heart 
 to do it. . . . 
 
 * My Eddy is always the same, that is to say, 
 adorable. How I long to have you altogether. 
 Eddy and I say, Oh, 7non Dieu, if Lucia were 
 here ! Edward and I are in assez good spirits. 
 I saw dear Sister Bellamont, who is very fidgetty 
 because her girls have left school and come to 
 Dublin. Poor woman, I pity her. 
 
 ' There is nothing new except that 9 French 
 ships have come into Bantry Bay, and that there 
 are several very much damag'd in the Shannon. 
 But there is so much news and so many false 
 reports one don't know what to beHeve. 
 
 • • • • • • 
 
 ' Je vais vous donner les nouvelles, qui sont : 
 " The french have sailed off both from Bantry 
 and the Shannon. They have taken provisions 
 from the latter place and paid for it. It is generally 
 thought here that they have sailed for Brest. 
 Ainsi nous voila tranquilles pour le moment.' 
 
LUCY'S JOURNAL 181 
 
 IV 
 
 Pamela has had a fit of sickness which prevents 
 her writing. When it is gone by she writes her 
 letters, Englished by some one. 
 
 *I am quite well to-day, but sadly vexed not 
 to have our beloved Quoituor any more. . . . The 
 Yeomen always give me perfect joy.^ (Does this 
 mean that those new warriors had been a subject 
 for their laughter ? Alas, they were not a matter 
 for humour later.) 'I laugh, but soon I long for 
 Lucy and cannot find her and I say, *' Oh innocent 
 pleasures, why have you forsaken me ? "' but it 
 is in vain to recall them : as quickly as Time they 
 fly and leave us nothing but regrets. I need not 
 tell you how happy your letter made me, for if 
 you are sad I am sad too ; and you know that when 
 the heart is sad and feels pains and pleasures more 
 keenly, Friendship is the only human thing now 
 to which I attach any value. All the rest appears 
 to me to be folly. But the Tender Friendship 
 which my Lucy bears me makes me very happy, 
 and all the more because I never thought that she 
 would love me. But now I count on her, and she 
 will always be in my heart. My Lucy, do not 
 think that you will ever get rid of me. No, no, 
 I love you so much that you will henceforth be 
 part of my Being and everything that you feel, 
 happiness or misfortune, will be shared by me. 
 How happy I shall be when I see you : we shall 
 
182 LOED EDWARD 
 
 go to Dublin to be together : but you must come 
 here when you do come, for here, you know, is 
 your home. What a pity you did not see dear 
 Edward. He meant to speak to you about our 
 party in the North. I still hope we shall manage 
 it ; he w^ants it too, and so does Arthur. I love 
 to distract myself, for to tell you the truth I fear 
 to look at the future. The present is our only 
 possession. It is happy, so let us take advantage 
 of it. But alas, how short the present is, and I 
 see the future, the heavy future, covered with a 
 thick veil. ... I am not sad oftener than 
 others, but when sadness comes I feel it far 
 more. Give my love to the dear sisters. I all love 
 them in my heart. Come, and Joy will come with 
 you.' 
 
 V 
 
 The party to the North hung fire because of 
 Lady Lucy's disturbances of health. Lord Edward 
 was visibly impatient at the postponement. 
 Finally he went of! by himself, after a last invoca- 
 tion. 
 
 * Lucia, when the Bile is gone you and Pam 
 are to set off. I will not take any excuse; no 
 wisdom ; no prudence, no reflection ; no reason ; 
 no what will be said, in short, no nonsense. Your 
 wise Brother, E.F. High for the Giant's Causeway 
 in all the horrors of Winter ! ' 
 
LUCY'S JOURNAL 183 
 
 VI 
 
 Pamela writes again to Lucia : 
 
 ' My tender Friend, — here I am in dear quiet 
 little comfortable Kildare, very happy, for I 
 have had a letter from Edward, from Belfast. He 
 only wrote me 8 lines, but 8 lines are much when 
 he wanted to pay court to Beddon/ (This is 
 one of the Quoituor jests : apparently Edward was 
 a sleepy person) ' he was keenly inspired by his quite 
 divine spirit. Arthur is very well, and so happy 
 to see dear Eddy. 
 
 ' Edward is enchanted with Belfast, and still 
 don't tell me the day when he will come back, 
 but it will be soon, for he is longing to see me. 
 He says that our friend has promised to come with 
 him. So, my angel, we shall have our dear delight- 
 ful Quoituor once more. Altho' I make a part of 
 the Quoituor I don't want to scratch out the word 
 amiable, I only say it for my three friends. We shall 
 have once more our Democratique turf et Wish, and 
 we shall be very happy. I will tell you when he 
 comes some days before he does, for, Milady, I 
 shall be enchanted to have the honour of your 
 company.^ 
 
 VII 
 
 ' Dear, gentle Httle Pamela ! ' writes Lady 
 Lucy. ' She is as playful as a lamb, as gentle as 
 
184 LOED EDWAED 
 
 little Pamela, so affectionate, so twining. Who 
 could resist her ? She is very young. I believe 
 Madame de Genlis made her out older so that 
 she could marry her with a better countenance. 
 She could have been no more than fifteen when 
 Eddy married her — ^just a lamb. She grieves if 
 his letters are delay'd but a day. I laugh and 
 cry at this letter she has wrote me to-day. 
 
 " Two days since that wretch E. has written 
 to me. I am almost tempted to be angry — I 
 am more than tempted, I am angry. Oh, if one 
 knew the pleasure that the poor hermit feels when 
 she gets letters. She reads them and re-reads them, 
 folds them, opens them again, and would like to 
 forget them so as to taste again the pleasure she 
 felt on opening them." ' 
 
 VIII 
 
 'Jan, loth. — Came to town. Was surprised, 
 tho' prepared for it, at the martial appearance 
 Dublin presented. Nothing but troops moving, 
 
 * Jan. 19th. — Charles came to see me and 
 frighten'd me about darling Eddy, saying that 
 Lord Camden had information against him, and he 
 must leave the Country. I am constantly agitated 
 with these kind of things, which distract me. The 
 Bile covers all things, a troubled mind and anxious 
 heart. So I explain my wretch 'd looks when they 
 are remark' d on. 
 
LUCY'S JOUKNAL 185 
 
 Jan. 'Sist — ^Dear Edward came to see me, and 
 
 clieef d me by his bright presence. I meant to 
 have gone out airing, but could not get horses. 
 We read Arthur O'Connor's Address to the County 
 of Antrim. It is glorious, but I don't think 
 Govt will let it pass. 
 
 ' Feb, 1st — Eddy and I very snug upstairs 
 in the evening, as I cannot go down, and Brother 
 Leinster and him won't meet. So he comes incog, 
 to see me in my room. Poor Brother Leinster. 
 He is too moderate for these days. He is neither 
 hot nor cold. If but he knew what a Female 
 Rebel lives here within this Bosom. 
 
 ' Feb, 3r(Z.— Alas, how fleeting was the happi- 
 ness that Eddy and I found in being together. 
 This morning, while yet 'twas grey, Eddy stood 
 by my bedside. I knew at once there was calamity. 
 Arthur was taken up in the night. My God, what 
 will happen to him. With such tygers' hearts 
 as . . . They had spent the evening together and 
 were on their way to dear Kildare, where my little 
 Sister Pamela awaited them, unsuspecting, poor 
 lamb. It is for his address, which is Treasonable 
 — to England. Eddy and I lamented together 
 all the sad Day. I never saw Eddy in such 
 unhappiness. My God, it is terrible.' 
 
186 LOED EDWAED 
 
 IX 
 
 More than thirty years later Lady Lucy wrote 
 of her brother's friendship with Arthur O'Connor, 
 and the old fire still burns : 
 
 ' There are men in Ireland, men only Irish, 
 to whom it belonged to tell His story, if ever 
 Ireland should be what my Brother meant it to 
 be. There may yet be those who remember His 
 great powers of mind, His comprehensive grasp 
 of the subjects He examin'd and that intuitive 
 insight into the depths of other men's intentions 
 where most conceal' d — all these quahties that 
 made Him so eminently fit for the Management 
 of Publick affairs, and the prudence which form'd 
 so mark'd a part of His conduct as never allow' d 
 Him to overlook the dangers which threaten' d 
 others, altho' His courage disregarded all dangers 
 to Himself. Such Persons might have remem- 
 ber' d that there was no one who knew Edward 
 well who would have attempted to impose upon 
 Him. All Justice such as He was for his country. 
 ... It was a saying of His " Let me first esteem 
 a character as I could esteem and then love as I 
 could love." He was one-and-thirty before He 
 discover' d what He ever after call'd the Twin of 
 His Soul. When at the time He was self-elected 
 to free His Country or die for Her He met a 
 soul twin to His own, because each breath' d 
 and lov'd alike, and their object, Ireland. Ireland, 
 
LUCY'S JOURNAL 187 
 
 where each had first drawn breath, — Ireland, more 
 great in Her misfortunes, in Her wrongs than the 
 most favour' d Country of the Earth, — Ireland, so true 
 to God, to the early unchang'd faith of the Gospel, 
 — Ireland, whom neither falsehood could entice 
 nor interest bribe to apostacy, suffering through 
 successive ages from the oppression of a Nation 
 inferior to Herself in all but some of the adven- 
 titious circumstances of fortune. It was the heart 
 which felt all this as He himself did and would 
 have pre f err' d Death with the chance of redeeming 
 these wrongs to a life of ease and security without 
 such hope, — it was that Person who could have told 
 how Edward Fitzgerald lov'd/ 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 ' FAREWELL, MY ONLY LOVE ' 
 
 Lady Lucy's Journal continues : 
 
 * Feb, 12th. — This day I saw Arthur at the 
 Window of his Prison. He look'd very melancholy. 
 We kiss'd hands to each other. How much it 
 meant. I feel his kiss upon my lips. Yet he is 
 not my lover. He would give me to Captain Foley 
 if he could. Is it that I am nothing in his sight 
 compar'd with Her to whom he is bound ? Or 
 is it an unearthly way of Love ? I do not know. 
 Pamela has come to Town. They are at the 
 Frederick Street Hotel, as Brother Leinster will 
 not have Eddy. I din'd with them. We talk'd 
 all the evening of our Friend. My heart is heavy 
 as lead.' 
 
 II 
 
 * Feb, 15th, — Arthur has written us a letter 
 within the flyleaf of a copy of Thomson's Seasons, 
 which he contriv'd to have pass'd out of his 
 
 188 
 
' FAEEWELL, MY ONLY LOVE ' 189 
 
 Prison by his servant, who still attends him. The 
 most of it is for me : 
 
 " Feb. Hth, 1797.— Ten thousand thanks to my 
 ever dearest Pam for her little purse, and to the 
 dear, lovely, and great-hearted Lady Lucia for her 
 Eoyal Unction. I saw my dear, beloved friend 
 through the gratings of my prison. Alas, she looks 
 pale. She grieves for her friend. I am not 
 worth one tear from her lovely eyes. Oh dear 
 Kildare ! I muse upon it till I forget the loneliness 
 and narrowness of this place. What evenings we 
 had ! — ^the song, the dance, the story, the warm 
 friendship, the fire of glowing turf, the jug of 
 native punch, the hearts in accord, the lovely eyes 
 of Pamela and Lucia for our steadfast stars. I 
 miss exercise sadly, and am trying to invent a way 
 of taking it in a crampt space. Will Lucia ask 
 for my dog ? The faithful animal has followed 
 me here. He watches every movement of his 
 master. He adds to my anxieties. Will Lucy 
 take him and love him for my sake ? 
 
 5J 5 
 
 III 
 
 * Arthur has written another letter — for me 
 this time. When I go out my footsteps are drawn 
 to his Prison, — harsh, frowning cage for such a 
 bird. I saw him to-day before he caught sight 
 of me. His head was on his hand. The glorious 
 clusters of his hair were dishevell'd. Sitting there 
 
190 LOED EDWAED 
 
 by the grate he made an Image of Despondency. 
 Then he look'd up : he saw me : he sprang to 
 his feet : he held his arms wide as though to 
 embrace me. Never was such a change. I did 
 not dare to stay, but walk'd slowly by. I look'd 
 back at the last. The joy was dying away from 
 his countenance as the Night puts out the Sun. 
 He WTites : '' 'Twas so little to see you go by, 
 so little and so soon over. Will you pass again 
 to-morrow ? All the minutes of the day and 
 night will creep by to that minute which is so 
 soon over. They were kinder in France. Eobes- 
 pierre, Brisot, and their glorious companions 
 were not immur'd with so wanton a rigour. They 
 were not shut away from every friend, from every 
 social intercourse. I feel the walls of the little 
 cell closing upon me. Oh, for one breath of the 
 glorious air upon the Curragh of Kildare with Lucia 
 by my side. Do you remember our last ride 
 together, and how the sweep of your feather' d 
 hat hid all but your dear cheek, pure and fair, 
 from my gaze ? It is imprinted upon my memory. 
 You have just pass'd. If you come to-morrow 
 I shall have 24 hours, all but sixteen minutes to 
 wait if you come to the minute. All is forgotten 
 when I see you.'' ' 
 
 This letter has the note in Lady Lucy's delicate 
 handwriting : ' He should not have written so 
 unless he meant me to love him ; he could not 
 deny himself the solace.' 
 
' FAEEWELL, MY ONLY LOVE ' 191 
 
 IV 
 
 ' February 17 th. — To-day his servant brought 
 his faithful dog. He is of the setter breed. His 
 hair is like Arthur's, although it is red not black, 
 so silken and fine and soft, and with the shine 
 on it where it waves. The poor animal follows 
 me everywhere, as though it knew. We are at 
 Frescati, the dear place. Eddy is busy with a 
 thousand things, and is distracted between politicks 
 and gardening. He is vext that it is not as neat 
 as Kildare. Pam and I clean' d the house. It 
 is better than sitting still. When I do sit down, 
 the dog, which is called Fidele, comes and places 
 its head upon my knee. Its soft deep eyes the 
 colour of its coat question me. " What have 
 they done with my Master ? '' it seems to say. 
 I love the poor creature very much. 
 
 ' March 9th, — I forget my Journal, being so 
 much taken up with many things. Pamela and 
 I walked enormously, — some four miles to Dun- 
 leary. Two Northern Gentlemen din'd with us. 
 
 ' March 12th.— Mr. Mansell din'd with us. He 
 is sent by Mr. Burdett to inquire about Arthur. 
 There never was such a Friend as Mr. Burdett 
 seems in all his conduct towards Arthur. We get 
 Letters every day. Now I do not see him as I 
 used in Dublin. It is best so. It tortur'd me, and 
 he said it kept him on the Kack, — Would I come ? 
 would I not come? In the letters Eddy is call'd 
 
192 LOED EDWARD 
 
 Faithful, Pamela Violette, and I Great Heart, Lady 
 C. F. the Sai7it, which name particularly amuses 
 Eddy. She comes often : but it is in secret, and 
 I, who dont love secrets, don't appear, as I don't 
 wish to me meler dans tout Qa, She seems by all 
 I hear to be a little of an Intrigante, 
 
 ' March Ylilu St. Patrick's Da^.— Eddy din'd 
 in town with some Citizens. 
 
 ' March 2ird, — We had a visit from Mr. Henry 
 and Mr. Leeson. They are both Democrates. 
 I gave Mr. Hemy a green cravat and Pamela 
 Mr. Leeson, and we made them ride home in them : 
 a green cravat is a sign of good principals. The 
 Popinjays who wore the Green at the Rotunda 
 Balls, such as Lady Castlereagh, have took to 
 Red. It is a safer colour. 
 
 ' March 28th, — I had a letter from Ciss, of the 
 disturbing kind : 
 
 ' '' I enclose you a letter for Eddy which pray 
 give him, and so, my dear love, write and let me 
 know your private opinions about him. Brother 
 Leinster has been here and has alarm' d Mama 
 most frightfully, and I own I am not easy, but 
 trust in his affection for the tenderest and dearest 
 of Mothers for being prudent. For God's sake, 
 do all you can to make him aware how miserable 
 he makes her. Write to me hon^tly. Mama 
 shan't see your letter." 
 
 * Dear Ciss, she is true as steel ! ' Lucy writes. 
 ' But as for making Eddy prudent ! Ma foi, I 
 
? FAREWELL, MY ONLY LOVE ' 193 
 
 do not know the way. Nor for myself. Dear, 
 dearest Mama ! I believe she loves me best after 
 Eddy. If but she knew ! ' 
 
 V 
 
 ' April 10th, — I took a Bath. Had a large 
 Patriotick dinner. MacNevin, ConoUy, Mr. Hughes 
 (a Northern, and Eddy says a very sensible man), 
 a Mr. Jackson an Iron Manufacturer, and Mr. Oliver 
 Bond a great Merchant, one of the handsomest 
 and most delightful men that ever was, and a 
 Presbyterian Clergyman call'd Barber, a venerable 
 old man, who has been forc'd by persecution to 
 fly his Diocese, where he had lived 30 years. 
 
 ' April 12th. — We went to Castletown. We 
 are a delightful family party. 
 
 ' April 18th. — Went to town for a Ball at Lady 
 Clare's. Wore my white pophn sprigged with 
 silver shamrocks, a green sash and a green cockade 
 in my hair ; with diamond buckles to my shoes, 
 a present from Aunt Louisa. Was reckon' d too 
 Democratic to be danc'd with, and left by the wall 
 while the bucks danc'd with the plain ones. 
 
 ' I will now tell a most extraordinary thing 
 that happen' d. I was sitting by Aunt Louisa, 
 looking mighty proud and high, I dare say, when 
 a gentleman crost over to me. I had had the 
 sense that someone watch' d me from t'other side the 
 ball-room. I look'd up. It was Captain Foley 
 
194 LOED EDWARD 
 
 whom I had not known to be in Dublin. My first 
 thought was that he was the handsomest man 
 there. He stood looking down at me, and the 
 seriousness of his noble face relax'd. 
 
 ' " Your eyes shoot lightnings/' he said ; "I 
 was afraid to approach.'' 
 
 ' ** Their darts are not for you/' I answer' d. 
 
 ' " If they be darts of anger/' he said, " I have 
 done nothing to merit them. As for other darts 
 they have come my way long since." 
 
 ' With that he invited me to dance. I have 
 never danc'd more pleasantly. He has a grave 
 and dignified air. The anger I had been feeling 
 pass'd away. He can dance a country-dance 
 without romj^ing. It is become the fashion to 
 romp. You are not modish if you come out of the 
 dance less than in tatters. The Good Family 
 don't approve of it. It was a mild, fair night, 
 and warm for April. When the dance was over, 
 the room being very warm, he ask'd if I would 
 walk in the garden, which I was very willing to 
 do. There was a very fine moon, and no one in 
 the garden but ourselves. He rallied me a little 
 about my hair turn'd up a la RepuhUque, and then 
 told me how he came to be on leave because of 
 his wound, which was slow in healing. He should 
 not have danc'd with that wound. After a while 
 he said something that took my breath away. 
 
 ' " It would be as well for Lady Lucy to join 
 the Duchess," he said. *' It has been observ'd 
 
' FAREWELL, MY ONLY LOVE ' 195 
 
 that slie takes an interest in the prisoner, Mr. 
 Arthur O'Connor. 'Twould be as well not to 
 attract suspicion to others v\^hom none would 
 wish to come to harm. Lord Edward has no 
 truer friend than L"* 
 
 * Before I could speak he said something still 
 more startling . . . 
 
 ' " It is within my power," he said, *' to help 
 Lady Lucy, should she desire it, to an interview 
 with Mr. Arthur O'Connor ; that is if she wish'd 
 to see him in order to say farewell. The Governor 
 of the Prison would do anything for me. He need 
 not know who the lady is who has a desire to bid 
 her friend farewell.'' 
 
 ' When he had said this he lifted my hand 
 and kist it. There was no ardour in that kiss. 
 It was as though he parted from me for ever. 
 
 ' '' If you will send a message to my lodging 
 in Ely Place it will be enough," he said ; ''I 
 shall be there till I am counted fit to rejoin my 
 ship." 
 
 * He took me back to the ball-room. During 
 the remainder of the evening he stood by my 
 chair when I danc'd with others. His manner 
 was so particular as to excite my Aunt Louisa's 
 curiosity. She expressed herself as approving 
 of Captain Foley, and as we drove to Castle- 
 town she remark' d that he looked honest and 
 true. '' I could entrust him with the happi- 
 ness of one dear to me," she said. '' I knew his 
 
196 LOED EDWAED 
 
 mother, and he is her own son. I like his grave 
 composure." 
 
 * I also Uke his grave composure. He is a very 
 brave, honest gentleman. But my heart is else- 
 where, I fear without return." 
 
 VI 
 
 ' April 28th. — We talked at breakfast over the 
 news of the Day, which is Brother Leinster being 
 turn'd out of his place and having given up his 
 Eegt. If they do not mend their manners they 
 will turn that amiable gentleman to be United, 
 as they have driven others. 
 
 ' April 30th, — Came to town in the Evening. 
 There was a funeral attended by 6000 United 
 Irishmen, which set DubUn to saying its Prayers. 
 
 ' By May 2nd the alarm was excessive. The 
 United Society growing daily. 
 
 ' May 7th. — Brother Leinster gone to the County 
 Kildare to oppose the Proclaiming a part of it. 
 Eddy came to us late in the evening. He said 
 something that alarm' d me about my being better 
 with Mama. I do not want to leave him and 
 sweet pretty Pamela. 
 
 - May 10th. — We had an alarm in the evening 
 that Brother Leinster and Eddy were both to be 
 taken up. Brother Leinster had a most curious 
 scene yesterday with Lord Carhampton, who is 
 a wicked Madman. He scolded and storm' d, 
 
' FAEEWELL, MY ONLY LOVE ' 197 
 
 said Brother Leinster was at the head of that 
 gang of assassins, the United Irishmen. He did 
 him too much honour, for he is not one. He should 
 have answer' d Lord Carhampton as he deserv'd. 
 Had he spoken so to me ! 
 
 ' Edward proposes to take me over to England 
 immediately. I am to sit for my picture to 
 Mr. Smee. I must see Arthur. I shall not tell 
 Eddy nor Pamela. None shall say they approv'd. 
 I shall have a sitting for my picture. No one shall 
 know I did not go to Mr. Smee. Captain Foley 
 will take me to the prison, I shall see Arthur— for 
 the last time perhaps.' 
 
 VII 
 
 'Captain Foley met me at Mr. Smee's. I 
 went in a coach with him to Newgate. I wore 
 my new hood of black lace in the Spanish manner, 
 so that I should not be recognis'd if anyone 
 chanc'd to see us. It was a day of cold East Wind 
 and rain. The streets about the prison were 
 drencht with rain. It was dark enough for evening 
 though it was the afternoon of a May day. Not 
 a creature to be seen in the wretched streets, 
 where the rain splash' d in the puddles. Now and 
 again a ragged thing shiver' d in a doorway. 
 
 * I saw it all through my tears. I felt that I 
 was going away to safety, leaving what I most 
 love to sufier, God knows what ills ! 
 
198 LORD EDWARD 
 
 * We reacli'd the gloomy prison. We drew 
 up. Captain Foley handed me from the coach. 
 The heavy door swung back. I enter' d a place 
 heavy with Menace : a shadow of Foreboding 
 lurkt in every corner. The stones of the stair- 
 case were wet under my feet. All through the 
 great empty passages my footsteps echoed. 
 
 ' We had a word with the Governor, who treated 
 Captain Foley with a great respect, after which 
 we were hurried up those dismal stairs in the wake 
 of a gaoler, who clankt his keys as he went. 
 
 * '* I shall wait for you in the corridor," 
 whisper' d Foley in my ear : and glancing at him 
 I saw that he was very pale. 
 
 * The key turn'd in the lock, the heavy door 
 swung back. I enter' d and it clos'd behind me. 
 At first I could hardly see, — the place was dark, 
 small and airless. Then Arthur had taken my 
 hand : he was holding it to his lips : he was 
 thanking me for coming. His face glimmer'd 
 pale in the darkness. 
 
 * We sat down, side by side. He was still 
 holding my hand, which now and again he hfted 
 to his lips. He talkt. I could say nothing, 
 for my tears flow'd too fast. But all the time I 
 reaUsed that he was bidding me farewell. It came 
 to me that Captain Foley and Arthur had arranged 
 it together. They had known each other in happier 
 times. They thought only of me, that I should 
 be safe, with Mama, from the troubles that already 
 
' FAKEWELL, MY ONLY LOVE ' 199 
 
 were crowding upon us. Eddy too — he would 
 not have me suffer. I realized that I must go 
 though it tore my heart. I might never see them 
 again — Arthur and Eddy and Pamela — but they 
 three had willed it for me that I must go. 
 
 ' He held my hands while he bade me farewell, 
 but at arms' length. The dark unwholesome prison 
 cell had told upon him. The rich warm colour 
 of his cheeks had flown ; he lookt heavy 
 and pale ; and the hair I loved was unkempt. I 
 thought there was grey in it. But the voice which 
 I would have follow' d over the world if it 
 had calFd me was the same — and it pleaded for 
 another. 
 
 ' " If I were a free man/' he said, *' I should 
 win and wear Lucy for my own against all the 
 world. I am in the shadow of the gallows, wedded 
 to my country, — an exacting Love, Lucia, who 
 untwines your tender arms from my neck — and 
 I bid you forget me till you can think of me only 
 as a friend, and with a gentle sadness which will 
 but make your happiness the brighter. You must 
 be kind, Lucia, to Captain Foley, who adores you. 
 He is a good ani honest gentleman. I could 
 trust even Lucia with him. Poor lad ! " — he 
 laughed sadly to himself — '' not many men 
 would do what he has done, to give us this 
 last half-hour together. You must reward him, 
 Lucia, this faithful heart which so loves and 
 honours you." 
 
200 LORD EDWARD 
 
 * Then he kist me for the first and only time, 
 and I felt his tears on my cheek. 
 
 * " No man ever rehnquish'd anything dearer/' 
 he said, with a great sigh. " I hope it may be 
 remember' d to me against my sins that I gave 
 up Lucia.'' ' 
 
CHAPTEK XVI 
 
 THE MOTHER 
 
 Lady Lucy leaves Ireland, as she says, with a 
 heavy heart. She does not want the safety they 
 impose on her. She wants to be with them, to 
 share their danger. The good time is over. She 
 writes in her Journal for these last few days. 
 
 ' May 22nd. — I sat for my picture. Eeturn'd 
 home with Eddy and Pamela in a Gingle (i.e. 
 one of the covered cars which now only survive 
 as hackney-coaches in Cork. — Ed.). Duignan din'd 
 with us. He was very sorry at my going and we 
 took a sorry farewell. We embraced. Poor fellow, 
 there is not a better heart or a better Patriot ! 
 He was taken up that very night. 
 
 'May 23rd,--\Ye went down to the Pigeon- 
 House too late. Eddy and I went in a boat in 
 hopes of catching the Packet, and after being out 
 on the Bay half the night came home to Pamela 
 at Leinster House, whom we found in Bed. 
 
 'May 2M.— My picture was finish'd. We 
 sailed in the evening, parting with dear Pam on 
 
 201 
 
202 LOED EDWAKD 
 
 the Quay. I was miserably low as I look'd my 
 last on this Dear but as yet unfortunate little 
 Island, her lights dying out one by one. I felt 
 the most painful anxiety as to its fate, the more 
 as it will comprehend that of those I hold most 
 Dear. I sat on the Deck with Edward till the 
 last dear hill was lost in the darkness. We talked 
 till 4 o'clock. It was a most beautiful night. 
 It is hard to be a woman, to be a troublesome 
 charge to the men one loves. I envy little Pamela. 
 No one asks her to leave Eddy.' 
 
 II 
 
 Meanwhile the Duchess has little knowledge 
 of the coil in which her darlings are fast being 
 gathered. Was it a tender scruple, a pity for her 
 sad immunity, which lay at the root of Lord 
 Edward's decision that the sister who was his 
 twin-soul should be saved for her mother ? Was 
 it that he saw whither she was drifting and would 
 save her from Pamela's fate ? The Duchess has 
 so charming a gift of letter -writing, like all the 
 Good Family, and its collaterals, that one must 
 dehght in these revelations of a lovely heart and 
 mind. We go back some seven months to the time 
 when Lady Lucy had left London for ' dear Kildare.' 
 
 ' Oct, mh, 1796.— To Lucy in Ireland. 
 
 ' How sad and dismal all appears without the 
 Dear Edwards. I don't know how I could have 
 
THE MOTHER 203 
 
 borne to lose them but for their kindness in leaving 
 their precious Babe with me. They adore it and 
 delight in all its pretty ways, and to leave it behind 
 out of love for me was indeed a great sacrifice. It 
 looks so pretty upon the Green Hill among the 
 sheep under my window. 
 
 His Papa and Mama will describe him to you 
 for they delighted in him, and I do think their 
 kindness is beyond what the most Exigeante 
 could have expected or look'd for. In Edward 
 nothing surprises me. Dear Angel, he has always 
 loved me in an uncommon degree from childhood, 
 but in Pamela, Dear Thing ! it is really a proof 
 of the most amiable disposition to make such a 
 sacrifice ; and she has made me love her more than 
 I can say. Pray make them sensible that it was 
 well bestow'd, for I do doat on it, and it wou'd have 
 broke my heart to have parted with it just at this 
 time. The only drawback to my pleasure is the 
 feel of having been selfish, which I hate, but I 
 have moments of weakness and self-indulgence, and 
 I have suffer' d a good deal from disappointments 
 and anxieties before I gave way to this temptation, 
 which was thrown in my way with so good a grace 
 that I cou'd not resist it, for they have persuaded 
 me it gives them pleasure.' 
 
 Lady Lucy has a note on this : ' It may be 
 that my angel brother foresaw the dark Future, 
 and that it would be well to have his golden-headed 
 lamb in the safety of Mama's custody at Ealing/ 
 
204 LORD EDWARD 
 
 III 
 
 Mr. Ogilvie has not thought Lady Lucy's 
 conduct prudent, and there has been a coldness. 
 He has never ceased to be something of a school- 
 master, though he has won the affection of his 
 step-children. The Duchess's anxiety to reconcile 
 those two so dear to her is a study in personality. 
 
 ' Oct 20th* — Your dear Papa — for I will call 
 him so as I know how truly he deserves the appella- 
 tion from his heart and feelings for you — says 
 " I have a room ready for the Edwards, and should 
 have one for Lady Lucy but that I suppose she 
 will choose to go to Mrs. Trench's. I shall receive 
 her very kindly when we meet, tho' I am certain 
 it is very indifferent to her whether I do or not." 
 Is not this, Dear Lucy, more like a person hurt 
 at imagined unkindness than an angry one ? 
 
 ' I hope you, my Love, will have gone up very 
 kindly to him and will attend to him, and that I 
 may hope for the very great happiness it will be to 
 me to see you two again on a comfortable footing. 
 He mentions in another letter that if your intention 
 was only to make a short visit he would wait a 
 fortnight beyond his own time, to see you safe 
 home again, if you wish'd it, but I think they will 
 not be easily prevailed on in Ireland to give you 
 up so soon. If he proposes it and you refuse I hope 
 you will do it in the kindest manner, for manner, 
 my love, is everything with him, and indeed with 
 
THE MOTHER 205 
 
 almost every Body: don't be short and positive 
 and decisive and refuse it j)lumpy but enter into 
 your inducements for staying longer in a little 
 friendly tone. Do, Love, try these little ways : 
 suppose they don't succeed you will still have the 
 satisfaction of self -approbation and of having 
 oblig'd me/ 
 
 IV 
 
 ' Oct, 27th. — No words, my sweet Lucy, can 
 give you an Idea of the Heartfelt satisfaction I 
 receiv'd yesterday Evening in reading those lines 
 in Dear Papa's letter: ''Dear Lucy and I have 
 had an explanation, which was followed by a recon- 
 ciliation. It was impossible to see her with in- 
 difference. The Situation was too painful. I cou'd 
 not stand it and gave her an Opening which I must 
 do her the Justice to say she readily seiz'd and 
 all was made up ! " Never, my Dear Angel, 
 did I feel more truly delighted. It left a pleasant 
 happy feel that I cannot describe and I carried 
 it to my pillow, praying God to bless you both and 
 thanking Him for this happy change. It is a Cloud 
 remov'd which I feel truly grateful for. How 
 I do love you, my Angel, for conquering any little 
 feel that might have kept you back from showing 
 your real affection to Dear Papa ! By giving him 
 a proof you lov'd him all was done away, for it all 
 originated in his thinking you had no affection 
 
206 LORD EDWARD 
 
 for him : when I look back to this time two years 
 and see him, Dear Soul, breaking his Heart about 
 you, it is so comfortable to me to think you re- 
 turn it and that your two Dear Hearts are united 
 again. I am quite sure now they will never be 
 otherwise, which is such a satisfaction, one that 
 will help to soothe my last moments when they 
 
 arrive. ' 
 
 ' Oct 29tk — Another letter from Dear Papa 
 full of such tender and kind expressions about you 
 as quite dehghted me. You have no Idea how 
 his Dear Heart is reliev'd by this reconciUation. 
 Keep it up, my Angel. He is an invaluable friend, 
 believe me, and one who will stick to you thro' 
 life, and in whose protection I shall feel satisfied 
 to leave you. Never let little ways dishearten 
 you. Believe in his true Heart. There you will 
 ever find strong and warm Affection. Ask Dear 
 Eddy if he has not found it so ; and yet there is 
 nobody that I have known Papa half so angry with 
 at times as with that Dearest of Creatures. I hear 
 of nothing in my letters but your good looks and 
 your pretty looks — they all admire your Auburn 
 hair so much. Your person and manner, Sarah 
 tells me, are thought so delightful, and she says 
 you will give all the young ones better ton than 
 they had before. 
 
THE MOTHEB 207 
 
 * I am delighted that they are sensible of your 
 value and want to keep you, for I see your Dear 
 Company is not thrown away on them. I hope 
 Dear Papa will see it as I do. I have written to 
 him on the subject and repeated it in all my letters 
 since. It wou'd indeed be vexatious to have any 
 coolness now, and I hope and trust this will not 
 occasion it. Let me know his answer to you as 
 soon as you can. If you have any conversation 
 about it, my Love, let me recommend it to you 
 always, to hear all he has to say before you answer 
 and not to interrupt him, as / know that manner 
 is particularly disagreeable to him and indeed to 
 every Body. One likes to have one's say out 
 before it is answered. It is a fault I am conscious 
 of having myself, and I warn you against it, as I 
 have always found that anything one says in that 
 way never does good, but ruffles the Temper 
 and indisposes the Person towards any conviction, 
 so that I take great pains to break myself of it, 
 and if not taken by surprise and off my guard 
 I never now fali into this fault. I am just the same 
 myself when I have anything to say, as you must 
 often have experienc'd, and' have said dryly and 
 angrily, Lucy, will you be so good as to hear me out ? 
 so that I know how to make allowances for others. 
 And now, my sweet girl, I have sermonized enough, 
 but I know you will take it as meant, and arising 
 from my great desire of your continuing comfortable 
 with dear Papa.^ 
 
208 LOED EDWAED 
 
 Lady Lucy annotated this : ' Mr. Ogilvie was 
 like a hen with duckUngs. He was the kindest 
 of men, but he was always fearful, and well he 
 might be, of whither Eddy and I would be led by 
 our impulses. If he had known more he would 
 have been more uneasy. I cannot but be sorry 
 now that my waywardness cans' d the Dearest 
 and Best of Mamas so to plead with me. I fear I 
 but ill recompens'd her Love and Care.' 
 
 VI 
 
 ' Nov. \2ih, — And so, my sweet Lucy, you 
 have had conversations with that Angel Edward. 
 I can easily believe that you might say many 
 things that might have effect and do good, as it is 
 a subject you have read a good deal about, ('* Alas, 
 read\" is Lady Lucy's comment. — Ed.) con- 
 sidered well, and your own good judgement wou'd 
 assist you, but it is difficult to combat Enthusiasm. 
 I too have seen the Dear precious drops fall down 
 that Dear cheek when his Heart felt the distress 
 of His country. Oh, 'tis sad, sad ! But my trust 
 is in the Almighty Hand who can avert all Evils, 
 and Who, if He permits them, has some good 
 gracious end in view, though hidden from our 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Mrs. Pakenham will, I think, return in Spring, 
 for we have no prospect of Peace, I fear. As for 
 Mr. Trench, he is too young a chaperone, I fear, 
 
THE MOTHER 209 
 
 for so young a woman. ("This is Mr. 0.," says 
 Lady Lucy, "he is a governess in trousers. How 
 my dearest Mama repeats his very tone ! ") All 
 the world does not know he is your friend's husband, 
 and a young man and woman seen on the road 
 together is quite enough for a Malicious story. 
 What would Mr. Fielding say? "My sweet Lady 
 Lucy, she is, of course, young and very innocent 
 and unsuspecting, but I do wonder the Dear Dss. 
 who ought at her years to have more discretion, 
 shou'd allow of it. It really is a shocking Thing ! " 
 Well, but dear, dearest Eddy you say will escort 
 you. Is not that so like him ? 
 
 * I am sure you will write to me from Kildare. 
 How I envy your being there ! Pam is in such 
 joy about it. She does delight in you, and says 
 you are more commical and more agreeable than 
 ever. Little Eddy never sees me write but he 
 thinks it is to Papa and Mama, and always says 
 " Eddy dood boy, Eddy happy boy. Papa ride 
 horseback, Mama dance," which shows he remem- 
 bers them. It dances itself like a daffodilly in 
 the wind. It has a yellow-hammer head. I doat 
 on it.' 
 
 VII 
 
 ' Jan, 4:th, 1797. — Cecilia and Mimi talk of 
 writing to you every Day, but I won't leave it to 
 them to tell you, my Love, that I am quite stout 
 
210 LORD EDWARD 
 
 about this Business : thank God, no horrors have 
 as yet seiz'd my Mind about it, and the little things 
 you say contribute much to put it at ease. God 
 send it may all blow over soon, for at best it is an 
 anxious moment. Dear Louisa has never been the 
 least alarm'd. She helps too to give me spirits 
 on the subject.' 
 
 ' Mama was out of Ireland all the time,' writes 
 Lady Lucy. ' We were all join'd to deceive her. 
 God knows it was in love. Dear Soul, did we 
 ever succeed for one moment ? She must have 
 been wild with fear.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 * Jan. 9th, — My Lucia, it is very shocking to 
 think that so many lives have been lost in this 
 Attempt. God send it may discourage any future 
 one of the same nature. Be as easy as you can 
 make yourself about me, for indeed I am wonder- 
 fully well, and even surpris'd at myself. I don't 
 listen to any of the stories, and your Dear Papa 
 contrives, I see, to have it talk'd about as little 
 as possible before me. I should be unworthy of 
 such Dear love if I did not pretend to fall in 
 with him. If there is anything good I am sure 
 to hear it.' 
 
THE MOTHER 211 
 
 IX 
 
 ' Jan. Zlst. — Your dear letter was a Balm to 
 my Heart in every way ; not only that, as you 
 assured me, you felt better, but from what you 
 say on a certain Subject. I had been very wretch'd 
 for some days in consequence of some letters, — 
 Charles's, the Duchess's, and Mary's, — all to the 
 same purpose. Nothing could be kinder than their 
 Intentions, nor more friendly than their hints, 
 but they alarm'd me dreadfully. However a 
 Dear letter I got from the Dear Persons them- 
 selves, and what you say, have remov'd it for 
 the present and taken a great load off my mind, 
 thank God. Too sure I am, my dear Love that 
 it is anxiety that has affected you in this sad way ; 
 it is ever the case. Your dear Body participates 
 the Distress of your Mind, and my Beloved Child 
 has not only had her own but mine to bear up 
 against : this has been too much for you, my Angel. 
 But I hope you will soon cheer up, and, with a heart 
 more at ease, enjoy the comfort and pleasure of 
 being among so many dear friends, which had done 
 you so much good till these two Events interrupted 
 it, but, like all others, they were directed by the 
 Hand of Providence, and our entire and thorough 
 dependance on the goodness of Heaven must make 
 us submit, trust, and adore. 
 
 ' Don't venture to Leinster House till they have 
 air'd the room thoroughly for you. Desire the 
 
212 LORD EDWARD 
 
 Housekeeper to sleep in your bed a week before you 
 go, and even then send Betty Hale a Day before 
 to bring you word how it feels. I had written 
 very pressingly to dear Edward to come at the time 
 of my alarm about him, and I still wish he wou'd. 
 But now my mind is so much easier that I can wait 
 a little longer, if it is very inconvenient for him to 
 come now, but I still hope he and dear Pam will 
 come in the Spring, and bring you, my Dear 
 Angel. 
 
 * Yes, that dear Lock so lately growing on 
 Eddy's precious head is a very acceptable present. 
 I have it in my Bosom, after dear little Eddy had 
 kiss'd it a thousand times — '' Papa's Hair, Eddy's 
 own Papa's Hair ! " I really believe he under- 
 stands it all, pretty Love.' 
 
 X 
 
 ' Feb, 15th, — Spring to my mind is never 
 anywhere so sweet as at Frescati. The Spring 
 flowers peeping out every Day : the Birds ; and the 
 little green Buds swelling in the Hedges, I used 
 to think quite heavenly in the Season now coming 
 on, which I hope you will enjoy in the company 
 of those two Dear Creatures, Eddy and Pam, 
 who doat on you and are themselves such pleasant 
 Company. As to Him you know what my feels are, 
 and yours resemble them. When with him it is 
 next to impossible not to feel happy. Dear, Dear 
 
THE MOTHEE 213 
 
 Angel ! The little hit of him I enjoy here is my 
 deHght, charms away uneasy thoughts, raises 
 my spirits and is truly the Comfort and Joy of 
 my Old Age. 
 
 ' Your sister Bellamont told me you were lovely 
 when dress'd for the Ball : I am glad your nakedness 
 extended no further than your pretty white Pole, 
 as it might have given you cold to have bared your 
 Dr. Bosom : the idea of the indecency of showing 
 the back of one's neck is beyond me. 
 
 * Think of that tiresome Prince of Wales inviting 
 himself to dine here with Louisa to talk over Irish 
 Politicks ! What a fuss and trouble it will make 
 in the Good Family ! He professes himself most 
 warmly interested about Ireland ; which he says 
 has been mismanag'd. He blames the conduct 
 of Ministers in this particular, and I see is very 
 anxious to have his sentiments known in that 
 Country, for which purpose he butters Louisa 
 up fine.' 
 
 XI 
 
 ' Mar, VJth. — Pray send another fresh Lock 
 from Dear Eddy's Head for I have dropt it out 
 of my Bosom somehow and lost it. Little Eddy 
 miss'd it first, for he used to kiss it every morning. 
 *' Where is Papa's Hair ? " says he to me. " Eddy 
 wants to kiss it," and, behold it was gone. I 
 was silly enough to feel vext about it, so pray 
 
214 LORD EDWARD 
 
 replace it for me as soon as you can. Dear Creatures, 
 I see you walking about talking of Mother. Happy 
 Mother to have two such precious children ! 
 Such warm and tender friends as I have ever found 
 in you both. 
 
 ' Georgina said she should v^rrite you a long 
 letter. *' Full of fun and nonsense and follies^ 
 I hope/' (say'd I) 'Ho divert her, for she has been 
 ill, dear thing ! " ' 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE CLOUDS GATHER 
 
 Lord Edward writes to Us mother : 
 
 ' Frescati, Feb, 1797.— We came here the day 
 before yesterday. I can't tell you how pleased 
 I was to see the place again. I have a thousand 
 deUghtful feels about it ; they are not tobe expressed, 
 yet affect one sensibly. In a moment one goes 
 over years : every shrub, every turn, every peep 
 of the house has a little History with it. The 
 Weather is dehghtful and the place looks beautiful. 
 The Trees are so grown that there are a thousand 
 pretty sheltered spots which, near the sea, and at 
 this season, is very pleasant. The Birds smg, 
 the Flowers blow, and the whole scene gives me 
 very very pleasant moments and make me for 
 moments forget the world and all the villainy and 
 tyranny going on in it. 
 
 ^ Every day the violent measures of our Irish 
 Tyrants increase, and every day thro'out the 
 Country they loose strength, and make Enemies, 
 while they, in the true spirit and ignorance of 
 
 215 
 
216 LORD EDWARD 
 
 Despots, revenge on Individuals, as tho' tlie 
 movements or indignation of a whole People 
 depended on men and not causes, — foolish mad- 
 men. I don't know whether to impute their 
 conduct to Blindness and folly or wickedness. I 
 rather think it is the first, for there are certainly 
 good people amon g them and well-meaning. There is 
 One who must judge, for I am sure, among ourselves, 
 now heated as we are by angers and jealousies 
 and prejudices, there is no tribunal to refer to. 
 
 ' But I hate talking on these unpleasant sub- 
 jects. Let me talk of little Edward. I hear he 
 is charming, the dog. Think of its hking to play 
 Cards and win ! What idea can it have of Winning 
 that gives it pleasure ? Pray don't let it win 
 often. Teach it not to mind success. Has it 
 any idea of what it is about when it plays ? Does 
 it know Numbers at all ? Aunt Sarah says it 
 is not so obstinate as its Papa : so much the 
 better. Little Pam improves every day. It has 
 grown Uke Edward in its actions and ways, knocks 
 its head on the ground, tears its Cap, cries ah ! ah ! 
 looking one in the Face and watching one's 
 Countenance. My big Pam is not well, has got 
 a heavy cold and a sore Eye. She is sweating 
 for it. I hope it will do her good. Dear Lucy 
 I saw yesterday. She is soon to come here. Give 
 my love to all of you. I shall now go walk with 
 you in the garden. I shall go to Dunn's, to the 
 Wilderness, all places we were together.' 
 
THE CLOUDS GATHEB 217 
 
 II 
 
 Lady Sarah Napier to Lady Sophia Fitz- 
 gerald : 
 
 'Feb. 8thy '97. — Being confined for some time 
 I am out of the way of hearing News, but even 
 here the pubhck talk is so great about O'Connor's 
 letter and confinement that one hears of nothing else 
 — and to amuse you I will repeat it as Woman's 
 gossip. In Ministerial circles I beheve it would be 
 dangerous to mention such a wicked reb ell's name, 
 but out of that Circle, people venture to speak and 
 think from reason. B. — (Mr. Beauclerk?) — is with 
 us, and being an admirer of O'Connor's, and a 
 man of great sense and judgment, I listen with 
 respect to his opinions. He says the Letter 
 is a very fine composition. Donny argues 
 that matter with him and decries it. My own 
 opinion is that being so plain, forcible, and 
 within the commonest understanding, it must be 
 well written, for what is good writing meant for 
 but to be well understood and to make a good 
 impression ? 
 
 ' The next opinion of B. of Donny, and of many 
 prudent and knowing persons is that they defy 
 any Enghsh lawyer of the Highest Authority to 
 be able to prove one single word in it that comes 
 within the law of High Treason. They allow it 
 to be seditious in the Extreme, and that no Govt. 
 can let it pass unnotic'd, unless they are wise 
 
218 LORD EDWARD 
 
 enougli to see that by winking at it they may 
 make it lose its influence : in that case Govt, 
 may with wisdom pass it over, but not other- 
 wise. . . . 
 
 ' So much for the Law part of the story ; but 
 now for the Intentions of the Letter. The moment 
 you read it you must be struck by the many truths 
 told in it and the very bad use to which those 
 truths are turn'd ; for, granted we have no 
 advantage from the English Govt, (which is not 
 granted because not true), the overturning of 
 it and becoming an Independent people is not 
 practicable without horrors a million times worse 
 than the Enghsh Govt. ; nor can it be done with- 
 out the French, whose alliance is sure to be usurpa- 
 tion, despotism and compleat poverty — if they 
 succeeded — ^but who can beheve the Enghsh would 
 let Ireland go without fighting for her ? And 
 the consequences must be that poor Ireland would 
 remain in the Stage of War for years to come. . . . 
 I really do think that to try to promote our shaking 
 off the yoke of England by means of the French 
 at this moment of danger, is Cruel to poor Ireland, 
 in the most barbarous degree, for it is egging on 
 the poor deluded people to dash into certain misery 
 and destruction. . . . Upon all these considera- 
 tions I do most sincerely from my heart condemn 
 O'Connor, who is vain and arrogant enough to 
 think his judgment ought to lead his country into 
 Revolution, — for you will see the whole bent of 
 
THE CLOUDS GATHER 219 
 
 the Letter is to preach one for all Lreland and to 
 hint at the means.' 
 Is it 1796 or 1916 ? 
 
 Ill 
 
 ' I once saw Arthur O'Connor at Hamburgh 
 when I was a child,' says Lord Edward's daughter ; 
 ' I can just remember a very handsome man lifting 
 me up and crying over me. I felt his tears upon 
 my face. He said over to himself two names. 
 They were '' Edward " and " Lucy.' 
 
 ?) > 
 
 IV 
 
 Lady Charlotte Strutt writes to Lady Sophia, 
 April 28th, 1797. She has been a long time 
 removed from the influence of the Good Family. 
 ' The news and talk of England and Ireland is 
 my Brother Leinster's Conduct. My Brother 
 wrote to the Ld. Lt. to acquaint him with his 
 intention of calling a Meeting of the Co. Kildare 
 for the purpose of petitioning the King to dismiss 
 his Ministers, as the only means to save the King- 
 dom. The Ld. Lt. in answer begg'd to see him. 
 My brother went to him to the Castle, repeated 
 what he had said in his letter with a declaration 
 that he had taken his resolution and that nothing 
 could alter his determination. The Ld. Lt. then 
 said he suppos'd he meant to give up his office. 
 
220 LOED EDWAED 
 
 My Brother said, " Yes, but since you think me 
 unworthy of a Civil Employment I am equally 
 so of a Military one," and therefore desir'd to 
 resign the Kildare Militia and to have his name 
 struck out of the Privy Council. These are the 
 Facts, It was reported he had resign' d the ribbon 
 and Order of St. Patrick, but that I believe is 
 not so . . . 
 
 ' The worst of the times are that when people 
 think differently and yet think their Lives and 
 property and the Security of their children are at 
 Stake, they grow warm with those who think 
 differently ; and Lord Carhampton is a very 
 Passionate Man and had a great regard for my 
 Brother, and in his eyes (as in the eyes of many, 
 Everybody indeed that are not Party people), 
 our dear Brother is giving every encouragement 
 to Rebels. Tho' he thinks very loyally he is not 
 certainly Acting so in taking so warm a part against 
 the Government, for if things are come to such a 
 pass, the Friends of England must endeavour now 
 to crush it hy force, or give Ireland up at once. 
 Concession is too Late. It would not now satisfy 
 the reaUy Rebellious, which I am afraid are 
 numerous. The report of the Papers seiz'd at 
 Belfast show plainly that their object has been to 
 Copy France since the year 1791, and that Reform 
 and the Roman Catholick Cause is only a Pretence. 
 I am provok'd at your saying I am a staunch 
 friend to the present Administration. It is not 
 
THE CLOUDS GATHER 221 
 
 true, and there it is that none of my Family under- 
 stand me and Mr. Strutt, but because we are not 
 wishing that violent unguarded man, Mr. Fox, 
 to be the head of Things we must, of course, be 
 great admirers of the present Administration. . . . 
 The Country in general have no confidence in 
 Mr. Fox on account of the very unguarded and 
 unconstitutional sentiments he lets out continually 
 in the House, and likewise on account of his con- 
 nection with Sheridan and other Bad Characters, 
 for he has Supporters in the House of Commons 
 that are too bad to be acknowledg'd as Gentlemen.' 
 
 V 
 
 Lady Sophia in the sunny quietude of Thames 
 Ditton, the Spring a sheet of blue-bells in her 
 orchard, the birds singing, the stream purling, the 
 lambs bleating — confides to her Journal : 
 
 ' Charlotte is no longer of the Good Family. 
 She is Mr. Strutt in petticoats, as he is Charlotte 
 in trousers, and both Old Maids. ''Mr. Fox," 
 indeed ! As though the Good Family was not 
 proud of its dear Cousin and his love of Liberty ! 
 Strutts will never do more than Strutt. I am 
 proud of my Brother Leinster, the more because 
 he is so amiable that all these violences hurt his 
 Nature, but he is wild for Injustice and oppression 
 of the poor people . ' 
 
222 LORD EDWAED 
 
 VI 
 
 She recalls the letter Charlotte wrote to her 
 on the eve of her marriage — a Pragmatical Letter 
 she calls it. 
 
 ' I hope, my dear Sophie, you \sall exert your- 
 self to get a little more forward with your learning : 
 for, believe me, I shou'd not have half the regret 
 to leave Dear Mama if I thought you were 
 ad vane' d enough to be a pleasant companion for 
 her, and it is quite a grievance to me that at pre- 
 sent you are so little fit for it : Mama is very 
 lucky in having Mr. Ogilvie so fond of home, but 
 he can't be with her every hour of the day. When 
 the hunting season comes on she will be a good 
 deal alone, and if you don't try to make yourself 
 as agreeable as possible you will be no sort of good 
 to her, and the only way is to apply yourself to 
 your learning and to get the better of that little 
 obstinacy in your Temper that will make you so 
 disagreeable and tiresome to Mama to be obhg'd 
 to be always finding fault with you. You oughi; 
 also to behave both honestly and prettily to Mrs. 
 Simpson, to endeavour to make her stay with you, 
 for you won't get any other to stay with you, for, 
 suppose Mama gets another and tells her her 
 daughter is fifteen years — why, that person will 
 think that about a young Lady of fifteen she 
 will have nothing to do but hear her read etc., 
 without any plague ; but when she finds you are 
 
THE CLOUDS GATHER 223 
 
 so childish and a Dunce and that you ought 
 to be treated Hke a child, she won't know what 
 to do/ 
 
 Lady Sophia turns about the letter fast-yellow- 
 ing and pale in spots where her own tears had 
 dropped upon it, and lays it down to speak to 
 her Journal. 
 
 ' I was always small, pale, and plain," she 
 writes, ' with no shape. It was hard to be born 
 like a farm-yard fowl in a family of Wits and 
 Beautys. Mama loved me less than her other 
 children : and Charlotte copyed Mama ; only 
 Mama is a Godess and Charlotte is a Fool." 
 
 VII 
 
 Lady Lucy writes to Lady Sophia, who was 
 well-loved and trusted by her ' Family of Wits 
 and Beautys.' 
 
 ' Castletown, May Vith, '97. — I came here yes- 
 terday with Henriette Trench. I rode. Dearest 
 Edward took me thro' the Town and the Park 
 and then he return' d. I came on here. I found 
 this place in a most uncomfortable situation, 
 for Mr. Conolly's and Aunt Louisa's fright at the 
 Defenders and the Times in general makes them 
 and all who are with them quite miserable. She 
 is extremely hurt at finding so many of the people 
 about them here to be in this Defendering business, 
 but why will she for that reason suppose them to 
 
224 LORD EDWAED 
 
 be her enemys ? I am afraid they will indeed 
 from this time become such, from the means 
 Mr. Conolly pursues, taking them up by dozens 
 on suspicion, and hunting the Houses for arms, 
 in short going on the same Plan that has been 
 followed in the North, you see with what success ! 
 Lord Castlereagh is his adviser, and a worse he 
 cannot have. Brother Leinster, entre nous, is 
 not very steady. He won't join Govt. I trust, 
 but I much fear he will be harried perhaps into 
 taking measures against these Defenders that I 
 would wish him not. You may tell Charlotte 
 to make her Strutt mind easy, for that he is not 
 in Rebellion. She wrote Aunt Louisa a letter 
 which threw her into fits, talking of the Separation 
 of England and Ireland. Here is a dish of Politicks, 
 dear Sophy.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 * Alas, I see I must not expect my Eddy,' 
 wrote the Duchess to Lady Lucy that May. ' He 
 wou'd not feel comfortable to leave Ireland at this 
 moment tho' for ever so short a time. We have 
 been reading the address from Armagh and think 
 it finely wrote. Good God, how is it possible 
 People will not attend to such obvious reasoning, 
 the truth of which strikes one so forcibly ? It 
 is infatuation in the highest degree ! But nothing 
 can happen without the permission of God, and 
 
THE CLOUDS GATHER 225 
 
 we must trust in His providence, which will avert 
 the Evil if best for us, or support us under it if 
 it is to happen. I find my mind much less weak 
 than I thought it would be. Tell my Eddy so 
 and press him to your Heart for me. His pretty 
 Babe is well, happy, and merry. I told him that 
 something he was eating was enough, and that 
 more was too much, '' But Eddy don't like enough^ 
 Eddy like too much,'' Was not that so hke his 
 Papa's commical answers ? It diverted Charles 
 Fox and Lord Holland of all things. They heard 
 him. 
 
 ' I can hear my Angel Eddy so funny about 
 it. Oh, that I could hear him ! ' 
 
 IX 
 
 However, Edward came, accompanying Lady 
 Lucy to England. He stayed but a short time. 
 The Duchess and her daughters during that 
 year moved from one inland watering-place to 
 another. They were at Tunbridge Wells, at 
 Bath, at Cheltenham. Now and again in Lady 
 Lucy's Journal occurs the name of the gallant 
 Foley. . . . Lucy sees him watching her in the 
 Pantiles, and he does not come near. Again 
 they meet when she attends church at Rusthall 
 Common, and they walk in the free wind over the 
 Common and descend the Happy Valley. He 
 tells her that his wound keeps troublesome : he 
 
226 LORD EDWARD 
 
 walks with a limp : he is with his invalid mother, 
 who has a house on Broadwater Down. He visits 
 the Good Family at Mount Ephraim, and the 
 Duchess entirely approves him. ' I could trust 
 to the safe keeping of that handsome, serious 
 youth the happiness of one dear to me/ she says, 
 and turns an anxious, loving gaze upon Lucy, who 
 will not meet it. It is impossible for Lucy not 
 to like him. They meet oftener than anyone 
 sui^poses — by all manner of accidents. Mr. Ogilvie 
 is very averse from the notion of young ladies 
 having so much liberty as his step-daughters and 
 daughters. He dates it from the French Revolu- 
 tion. ' He never press' d his suit upon me,' said 
 Lucy of Captain Foley, at that time, ' but in- 
 sensibly his modesty and worth must have com- 
 mended him to me. And there was something 
 betw^een us, — a knowledge never put into words, 
 which made a secret bond." 
 
 There was at Tunbridge Wells then a very 
 dear child, ' little beauteous Emily Sturt,' as Lady 
 Sarah Napier calls her, wild as a little colt and, 
 alas, destined to die young. ' She has the blackest, 
 softest, wildest, prettiest mane of hair," says Lucy, 
 * and in her cheeks two fires, the sign of what is 
 consuming her within. She is the prettiest thing 
 in England. Alas, there is one thinks so, — little 
 Ensign Green, who has come home from France 
 wounded in the knee. He limps very prettily. 
 The poor boy is consum'd with love for her. 
 
THE CLOUDS GATHEB 227 
 
 Dr. Critcliell has sent her here for fresh air. He 
 astounds the fashionable world with the news 
 that with co)mnon-se7ise this dreadful scourge of 
 youth and beauty might be allay'd. ''Let her 
 run Hke a young colt in the meadows/' he says. 
 *' Let her clothing be sensible. No bare Bosoms 
 in the Winter weather ; no hot rooms, but plenty 
 of milk and fresh air.'' So the poor Sturts travel 
 from one Bath to another. She plays with Ensign 
 Green prettily but not cruelly. Poor boy, I see 
 his knowledge in his eyes and pitty him. But 
 if she were to live the Sturts would not hear of it. 
 Now they will thwart her in nothing. ' 
 
 Lady Lucy undertook that Emily Sturt should 
 be in the open air as much as possible, although 
 from her knowledge of the fell disease in her 
 cousins, the Napiers, she felt the common-sense 
 had come too late. Emily, like a flame blown in 
 the wind, would not be quiet till a fit of coughing 
 came and left her exhausted, with a moisture on 
 her forehead under the wild hair. Sometimes 
 she had to go home in a chair. Lucy said that 
 always at the moment of need there sprang up on 
 Eusthall Common either Captain Foley, or Ensign 
 Green, who was as pretty a boy as one could wish 
 to see in his Grenadier's uniform. 
 
 ' Once,' writes Lady Lucy, ' I saw him shudder 
 violently. It was when Emily remark' d on the 
 number of the young dead that lay under the flat 
 stones of the churchyard. " I do not like the 
 
228 LORD EDWARD 
 
 stones/' she said. '' They are so heavy for the 
 young. Give me flowers."' When she said it 
 I saw the sweat of anguish on the poor boy's 
 forehead. But in an instant she was wild with 
 spirits again.' 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ' ON HIS KEEPING ' 
 
 In October of 1797 Edward visited his mother for 
 the last time. It was a brief, flying visit with the 
 shadow of calamity upon it. He had promised to 
 make a detour on his way to Ireland, accompany- 
 ing Lady Lucy some part of her journey to Chelten- 
 ham ; ' but/ she says, ' he was hurried away by an 
 Idea he had. I don't know when I felt so miser- 
 able. I won't give way to low spirits, as Eddy 
 begg'd me not to. My heavenly Mama is so kind. 
 She says nothing to me about Captain Foley, al- 
 though I know how her wishes lie. If she but 
 knew ! He is the finest of Gentlemen and gallant 
 sailors. ' 
 
 II 
 
 At the end of the year Eddy writes to his 
 mother : 
 
 'Ireland, Dec. 2%th, 1797. — I am going to give 
 
 229 
 
230 LOED EDWAED 
 
 you a scolding for preventing Lucia from paying us 
 a visit ; it was not fair ; when she was so near she 
 might easily have taken the Trip, and I cannot 
 think your reasons for preventing her were good 
 (tho* well intended). We might have had a very 
 comfortable, pleasant month, and there was not the 
 reasons for her being so uneasy as when I was in 
 London. However, as the thing is over I must 
 forgive you, and the punishment you shall have is 
 the thought of having spoilt our pleasant party. 
 I am glad my Boy is so well and such a comfort 
 to you, Dear Thing. I should like to see its face 
 listening to the Stories. ... I have nothing new 
 to tell my dearest Mother from this place. The 
 papers show you the state we are in. Wretched 
 bad it is. Things take such a violent turn. I have 
 sometimes thought of sending my Pam to her 
 Mother to have her out of the way. Do not men- 
 tion this to anybody, as it is as yet but a Cursory 
 thought and anyway it would not be in the course 
 of a couple of months. How are you going on in 
 England ? I do not think there will be a Peace. 
 What does 0. think ? For one I should not be 
 surprised if the French attempt an Invasion in 
 England. I do not see how they can be prevented 
 if the War goes on. The Country has got into a 
 critical situation, and, by all I hear, is likely to 
 remain so, for I see no sign of a change of those 
 men who have brought it to such a state. But 
 I won't talk of Politicks, for they only torment 
 
' ON HIS KEEPING ' 231 
 
 one. One sees the mischief, but not the remedy. 
 Bless my Darling Mother. Love your affectionate 
 and loving son. 
 
 ' Edward Fitzgerald.' 
 
 Ill 
 
 Two months later Lord Edward was, as they say 
 in Ireland, ' on his keeping.' He was an attainted 
 man, being hurried from one hiding-place to another. 
 The other rebel leaders were in custody, so on him 
 centred all the hopes of his party. Anyone more 
 difficult to keep in hiding cannot well be imagined. 
 He was constitutionally incapable of anything but 
 the utmost frankness. As he journeyed from 
 place to place his high spirits asserted themselves. 
 He would play tricks, and have wild escapades, to 
 the terror of those who would have guarded his 
 precious life with their own. Once at a great house 
 there is a report that a most wonderful pedlar has 
 appeared in the servants' hall, and is selling laces 
 and muslins and ribbons at a price that means 
 giving them away. It is one of those country 
 houses and county families of the ' Buckeen type,' 
 to which Lady Sarah refers in a letter. 
 
 ' Charles Napier has an aversion to Limerick 
 people. It is a sign there are no Miss Gradys 
 there now or he must have fallen in love with a 
 2nd Ly Ilchcster if she could be found. But I 
 hear there never was such a set as now inhabbit the 
 
232 LORD EDWARD 
 
 town ; the women all beautiful, impudent, gay and 
 idle ; the men rich, selfish, gourmands and blood- 
 thirsty, so that poor Charles' morals and spirit of 
 humanity are at continual war with the Limerick 
 gentry. ' 
 
 It was such ladies and gentlemen as flocked into 
 the servants' hall of the Big House, the gentlemen 
 quite ready to draw their swords upon the slightest 
 provocation, some of them being inflamed with 
 wine beyond their usual dangerousness, the ladies 
 behaving in such a manner as to make their hostess 
 complain of the ill example they afforded her 
 female servants. 
 
 The pedlar's pack was crammed to bursting 
 with handkerchiefs, lace collars, caps, or ' heads," as 
 they were called, frills, and ruffles, all of which he 
 was giving away for a song. He was a short man, 
 with a face apparently coloured by foreign suns, 
 dark hair, dark eyes of a peculiar brilliancy, white 
 teeth, so good to look upon that he excited the ad- 
 miration of the ladies, who were not too particular in 
 showing their admirations. The prettiest and most 
 impudent, a Miss Skerrett of Castle Skerrett, by 
 way of provoking one of the buckeens, offered the 
 pedlar a kiss for a very pretty length of musUn 
 embroidery. The buckeen, as she wished it, was 
 angry. He drew his sword. Suddenly there was a 
 new arrival. It was the host, who was no other 
 than Lord 0. — well known later to have been in 
 sympathy with the Rising. 
 
' ON HIS KEEPING ' 233 
 
 Lord 0. came wearily into the circle to see 
 what odious horse-play provoked the coarse and 
 fooHsh laughter he heard and abhorred. These 
 guests were not to his mind or to his Lady's, but 
 it was a time when suspicion was ready to fall upon 
 the most innocent : even highly-placed persons 
 were not safe. A display of superior virtue might 
 provoke the one justly rebuked to pull down him 
 who had rebuked him by denouncing him as a 
 disloyal man. 
 
 Lord O.'s face changed as his eye fell on the 
 pedlar, who was protesting gaily that his whole 
 pack was not worth such a price as a kiss of Miss 
 Skerrett. If anyone had been observing the host, 
 they must have noticed the swift expression of 
 alarm and horror which blanched his face. But 
 the group was watching with amusement Mr. 
 Anthony Trimble's rising anger. He had begun 
 to stutter and feel for his sword-hilt ; jealousy 
 and wine combined had made him darkly purple, 
 so that he looked on the verge of an apoplexy. 
 It was a scene quite to the mind of the gentlemen 
 and their female companions. 
 
 ' Here,' said Lord 0. very roughly. * You 
 must have stolen the things to sell them so cheap. 
 Out you go ! ' 
 
 He signalled to his servants, who stood at a 
 little distance watching the antics of their betters, 
 doubtless with edification. He himself helped to 
 expel the intruder, a matter which was accom- 
 
234 LOED EDWAED 
 
 plished with a prodigious appearance of violence, 
 but no more than an appearance ; while the fine 
 company strolled back to its amusements, Miss 
 Skerrett remarking that the pedlar should not have 
 been allowed to carry ofi the pack and its contents. 
 This was a challenge Mr. Trimble was too sullen to 
 take up, and before anyone else could act u]Don it, 
 the gates of the Castle had been locked and bolted 
 behind the pedlar. 
 
 Long afterwards a young servant remembered 
 that he had heard Lord 0. — with an arm about the 
 pedlar's shoulders as though he drove him forward — 
 murmur : ' My Lord, my Lord, what madness is 
 this ? ' 
 
 IV 
 
 Again, a very handsome young Quaker comes 
 to stay at the house of Joshua Penn, a well-known 
 Quaker gentleman of Cork, — and his ways are not 
 at all Quakerish. Dr. John Leadbetter, another 
 Quaker, comes to see his friend Joshua, who has 
 one fair young daughter, and the eyes of the two 
 old men, and the eyes of Rachel Penn, and the eyes 
 of the woman-servant who waits at table, watch 
 the handsome young Quaker with a queer mixture 
 of worship and fearful tenderness in their expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Mr. Penn's house, high on the hill overlooking 
 the river, with its beautiful gardens just bursting 
 
' ON HIS KEEPING ' 235 
 
 to Spring bloom, surrounded by a high wall from 
 the days when it was a secluded country-house, 
 was quite shut off from the world. Mr. Penn 
 possessed a very fine library, and he and his friend, 
 Dr. Leadbetter, belonged to various learned socie- 
 ties, and were well known for taste, for a great 
 liberality of mind, and an equal charity to their 
 neighbours, especially the poor. Rachel Penn 
 was a fine musician and very well read, and she 
 was always willing to entertain her father's young 
 guest, obeying his wishes with that air of an anxious 
 adoration. Sometimes he would sit and listen to 
 her while she sang old songs, his cheek in his hand, 
 and a most pensive expression upon his handsome 
 features. At another time they would talk of 
 literature, and he would bring out his stock of 
 memories of things read and things seen, — for 
 obviously he was a travelled person and delightful 
 company. 
 
 But there were times also when he could not be 
 found, perhaps for hours, and when they were all 
 wild with terror he would knock at the door and 
 come in smiling, full of tales of adventure, and be 
 very contrite because he had alarmed them. 
 
 Once a couple of boys had gone out in a leaky 
 boat on the river, and it had foundered with them. 
 While their mothers were screaming distractedly a 
 young gentleman from no one knew where had 
 plunged in to their rescue and brought both, all 
 but drowned, to the shore. The Town Watch had 
 
236 LOED EDWARD 
 
 come running, attracted by the noise and the crowd, 
 for it was not a time when people were allowed to 
 gather together for any purpose, and somehow the 
 crowd had opened and received the rescuer, passing 
 him on from one to another till he regained Mr. 
 Penn's private gate in the wall in safety. 
 
 Again he would work happily in the garden, for 
 which he seemed to have a great love, and while 
 he worked he would break into the ' Shan Van 
 Vocht,' or ' The Green upon the Cape,' till his host 
 came running from his study and implored 
 him to desist, when he was all contrition, saying 
 he had forgotten where he was, and that it was 
 always hard for him not to do as he would. 
 
 No wonder that suspicion fell upon Mr. Penn's 
 house, that it was searched by the soldiers, led 
 by one Captain Langley, a young English officer, 
 whose modesty and gentleness combined with 
 great bravery and a pleasing appearance, had com- 
 mended him to Rachel Penn, with whom he was 
 deeply in love. 
 
 In the absence of her father she, on a sudden 
 alarm, concealed the handsome Quaker behind 
 the curtains of her bed, in an alcove which might 
 pass unsuspected, and since there was some slight 
 chance of safety he had taken his place there, 
 standing back against the wall, fully armed and 
 prepared to sell his life dearly, if need be. 
 
 Rachel received Captain Langley when he 
 came, stammering excuses because his men must 
 
' ON HIS KEEPING ' 237 
 
 search the house, pale with apprehension now, 
 again red with a distasteful shame, but quietly 
 resolved to do his duty, no matter what it cost him. 
 
 She took him aside and made a confession to 
 him, white as a martyr and he left her, his 
 eyes half- blind, stumbling as he went, to direct 
 his men on their search. But when he came to 
 the girl's bedroom, fresh and fragrant and full 
 of white innocencies, he forbade anyone to 
 enter but himself. He went within and re- 
 appeared presently saying ' There is no one there,' 
 and he and his men went out by the wide gates 
 under the arch. Kachel listening heard the 
 clatter of their horses' feet on the stones of the hilly 
 road as they went down to the town. The great 
 danger was over. 
 
 There were no more alarms, but after that 
 day Rachel began to fade and pine, and the change 
 in her became day by day more apparent, as 
 though a white rose had begun to wither. She 
 went about with a slow step and a hanging head. 
 She had fits of unhappy dreaminess, when, if one 
 spoke to her, she turned painfully red, and then, 
 the colour ebbing away, left her paler than before. 
 
 Dr. Leadbetter came and prescribed bark. 
 She grew no better. Her father was terrified lest 
 she should follow her mother, who had died of a 
 decline when but a few years older than Rachel. 
 He watched her as she moved about languidly, 
 his frightened heart in his eyes. 
 
238 LOED EDWAKD 
 
 The handsome Quaker had left them immedi- 
 ately after the search had been made. In three 
 months' time he came back and found Rachel 
 fading as it seemed into her grave. He was horri- 
 fied. The house that had been so bright and gentle 
 was overcast ^vith gloom. The poor father watched 
 his child with tragical eyes. Rachel moved like a 
 ghost. What had happened to her, the pretty 
 child ? The handsome Quaker was overwhelmed 
 with grief for his faithful friends. 
 
 While they sat at supper he mentioned Captain 
 Langley with an indifferent air, saying that he 
 heard him spoken well of. The colour rushed over 
 Rachel's sad face and died away again. Certainty 
 grew in his mind. 
 
 Later he obtained an interview alone with the 
 girl. With streaming eyes, with an abased head, 
 she confessed to him the thing she had done for 
 his sake. She had procured his safety by allowing 
 Captain Langley to believe that the man concealed 
 in her bedroom was her lover. 
 
 ' Child, child ! ' cried the handsome Quaker, 
 with such anguish in his voice that Joshua Penn, in 
 an adjoining room, hearing it, was startled. ' How 
 dared you sacrifice yourself for me ! How dared 
 you ! Child, did you think I could accept such a 
 wrong as that at your hands ? ' 
 
 ' She lifted up her face,' he said afterwards, ' and 
 the first smile I had seen on her lips since my 
 return came to them, such a smile as you might see 
 
' ON HIS KEEPING ' 239 
 
 on dying lips, and she answered : '' It is nothing, 
 my Lord, nothing, though I should die of it, as 
 long as your precious person goes safe. " 
 
 ' That,' he adds, * was the most heroic action 
 I have known in my life, though I have known 
 many heroisms. There was but one thing to be 
 done and I did it. I had all but walked to the 
 barracks and asked for Captain Langley, to tell 
 him what a precious gift had been given to him, 
 and what a loyal soul it was. But I, a soldier, 
 realised that he, a soldier, dare not in honour give 
 me my liberty, and, if he was to make me his 
 prisoner she perhaps, poor soul, would not forgive 
 it. So I wrote a letter, and I sent it to him by my 
 poor black Tony, who once or twice has all but 
 betrayed my hiding place through following me like 
 a dog. 
 
 ' After that I left Cork in the disguise of an old 
 woman with a donkey cart, and I returned no more ; 
 but I had the satisfaction of learning a little later 
 that this charming girl, fully restored to life and 
 joy, had been united to her lover.' 
 
 Again he is in a house by the canal, a large 
 square, comfortable house. Without, the canal 
 goes sluggishly between its banks, under the shade 
 of trees, very little passing on its surface beyond now 
 and again a barge tugged by a patient horse. To 
 
240 LORD EDWARD 
 
 the house is attached a rope- walk. All the strands 
 are flying and plaiting in the sun. On the green 
 grass plots there is linen bleaching. To the good 
 pair who own the house his identity is known. 
 To the servants he is Mr. Jameson. There is a 
 child with whom he plays many pranks, a child 
 himself. His friends are terrified for his safety, and 
 he is contrite when he has been very careless, 
 declaring that no man ever received such faithful 
 love, and reproaching himself for a careless dog. 
 
 The whole scene is like a landscape of Ruysdael. 
 The slow canal goes on into Kildare and away to 
 the West, and once he leaps aboard a barge and 
 goes with it through the flat, rich Kildare country 
 close to the walls of Carton. When he comes back 
 the good couple are in hysterics. In very pity to 
 them he removes himself, not so very far away, to 
 the house of a widow lady which is more secluded, 
 for it looks on a basin of the canal, full of old boats 
 in all stages of decay. The world, such as it is, 
 goes by on the canal beyond the basin. 
 
 The widow lady, Mrs. Cleary, has a httle boy 
 who reminds him of Eddy. He misses his play- 
 fellow at the rope-walk, but consoles himself with 
 this golden-headed thing which has great spirit. 
 They have wild games. Instead of keeping to the 
 house or the garden, he sets the child peahng with 
 laughter by springing from the flagged causeway 
 round the basin into the boats and back again. 
 
 ' Oh, my Lord," says Mrs. Cleary, ' you might lose 
 
' ON HIS KEEPING ' 241 
 
 your precious life if you were to slip between the 
 wall and the boats. There is such deep dark water 
 below. ' ' Why, so I might/ he says, ' and leave the 
 sweetest lady in the world to mourn. I shall be 
 more careful.' But he is never more careful. 
 
 VI 
 
 There is a thousand guineas on his head. A 
 great number of people know his hiding-place, but 
 the golden guineas dangle, and there is none to 
 snatch at the prize. 
 
 Once he gives his boots to be cleaned by a new 
 servant, forgetting that his name is written in full 
 inside them. The man who has cleaned the boots 
 comes to his mistress. ' I have found out who Mr. 
 Jameson is,' he says, and displays what he has 
 found. She stares at him, pale with terror. * Do 
 not be afraid,' he says. ' I or any one of us would die 
 ten thousand deaths rather than that one hair of 
 his precious head should be hurt.' 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE TROUBLE 
 
 During the Summer of 1797 the whole of the 
 North of Ireland was under martial law, which 
 apparently had the effect on the Ulster leaders 
 of the United Irishmen of forcing them to rebellion. 
 The United Irishmen of the North were as much 
 Protestant and Presbyterian as those of Leinster 
 were Catholic. And the leaders of the North 
 were the dom'er men. 
 
 II 
 
 Perhaps the moment for the rising passed 
 in August 1797, when the Ulster leaders were for 
 the rising and the Leinster men waited for the 
 French. The plan of the insurrection had been 
 drawn up with the assistance of certain officers 
 who had served in the Austrian army. The 
 military strength of the United Irishmen was 
 300,000 men. What was more important, some 
 of the regiments then on duty in Dublin had :f^ 
 
 242 "■> 
 
THE TEOUBLE 243 
 
 become aware of the projected rising, and a deputa- 
 tion of sergeants from the Dublin, Kildare, and 
 Kilkenny Militias waited on the Dublin Committee 
 with an offer to seize the Koyal Barracks and the 
 Castle without any civilian help. Very much 
 against Lord Edward's will, this proposal was 
 refused. Mr. Tone thought they had lost the 
 great opportunity. ' There seems to have been 
 a great want of spirit in the leaders in Dublin/ 
 he writes in his Journal. ' The people have 
 been urgent more than once to begin, and at one 
 time eight hundred of the garrison offered to give 
 up the barracks of Dublin if the leaders would 
 only give the signal : the militia were almost to 
 a man gained over, and numbers of these poor 
 fellows have fallen victims in consequence. It is 
 hard to judge at this distance, but it seems to have 
 been unpardonable weakness, if not downright 
 cowardice, to let such an occasion slip. With 
 eight hundred of the garrison and the barracks 
 to begin with, in a hour they would have had the 
 whole capital, and, by seizing the persons of half- 
 a-dozen individuals, paralysed the whole Govern- 
 ment and accomplished the Revolution by a single 
 Proclamation. I am surprised that Emmet did 
 not show more energy, for I know him to be as 
 brave as Caesar.' 
 
 Was not the old wine in new bottles in the 
 Dublin rising of 1916 ? 
 
244 LOED EDWAED 
 
 III 
 
 The Government found an informer in the 
 person of Thomas Eeynolds, a United Irishman, 
 and on the 12th of March 1798, acting on his 
 information, seized the DubHn leaders at the 
 house of Mr. Ohver Bond. The warrant included 
 Bond himself, Emmet, MacNevin, Sampson, but 
 the last three were absent at the time. They 
 were apprehended later. Lord Edward remained 
 at liberty, the hope of his party. Among the 
 papers seized was a list of toasts, one doubtless 
 often drunk by the turf fire at Kildare Lodge, in 
 the Irish whiskey-punch. ' Mother Erin, dress'd in 
 green ribbons by a French milliner, if she can't be 
 dress'd without her ! ' The Government appar- 
 ently at this stage would have been quite wilhng 
 that Lord Edward should disappear abroad and 
 no questions asked, but that was not Edward's 
 way. 
 
 IV 
 
 Lady Lucy in London has several interviews 
 with Arthur O'Connor, who is accompanied by 
 a gentleman from the North, Mr. Burdett. She 
 is quite prepared if Edward lets fall his mantle of 
 the green to pick it up and wear it as a woman 
 may. ' Softness and fire are well mingled in a 
 peerless lady I know,' says O'Connor, with his 
 
THE TEOUBLE 245 
 
 ardent dark eyes fixed on Lucy's ; but he holds 
 her fiery spirit in check. * There are risks we 
 take to our Hves, it may be/ he says, ' but even 
 for the sake of Granuaile a man may be pardoned 
 taking risks for the dehcate creatures who are 
 dearer than Hie/ Lucy sends hardly a thought 
 to Captain Foley, who is with his ship. If she 
 remembers him it is to say that he is ' sensible ' 
 and 'considerate.' He lets her be. She has 
 other things to think of than tranquil kindness 
 and a peaceful harbour. 
 
 ' March 2nd, 1798 '—in Lucy's Journal.—* This 
 morning heard of Arthur's being taken up with 
 three others. They were taken at Margate, endeav- 
 ouring to get to France. Oh, it was mismanag'd. 
 I am vext to the heart about it. 
 
 ' March ith. — Nothing is known about the 
 Prisoners, as the Privy Council are quite silent ; 
 they sit every day. 
 
 ' March 8tk — They all went to Court but me. 
 It is thought well they should seem friendly and 
 be seen at Court. We had a dance in the evening — 
 all very heavy-hearted. I would have no dancing. 
 I am too sad for my Friend. I tryed not to let 
 it appear because it is of importance not to betray 
 Fear. 
 
 * March IQth, — Heard that his Tryal is to be 
 
246 LOED EDWARD 
 
 in April. Erskine is engag'd for him. I am 
 sadly uncomfortable. No one knows how ill at 
 ease I am behind my gayety. 
 
 * April 4:th. — We went to Boyle Farm. The 
 weather is lovely and everything coming up in 
 the garden. It makes me think of dear Kildare, 
 and of Frescati, but that was less happy. The 
 assurances my Sister Pamela gives me of Eddy's 
 safety help to calm my mind, — yet the little thing 
 will not let me go over. She says she has a reason. 
 I wish I were not a woman for some reasons. Yet 
 there are things one would miss. 
 
 ' April GtL — I had a letter from Pamela about 
 Arthur. I appoint'd Mr. Ferguson and went to 
 town alone to meet him at Harley Street. He 
 was detained beyond the time he had fix'd. How- 
 ever I saw him. I had never spoken to him before, 
 but had no Idea of any wretchedness preventing 
 my doing any good, and as it happened it was of 
 great consequence for me to speak with him. 
 I returned to Boyle Farm in the evening. No 
 one knew I had been on A.'s business. 
 
 'April 13th. — Henry had a letter from Aunt 
 Louisa saying that she had a conversation with 
 a Person high in office (she might as well say that 
 odious Lord Castlereagh), and that the result was 
 that she wish'd Edward's family to use their 
 influence with him to persuade him to go to America 
 This I well know would be in vain, had we it in 
 our power, but alas we do not know where he is 
 
THE TROUBLE 247 
 
 conceard. The Family agreed that Mr. Ogilvie, 
 who was going to Ireland, should speak to Lady 
 Edward to desire her to inform him, as she alone 
 knows where to find him. They will not persuade 
 him unless his reason should accord, and I do not 
 think it will. My brother will not desert the 
 people. 
 
 ' Affil IM.— Mr. 0. left Boyle Farm. I gave 
 him a letter for Pamela entreating her to let me 
 go over. 
 
 ' May 9th. — Heard that Mr. Ogilvie had ar- 
 rived at 5 o'clock from Ireland by the Stage. He 
 brought us assurances from Pamela of Edward's 
 safety, said she seem'd perfectly satisfied and in 
 good spirits, that she did not wish me to go to her 
 by any means. He brought me two lines with 
 nothing in them in answer to my intreaties to place 
 confidence in me, at least to tell me if she really 
 v/anted me to stay here. Mr. 0. is himself ignorant 
 of Eddy's place of concealment, that seeing Lady 
 Edward so cautious, prudent and secret he did not 
 press her to anything but left all to herself. 
 
 * May 20th. — A letter from Pamela saying she 
 was to be sent out of Ireland. 
 
 ' May 21st. — Arthur's Tryal at Maidstone came 
 on this day. Mimi went to a masquerade as Night. 
 I was gone to bed, and as she came to show herself 
 to me in her sable garments, with stars in her 
 hair, I had the most melancholy feel, such as 
 I never before experienc'd, nor anything like it : 
 
248 LOED EDWAED 
 
 it communicated itself to her. She hug'd me, and 
 we cried together. She hated going out, she said. 
 She look't very pale but more lovely than ever I 
 saw her. 
 
 ' May 22nd. — I remain' d all the day and night 
 in most painful anxiety. I thought Arthur's 
 fate was then being decided. / did not know my 
 own tvas seaVd,' 
 
 VI 
 
 Meantime Lady Sarah, nm^sing her Donny 
 through a bad illness, keeps a Journal, day by day, 
 for him to read when he is better, since now all 
 sad happenings must be kept from him. She 
 is more explicit than Lucy to her Journal, so let 
 her tell the tale over again. 
 
 'March ith, 1798.— News came from London 
 that four or five men were taken up at Margate 
 trying to escape to France with some plot — having 
 come to Dover they put their baggage on a cart 
 and foUow'd it on foot towards Margate — offer'd 
 immense sums — seem'd to know the way. Many 
 odd things cans' d suspicion and they were taken. 
 One of them said he was Arthur O'Connor. On 
 the cart was found boxes with papers, expressive 
 of their being a sort of ambassadors from the 
 United Irish Men to the Directory at Paris, to give 
 assurances of the good reception the French would 
 meet with in Ireland and to press their immediate 
 
THE TROUBLE 249 
 
 coming. The gentlemen denied the baggage was 
 theirs. They were carried to the Privy Council 
 and put into the Tower. . . . 
 
 ' On the other hand it is since said that all 
 the suspicious circumstances are a fabrication and 
 that nothing can be found against O'Connor. 
 Yet Mr. Ogilvie writes me word it is generally 
 believed he will be hang'd — but many at first 
 said he would get off. I will try to be more 
 mistress of the subject against your dear eyes read 
 this, which I have carefully kept from your hearing 
 a^ long as I thought it dangerous to give your 
 thoughts such serious grounds for working them 
 on ; which in your weak state would be hurtful 
 and retard recovery. I have since heard that 
 Edward is not troubled about O'Connor, and said 
 he had nothing with him odd except 1200 guineas. 
 He is to be tried at the Kent Assizes. 
 
 ' It was fortunate I kept O'Connor's business 
 from you as it at first appear'd linkt with one 
 much more interesting to us all : but I believe I 
 may say with truth it was the artful! management 
 of Govt, so to dispose the scenery that the most 
 knowing were taken in at first : but that it is 
 certain an event which took place here is no way 
 whatever the consequence of this English bussiness, 
 but a mere repetition of Russell and Nelson's 
 bussiness in the North, and will end the same way 
 in the disgrace of Govt. Here is the story : 
 
250 LORD EDWARD 
 
 * (Mr. Pelham was dying, poor man, and is free 
 of this bussiness. Lord Castlereagh was sent for 
 express from Dundalk to do Mr. Pelham's bussiness.) 
 
 ' Mails came from London and a Council called, 
 and then determin'd to take up many U.LM. : 
 for, early on Monday 12th, messengers were sent 
 to Oliver Bond's house to take up all there sitting 
 at a Committee : when they enter'd the house the 
 table was full of papers : a sergeant said, " If you 
 don't all hold up your hands I will shoot you.'^ 
 The papers seized were of the utmost importance 
 and carried to Council. Councillor Emmet, Oliver 
 Bond, Jackson the ironmonger, Sweetman the 
 brewer, and others were taken. Councillor Samp- 
 son made his escape. Dr. Mac Nevin was arrested 
 at his own house : and report made a thousand 
 stories of where Edward was. Some said at the 
 Committee : others at Dr. Mac Nevin's ; that the 
 Sherifi seeing him say'd to the messengers, '' Is 
 not Lord Edw^ard in your warrant?'' "No." 
 Upon which Lord Edward walkt into the streets ; 
 and then heard a separate warrant was made out 
 for him, on which he disappear'd, and has not 
 been heard of since. 
 
 * The separate warrant went by a messenger, 
 attend'd by Sherifi Carlton and a party of soldiers, 
 command'd by a Major O'Kelly, to Leinster House. 
 The servants ran up to Lady Edward, who was ill 
 with the gathering in her breast, and told her. 
 She said, " There is no help for it. Let them come 
 
THE TEOUBLE 251 
 
 up/' They asked very civilly for her papers and 
 Edward's, and she gave them all. Her apparent 
 distress mov'd Major 0' Kelly to tears : and their 
 whole conduct was proper. They left her and 
 soon returned (Major Boyle having been with two 
 dragoons to Frescati and taken such papers as 
 were in the Book Eoom and not found Edward) 
 to search Leinster House for him and came up 
 with great good nature to say : " Madam, we wish 
 to say our search was in vain. Lord Edward has 
 escaped. '' Dr. Lindsay, returning from here, went to 
 Leinster House to her and there found her in the 
 greatest agitation, the humour in her poor little breast 
 quite gone back, and he was a good deal alarm' d 
 for her ; but, by care, she is, thank God, recovered. 
 ' Mrs. Pakenham wrote that night to my sister 
 Louisa a letter I hope you will see, for it was trying 
 to make the matter as light as she could to my poor 
 sister, yet forc'd to say what she heard from Mr. 
 P. and Lord Castlereagh. " 
 
 VII 
 
 ' Tuesday J 13th March. — My sister brought me 
 the letter in the greatest despair, I was shocked 
 at the event but by no means alarm'd at the 
 description and told her I was sure Edward ran 
 off to avoid prison only. I said this, yet my mind 
 sank within me, from the idea of its being from 
 O'Connor's business.' 
 
252 LOED EDWARD 
 
 VIII 
 
 ' Louisa went off early to town with Emmy 
 to breakfast at Mrs. Pakenham's ; appointed 
 C. Fitzgerald to meet her, and, wishing to hear 
 from him what he had done, relative to my sister 
 Leinster and the Duke, but instead of Charles she 
 found Lord Castlereagh, who told her ''though 
 the two brothers differ yet Nature is strong, and 
 Lord Charles was so overcome on Monday hearing 
 the event that he set off early on Tuesday for the 
 country to be out of the way/' 
 
 Louisa then ask'd questions. Lord C. said, 
 '' I fear I cannot answer your questions for I am 
 bound to secrecy, but pray don't believe any 
 reports you hear for, upon my word, yiothing has 
 yet transpiyd. You may rely on the earnest wishes 
 of Govt, to do all they can for Ld. Edward who is 
 so much lov'd, and as he can't be found nothing 
 can happen to him. I pitty Ly. Edward most 
 exceedingly and will do all in my power to send 
 her back her private letters.'' Mr. P. spoke as 
 usual, fine fiummery of Edward, and said he only 
 hop'd in God he should not meet him, as it would 
 be a sad struggle between his duty and his friendship, 
 Louisa took all this as it was intended she should ; 
 but when she was out of the room Emily heard 
 Sir G. S. express his hopes that Ld, Edward would he 
 caught, and she did not hear or see anything like a 
 contradiction to this wish from any of the company. 
 
THE TEOUBLE 253 
 
 ' From thence Louisa went to Leinster House, 
 where poor little Pamela's fair, meek and pitiable 
 account of it all mov'd her to the greatest degree, 
 and gain'd my sister's good opinion of her sense 
 and good conduct. My sister charged her not to 
 name his name — not to give a soul a hint of where 
 he was, if she knew it, and to stay at Leinster 
 House seeing everybody that calFd, and to keep 
 strict silence — to which Pamela agreed. Louisa 
 went back to the set and told them how meek and 
 gentle Pamela was : that she did not suppose any 
 of the Govt, people would insult her, hut hirelings 
 might ; that she wou'd as soon as her breast 
 admitted of it see everybody who was so good as 
 to call on her to show she was not plotting mischief. 
 They gave great praise to her sense and good 
 conduct (though I hear before this Mr. P. had said 
 her sickness was a sham). And my sister came 
 home with Dr. Lindsay quite satisfied that 
 Ly. Edward was secure of his innocence and 
 safety, and Govt, all good-nature ; but still in 
 such horrors either about his having invited the 
 French, or his being punished for it, that she 
 cannot bring herself to name the subject without 
 agony. 
 
 ' By this time I had heard from others that all 
 Dublin was in consternation on Monday morning : 
 that upon the papers being carried to council the 
 Chancellor was sent for at the Courts to attend 
 it ; that he dasht out in a hurry and found a 
 
254 LOED EDWAKD 
 
 mob at the door who abus'd him and he returned 
 the abuse by cm^sing and swearing like a madman. 
 He met Lord Westmeath and they went into a 
 shop and came out with pistols, and the Chancellor 
 thus went on foot to the Council. ' 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 LADY SARAH S STORY 
 
 ' Thursday y 15th March, — Mr. Berwick told 
 me of the strange absurd reports of their having 
 behav'd so ill in the searches. I told him Ly. 
 Edward had written to thank Major O'Kelly for 
 his humane conduct. 
 
 'My sister had promis'd to go again but did 
 not. I heard daily from Ly. Edward and found that 
 she had recovered her spirits in so sudden a manner 
 that everybody is convinc'd she knows where 
 he is and that he is safe and innocent. I sent 
 her £20 in case she wanted ready money, but she 
 return' d it, and sent me word she had plenty, for 
 they had some by them and she was going to take 
 a house to get out of Leinster House, which was 
 grown detestable to her, and to have a quiet home 
 of her own to lie in in. She bid me tell my sister 
 Leinster to be quite quite easy. To write would be 
 folly in her and indeed in us, for all letters are ofen^d. 
 So I only wrote to Mrs. Johnston and made a child 
 direct it, telling her to send for Mr. Ogilvie and show 
 
 255 
 
256 LOED EDWARD 
 
 it to him. We know nothing yet of how my poor 
 sister will take it, — very badly, I fear. Govt, 
 intended a proclamation to take Edward, but 
 thought better of it. 
 
 ' I was surpris'd by a visit from Captain M. He 
 began about Edward. I said I was sure he was 
 innocent, tho' he made no secret of his opinions, 
 but that nobody dreaded a Revolution more from 
 the goodness of his heart, and that he only ran 
 off, I was sure, from his dislike of a prison, that he 
 was as free as a bird, that no house had ever 
 confin'd him. " But," said he, " surely he knew 
 the consequences of sitting on a Commission ? '" 
 '' He never was there." '' Oh," said M., very pert, 
 *' I beg your pardon. He was seen there, as I 
 understand." " I am sure," said I, '' you thinlv your 
 authority good, but I doult every authority." 
 " But surely," said he, '' they would not dare to take 
 him up without sufficient grounds ? " " If I had not 
 seen it done twice here I should think as you do ; 
 but I know all their ways too well and you will 
 see that I am right." 
 
 * He spoke with the greatest regard of you, came 
 down on purpose to inquire for you, and says he 
 will come whenever you are able to see him. He 
 told me of a servant of Mr. Lee's being killed by 
 a soldier's bayonet the day before in the streets, 
 because some men, among whom was this ser- 
 vant, were seducing soldiers : that Lord Tyrawley 
 came among them and tried to send them away. 
 
LADY SAKAH'S STOEY 257 
 
 This servant was impertinent to him ; he drew 
 his pistols and a soldier struck the man, who died 
 on the spot. 
 
 II 
 
 ' Friday, 16th March. — Capt. M. seem'd to 
 think ill of the U.I. Men, and laugh at the farce 
 of everybody going arm'd with pistols, saying 
 he never had been attacked tho' out at all hours 
 of the night. 
 
 'Saturday 17. St. Patrick's Day. — All quiet 
 
 III 
 
 'Saturday, 24:th March. — Captain Armstrong 
 came for the third time and you saw him. From 
 him I heard the prisoners would come off well : 
 that there was no Committee, only some of them 
 assembl'd to consider what was to be done about 
 the Press. That the report of a dreadful Map 
 found in Ly. Edward's care, was one of Dublin with 
 notes wrote by a clever gunmaker, who had mark'd 
 the weak parts and sent it to Ld. Edward. That no 
 sooner had this man heard of the noise it made than 
 he went to Govt, and said it was his, which he had 
 shown to Ld. Edward. They asked for what pur- 
 pose he had drew it. " For my amusement, '' 
 said he. So that by Armstrong's account nothing 
 would come of this business. I was in hopes 
 
258 LORD EDWARD 
 
 it would prove so. Reports say Edward was seen 
 in a post-chaise with his brother Charles at Newry, 
 but it is false, I fancy — others that he is at Leinster 
 House and Carton — all false, I believe/ 
 
 (Lord Edward did come and go at Leinster 
 House while Pamela was there, to her great terror. 
 There are rumours of hidden rooms and secret 
 passages. Once a poor kitchen-maid who knew 
 him well suddenly encountered him in a corridor 
 and all but died of the shock of seeing him there, — 
 the house being constantly watched.) 
 
 ' ^Vhen Mrs. P. came on Tuesday Mr. Conolly 
 was setting off. Louisa said she would go and fetch 
 Ly. Edward to Castletown and he forbid it. From 
 Dundalk he wrote, *' There will not be the same 
 objection in June to her coming to Castletown.'' 
 We cannot guess what that means. All Saturday 
 we were in expectation of the Naas prisoners' return 
 and anxious to know their fate.' 
 
 IV 
 
 * Sunday 25tL — This morning I being in your 
 room, my sister Louisa came, and I saw she lookt 
 distiirb'd. I took no notice of her looks, but she 
 gave me a letter from Mr. Ogilvie, saying my poor 
 sister Leinster was supported by her confidence in 
 Edward not deserving anything by word or deed ; 
 but that Sophia and Lucy were terribly affected. 
 He also said that the poor httle Duchess (of Leinster) 
 
LADY SARAH'S STORY 259 
 
 was given over, but the Duke did not seem to 
 see it. This latter accounted to me for her low 
 looks. As she was going she beckon' d me out 
 and said that she must tell me a secret, though 
 she had reasons not to reveal it, but since I had 
 determined to sit up that night it was necessary 
 to tell me not to be alarm'd if, early in the morning, 
 I should hear a bustle, for that an officer, she 
 thinks '' Mr. Longfield/' came from Naas and 
 asking for Mr. Conolly seem'd disappointed. He 
 then requested to speak to Col. Napier, and hearing 
 that he was ill, desir'd to know if any gentleman 
 was in the house, and at last begg'd to speak to 
 Louisa herself, who went down to him. He told 
 her that an order was given in General Wilson's 
 district, including this place, to search for arms 
 and disarm everybody. She asked if officers 
 were included ; he said he believed not ultimately, 
 but that no exception was made in the order 
 which he shew'd her sign'd by General Hewitt, 
 and it is very strict. He question' d how many 
 arms she had : she guess' d twenty : he said : 
 '' Have you twenty servants to use them ? '" '' Yes/' 
 " Then we won't trouble you. For it was the fear 
 of alarming you with all the military that will 
 be about to-morrow early that brought me, and 
 we won't come here as it is only meant for the 
 disaffected and others must go thro' the ceremony. '' 
 Louisa said, '' Pray, sir, don't let your civility 
 interfere with your duty, — search the house, if 
 
260 LORD EDWAED 
 
 you choose it/' '' That must depend on the 
 magistrates/' says he, '' for Sir Ralph Abercrombie's 
 new orders hamper us sadly now. I wish I knew 
 who were dissafect'd. Can you tell me ? '' '' No/' 
 said Louisa. '' I can tell you who are not, but I 
 cannot tell you who are ; but may I beg to know 
 if you must go to Col. Napier's, for he is so ill it 
 may hurt him to hear a bustle." " Yes, I suppose 
 we must ; but we shall, of course, give him a 
 receipt for the arms and he will know where to 
 find them." 
 
 ' Thus did my dear sister so alter her nature that 
 she submitted to be disannd and turn her house a 
 prey to vaggabonds. And she was 7iot glad the 
 prisoners were releas'd, but very much vext with 
 the children, who, poor souls, did not know but 
 to rejoice in her presence. What perversion in 
 the noblest nature may be compassed by cunning, 
 by nerves, and by babbits of hearing terror rung 
 in her ears for years ! I had neither time nor 
 thoughts to answer, argue and try to persuade her. 
 I thank' d her for the notice and rejoic'd to be 
 prepar'd, — and on reflection I now determine to 
 refuse to allow the search or to give up arms. 
 
 * N,B. — The Naas prisoners all return'd to 
 Celbridge at 6 o'clock. ' ^ 
 
LADY SAEAH'S STORY 261 
 
 ' I return to Mr. Henry's conversation in the 
 morning before Louisa came. He told me O'Connor 
 would be try'd soo7i and he understood nothing 
 would be done to him, tho' Mr. Ogilvie wrote me 
 he would be hanged. Henry says, entre nous^ there 
 was a Committee and that Govt, say they knew 
 of it a month ago : that the delegates of each 
 province sent their delegates to Dublin, and that 
 Edward was to order for Leinster how they were 
 to proceed — as is said. That Govt, made a furious 
 noise for two days, but drop't it in a moment, 
 and that he believes they wish him to escape : 
 but that he fears Ed. will be tempted to draw the 
 sword and fling away the scabard, for that they 
 all say if Edward is touched or taken they will not 
 bear it. He is their Idle. 
 
 'He also told us Lord Ormonde, and Sparrow 
 made themselves constables, searching for Edward 
 with 2 dragoons, the latter vowing he would bring 
 him dead or alive : but all this vapouring ceas't 
 soon. He also told me Govt, abus'd Sir Raljph 
 Abercrombie, who was going to resign : but that as 
 the King and Dundass were fond of him it was 
 expected to make a dust first. 
 
 ' You ask't me to-day. Dear Love, if something 
 was not the matter with me. I think with such a 
 load of interesting things on my mind I fight 
 a good battle with myself and keep very equal 
 
262 LOED EDWAED 
 
 in my attendance and manner to you. What 
 will not afiection do when that object we adore may 
 suffer from the least inadvertence. I made a 
 little tryal of your wish about the arms and your 
 answer decided me, for I but represent you, my 
 Love, till you can act again. 
 
 'Among those things I forgot to mention a 
 thing, trifling perhaps, which caus'd me much 
 agitation. On Sunday, 4th, Farrell rode Sam to 
 town for Lindsay, and going into Coyle's a soldier 
 of the Fermanaghs pushed the horse out of his way, 
 Farrell was endeavouring to do the same when 
 another soldier of the same Eegt. stuck his bayonet 
 in the horse's flank and wounded him. Farrell 
 caird out : but instantly giving the horse to 
 Coyle's people he ran to examine the man and 
 mark him in his memory. An officer of Frazer's 
 saw it all and said he would write to you, but 
 hearing you were ill told Farrell to tell you when 
 well that he would vouch for his good conduct. 
 Farrell, not content, went to look for Mr. P. to 
 make his complaint, but not finding him would 
 not risk being late, and came home gently with 
 Sam, who, poor beast is now quite well, it being 
 only a flesh wound. All my children and servants 
 were uf about this and I as well — but I saw that 
 a fuss about it might bring on unpleasant stories, 
 such as your horse being stab'd and then the 
 soldier's revenge on Farrell, and in short many 
 things to annoy you in your getting well, so I 
 
LADY SARAH'S STORY 263 
 
 forbid all talk and took it all on me. I went to Mr. 
 Kempland and had the whole told him, desiring 
 the soldier might be properly punish't for being 
 a brute to a poor horse. In some days after Mr. 
 Kempland came to fetch Farrell to be a witness 
 at a court-martial, having kept himtin the black- 
 hole a week. I begg'd to be allowed to obtain his 
 pardon on condition he would promise never to 
 hurt a7iy horse again, and to have him told I 
 forgave him in hopes it would make him more 
 sorry for his fault than if I got him punisht. I 
 did it exactly as I thought you would do. Since 
 that I send my horses to Mrs. Pakenham or Moira 
 House. ' 
 
 (Moira House was the residence of the humane 
 and generous-minded Lord Moira, who had been 
 Lord Edward's commanding officer in the Canadian 
 Expedition. Lady Moira 's qualities matched those 
 of her high-minded husband. Wesley was with 
 them about 1770. He depicted the beauty of their 
 house, mentioning one room the walls of which 
 were lined mth mother-o'-pearl. ' Alas,' said he 
 prophetically, ' that all this splendour must vanish 
 like a dream ! ' Moira House, docked of its upper 
 storey, has long been the Mendicity Institution 
 of Dublin, known to the Dublin populace as the 
 Mendacity.) 
 
264 LOED EDWARD 
 
 VI 
 
 ' 2Wi March. — I now return to the Arms, which 
 you know I refused to give up and there was no 
 more about it. It cost me very uneasy nights, 
 expecting a dommicilary visit daily. But it is 
 blown over. We have heard from my sister 
 Leinster, and she shews so much sense, firmness, 
 and resignation that I am charm' d with her elevated 
 and spirited character, and trust 'twill save her 
 many hours of misery which poor Louisa passes so 
 unnecessarily for want of using her reason.' 
 
 The informer Reynolds, whom Lord Edward 
 implicitly trusted, was aware of his hiding-places, 
 and visited him at a time when his own family were 
 in the dark as to his whereabouts. After a time 
 Reynolds seems to have lost the trail. The Govern- 
 ment had apparently given up its intention of com- 
 phcity in the escape of one whose distinction of 
 birth and position would make him an awkward 
 prisoner. 
 
 Pamela had moved to a house in Denzille 
 Street, Dublin. Where the heart was there was the 
 body, for it is told that a trusted and trustworthy 
 maid entering the parlour one night found Lord 
 Edward sitting by the fire with Lady Edward, 
 on whose lap lay a sleeping child, taken from 
 bed so that her father might see her. Husband 
 and wife were bowed above the child, clinging 
 together, and both were in tears. 
 
LADY SAEAH'S STORY 265 
 
 Lord Edward must on this occasion have 
 escaped from kind Mrs. Cleary, whose house on 
 the banks of the canal was his shelter. On the 
 plea of the need of exercise he went walking after 
 dark, and doubtless his feet often led him to the 
 dangerous precincts of his adored wife and children. 
 Others might be cautious for him. Poor Tony 
 might lament his black face, which kept him from 
 visiting his beloved master. Mrs. Cleary's servant, 
 the one who had discovered the secret of his identity 
 from his name written in the boots, might refuse 
 to see him, so that if a lamentable day came he 
 could look the beloved hero in the face and swear 
 he had never seen him. Mrs. Cleary might carry 
 messages to Pamela. That did not prevent Eddy's 
 following his messages. Nor did all their care 
 prevent his laughing so gaily and light-heartedly 
 as he came homeward along the canal banks in 
 the wild Spring nights, with his child-companion, 
 that the laughter reached the ears of the anxious 
 woman listening with the ears of a hare for the 
 return of her precious charge. 
 
 On an occasion IVIrs. Cleary 's maid was pro- 
 digiously alarmed by the spectacle of a troop of 
 soldiers, with fixed bayonets glinting through the 
 trees, across the quiet waters of the canal. As her 
 mistress happened to be absent her alarm was the 
 greater. She flew to ' Mr. Jameson ' and told 
 him what she had seen. ' And I too,' he said, 
 * have just seen a man whom I know to be a police- 
 
266 LORD EDWARD 
 
 oflSicer standing in front of the house, gazing up at 
 the windows/ The faithful creature was flung 
 into such paroxysms of terror that Lord Edward 
 gaily consented to the only plan she could devise 
 which might ward ofi detection if the house was 
 searched : at least she thought it might. The plan 
 was that he should retire to bed in Mrs. Cleary's 
 room, wearing one of her nightgowns and a night-cap, 
 that the room should be darkened and all the array 
 of a sick-room set out. We are not told what 
 sickness was to be feigned. Small-pox might have 
 served. In this ridiculous position Lord Edward 
 remained for two hours in the highest spirits at 
 the humour of the situation, till it was judged that 
 the danger had passed. 
 
 Mrs. Cleary by this time was resolved to be 
 quit of the responsibihty of a charge so precious 
 and so reckless. His next move was to Mr. Murphy's, 
 the feather-merchant, in Thames Street. 
 
 Well might Pamela say to the United Men — 
 ' You tish are all brave; and you love my Edward — 
 your Edward and my Edward. You will guard him 
 for me and his children.' But not all the love, 
 all the care, could keep from harm this darhng of 
 many hearts who could never learn to be careful 
 for himself. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 AREEST 
 
 Some more Fitzgerald correspondence. Here is 
 the letter referred to by Lady Sarah Napier as 
 having been written by Lady Louisa Conolly to 
 Lord Edward's mother. 
 
 ' Our dear Ly. Edward has commission'd me 
 to tell you that she entreats you will rest satisfied 
 that your beloved Son has never put pen to paper 
 that could injure him. She hopes that his escape 
 is effected and she means to stay in Dublin to look 
 after his affairs and to let her conduct be known 
 to whoever pleases to enquire about her. She 
 has already met with all the good-nature she is 
 entitrd to, for anything more lovely and becoming 
 to her situation than her manner is I never saw. 
 It is natural, sensible, resigned and religious, and, 
 of course, moving to the last degree. She charg'd 
 me to give her Love to you, and to tell you how 
 happy she is that her dear Boy is with you, and 
 that she would write to you as soon as she was able, 
 as there is nothing but reports and that no authentic 
 
 267 
 
268 LOED EDWAED 
 
 accounts can be obtained for some time. We 
 must, my dearest, most beloved sister, submit 
 to a painfull anxiety, hoping the best, and thankful! 
 for one blessing that attends few in Dearest 
 Edward's situation, his natural charming Excellent 
 character that has gained him so many Friends, 
 that those who differ most with him in Sentiment 
 lament more than blame, but I will not let myself 
 go to the feelings that my Heart is bursting with. * 
 
 II 
 
 April 2itJij 1798. — Lady Sarah Napier to Lady 
 Sophia Fitzgerald. — ' Donny was strongly affected 
 by the news I was at last forced to communicate 
 to him about Dear Edward — the Warrant, etc. 
 In five minutes after he said, '' Sit down, write to 
 Pamela to come here the moment she is able, and 
 to rest assured she shall never find a heart here 
 not ready to receive her and her child.' So said, 
 so done, and Pamela was to come, when behold 
 the dear little soul lay ill, as I should not have 
 known but for Dear Dear Lady Moira, who has 
 acted like a Mother, a tender Mother, by her. She 
 was to have din'd there the very day, and Lady 
 Moira laments she did not, as she then could have 
 kept her to lie in at Moira House. But she sat 
 with her till the Doctor came, and when Mrs. 
 Farrel began to be grand and to want to go back 
 to Ly. Powerscourt Lady Moira gave her a good 
 
ARREST 269 
 
 scold and said if she stirred from the bedside she 
 would get Lady Grannard's nurse-tender instantly, 
 so kept her in good order. The Dr. is an old Dr. 
 Melly, a famous good surgeon, and Midwife in 
 a second line of life, and shewed the greatest skill 
 and attention (Clark having displeas'd Edward 
 long ago) in that poor little Pamela was not 
 delaissee, though from her giving no notice she 
 might have been so, Dear Soul. On Ly. Moira's 
 first letter I was going, but Ly. Castlereagh had 
 told my sister of it and she went and I believe 
 wrote to your Mother. I reserved my visit till 
 the third day, and found her feverish, low and 
 weak, but having no fears of difficulty with the 
 milk which ran in plenty and the Infant quite 
 well. Her house is very quiet and comfortable, 
 her family too large for her purse, I fear, but for 
 the moment, very necessary. The Nurse-tender 
 and Sophia for her, Mrs. Small and a little girl 
 for Pamela and the young Lucy, Mr. Small and 
 two boys for errands who, I suppose, are some of 
 dear Edward's bits of poor children he is so generous 
 about. She was strongly affected on seeing me, 
 and in spite of my avoiding the subject gave me 
 renewed and repeated ])roof that nothing could be 
 done to him even if he was in Govt, hands. She 
 explain' d about the Map so talked of. It was an 
 anonimous Essay on the possibility of the Citi- 
 zens of DubHn defending themselves against any 
 Attack, Militia or other, if they chose it. Edward 
 
270 LOED EDWARD 
 
 seem'd to treat it as of no sort of consequence; 
 and had laugh' d at the Idea of its being taken in 
 his Papers and of the Importance Govt, would 
 attach to what he thought of no importance ; it 
 seems the Author no sooner heard of it than he 
 went to Govt, to avow it. Ly. Edward never 
 saw the man, so there is the Mouse brought forth 
 by this Mountain ! 
 
 N.B. — I hope you can read cross- writing. ' 
 
 III 
 
 Lady Mary Fitzgerald, the Duke's daughter, 
 writes : ^ The Prince said so many kind things 
 to Dear Papa about the darling Edward that he 
 was quite affected. Kildare and Bill are gone 
 to see the Prince. You see by the Papers that 
 the Devils have offered £1000 reward for the pre- 
 cious Creature. William heard one of the strange 
 servants speaking of the Proclamation downstairs, 
 and the little Fellow immediately said : *' I'll be 
 damned if they take him now." Was it not so 
 spirited ? The rigours and horrors practised on 
 Papa's poor tenants out of spite is dreadful beyond 
 conception. ' 
 
 IV 
 
 The Duchess writes to Lady Sophia : 
 
 May 2lst, 1798. — * Lucy had a letter from 
 
AEEEST 271 
 
 Pamela, desiring her not to write any more to 
 Ireland as she had determined upon going to Ham- 
 burgh with her two girls, as she thought she shou'd 
 be easier there among her Friends, and mentions 
 Mme. de Genlis being in a bad state of health and 
 the comfort it wou'd be to her to see her. She 
 gives no other reason for leaving Ireland, but 
 it is reported that she has been desir'd to go : 
 this may or may not be true, but we don't 
 beheve it. 
 
 ' Mr. Ogilvie had a letter this morning from 
 Emily Bellamont, who tells him that her house and 
 papers have been Searched. The messenger brought 
 her a most polite Letter from the Duke of Portland, 
 full of excuses for the trouble it must give her, 
 but informing her it was a Duty he ow'd the 
 Publick, as he had received Information that Ld. 
 Edward had been there and had left Boxes that 
 were supposed to contain Papers in her hands. 
 This mistake arose from Mr. Ogilvie's Visit and 
 his having brought her from Ireland a small Box 
 with Irish Snuff and tooth Powder. She says she 
 did not feel the least alarm^'d, being quite sure 
 they would find nothing in her House, poor dear 
 quiet Soul." 
 
 Lady Louisa Conolly to Mr. Ogilvie : 
 'Castletown, May 21st, 1798. — I was too ill 
 
272 LORD EDWAED 
 
 yesterday to write, but as there saiFd no packet 
 I have an opportunity of letting my Letter go now, 
 among the first with the sad narrative of Saturday 
 night's proceedings. Which of poor Edward's bad 
 friends betray' d him, or whether through the 
 vigilance of the Town Magistrates he was appre- 
 hended at nine o'clock that night, I know not, 
 at a house in Thomas Street. Mr. Sirr, the town- 
 major, Mr. Ryan (Printer of Faulkener's Journal) 
 and Mr. Swan, a magistrate, got information of 
 him and had a small party of soldiers surround 
 the house. Mr. Sirr was settHng the party and 
 advis'd Ryan and Swan not to be in haste ; but 
 they hastily ran upstairs and forc'd the door 
 where he lay asleep. He hastily fired a pistol 
 at Mr. Ryan, who we have hopes to-day, will 
 recover. Upon Mr. Swan's approach he stab'd 
 Mr. Swan with a dagger, but that Wound is not 
 consider'd dangerous. 
 
 ' Mr. Sirr, upon hearing the resistance, ran 
 upstairs, and, thinking that Edward was going 
 to attack him, fired a pistol at him which wounded 
 Edward in the shoulder, not dangerously. He 
 was then carried prisoner to the Castle, where Mr. 
 Stewart (surgeon-general) was order' d to attend 
 him. He drest his wound and pronounc'd it 
 not to be dangerous. Lord Camden had order' d 
 an apartment for him, but the magistrates claim'd 
 him on account of his having wounded their people. 
 He was therefore carried to Newgate, and after 
 
AEREST 273 
 
 the first burst of feeling was over I hear that he 
 was quite composed. 
 
 'Mrs. Pakenham has promis'd to enquire if 
 he wants any comforb or convenience that might 
 be sent him in prison, and I am going to Town 
 this evening meaning to see Mr. Stewart and learn 
 from him what may be wanted. I am also going 
 for the purpose of hearing if this makes any differ- 
 ence in the determination respecting Ly. Edward's 
 leaving the comitry. In the meantime I have 
 had the satisfaction of hearing that she bore the 
 shock yesterday better than one could expect. 
 
 *As soon as Edward's wound was dress'd he 
 desired the private secretary at the Castle (Mr. 
 Watson, I beheve, is the name) to write for him 
 to Lady Edward and tell her what had happen 'd. 
 The Secretary carried the Note himself. Ly. 
 Edward was at Moira House, and a servant of 
 Ld. MountcashelFs came soon after to forbid 
 Edward's servant saying anything to her that 
 night. Poor Miss Napier with my Emily were at 
 the Play that night with Ly. Castlereagh and Mrs. 
 Pakenham, in the next box to the Ld. Lieutenant's, 
 where the news was brought to him, and, of course, 
 the poor girls heard it all. Miss Napier was so 
 overcome that Ly. Castlereagh went out with her, 
 and Miss Napier went instantly to Moira House, 
 knowing Ly. Edward to be there. Ly. Moira 
 forbid her telhng her that night, so that Miss 
 Napier made some foohsh pretext to go home with 
 
274 LOED EDWAED 
 
 her and has not left Ly. Edward since. Mr. 
 Pakenham made Louisa Pakenham keep Emily 
 in the box, as they fear'd all running out of the 
 box might have the appearance of a riot, and I 
 beheve it might be better, but the poor httle soul 
 was wretched, as you may imagine. The next 
 morning, being yesterday, Miss Napier told Ly. 
 Edward, and she bore it better than she expected : 
 but Mr. Napier, who went to town, brought us 
 word her head seemed still derang'd and that no 
 judgment could yet be form'd about her. He 
 and Sarah are gone again this morning. I go 
 this evening. 
 
 * It is my intention to intreat for leave to see 
 him (nobody has been permitted to go since he 
 was carried to Newgate), but I will wait to see 
 surgeon Stewart and know first the state of his 
 health and if he would like to see me. The Tryal 
 is not to come on immediately, it is thought. 
 My astonishment at finding that Edward was in 
 Dublin is only equaled by his imprudence in 
 being in it. I had felt such security in being sure 
 he had left Dublin Bay, added to the belief from 
 the Duke of Portland's office that he had left the 
 English Coast in a Boat, that I felt startled when 
 the Proclamation came out, tho' I began to wonder 
 why it took place. 
 
 ' This last week has been a most painfull one 
 to us. Maynooth, Kilcock, Leixlip and Celbridge 
 have had part of a Scotch Eegt. quarter' d at each 
 
ARREST 275 
 
 Place, living upon free quarters, and every day 
 threatening to burn the towns. I have spent 
 days in intreaties and threats to give up the horrid 
 pikes. Some houses burnt at Kilcock yesterday 
 . produced the effect. Maynooth held out yesterday 
 tho' some houses were burnt and some people 
 perish't. This morning the" people of Leixlip 
 are bringing in their arms. Celbridge as yet 
 holds out, tho' five houses are now burning. 
 Whether obstinacy or that they have them not I 
 cannot say, but you may immagine what I and 
 Mr. Conolly suffer. He goes about intreating to 
 the last, spent all yesterday out among them and 
 is gone again to-day. He goes from Maynooth 
 to Leixlip and Celbridge, and begins again and again 
 to go round them. 
 
 ' We have fortunately two most humane 
 officers, that do not do more than is absolutely 
 necessary from their orders. At present I feel 
 most prodigiously sunk with all the surrounding 
 distress. It would grieve you to see Mr. Conolly's 
 good heart so wounded as it is.' 
 
 Strangely and sadly, Mr. Ogilvie, to whom 
 this was written, lies under a suspicion, never now 
 to be cleared up, of having betrayed Lord Edward's 
 hiding-place — with an intention of saving him, 
 for it was believed the Government were anxious 
 to get him safely out of the country. 
 
276 LOED EDWAED 
 
 VI 
 
 To return to Lady Lucy's Journal : 
 'May 23rd, 1798.— Slept little; all through 
 my dreams I saw Eddy bleeding and a prisoner. 
 Was glad to escape it and rose early to a beautiful 
 May morning. A note from Burdett from Maid- 
 stone, '* Quigly condemned, O'Connor acquitted." 
 I should have been wild with joy but I could not 
 Uft my heart, which was heavy as lead. Last 
 night's dream clung to me, — a true foreboding, 
 alas. The letter came at 8 o'clock. While I 
 persuad'd myself it made me happy came a 
 messenger from the Duke of Portland to Mr. 0. 
 with the account of Ed. being taken on the 20th. 
 Mr. 0. rushed hke a madman from the house 
 leaving me in uncertainty as to the particulars, 
 which I did not hear till I dragg'd myself to 
 Hemy's. Lady Hemy told me, and I fell in a 
 swoon. I was carried home and there after a while 
 Charlotte told me that he was slightly wounded 
 in the arm. I insisted on seeing the Duke of 
 Portland's letter. It said no more than ''slight 
 wound." Eyan was the only thing that seem'd 
 to give anybody any matter for uneasiness.' 
 
 VII 
 
 'May 2iih, — Henry determined to go to 
 Ireland. I intreated him to take me, which he 
 
ARREST 277 
 
 refused. How dreadful a thing it is to be a woman 
 that cannot do as she will though her heart burst ! 
 Mama needs me, poor soul. None of the others 
 are as near to Eddy in her heart. I must bear 
 myself with patience and remember that Eddy 
 would say, " Steady, Lucia ! '' Mary Fitzgerald 
 came to see me. We went out into the fields, 
 so bright and fair, with all new tints of the Spring, 
 daisies on the green grass, and the flocks and 
 herds, happy creatures, moving so peacefully 
 over the verdant sod, not knowing why we cried. 
 We sat together on the little bridge above the 
 brook and we wept for our Angel. Still they 
 swear his wound is not dangerous. I am full of 
 forebodings. 
 
 'May 2oth. — Mary came in with a letter to 
 Leinster from Ireland, and from expressions she 
 used I first caught the idea, the certainty rather, 
 of his wound being dangerous. my God, was 
 I ever discontent while all was well with Edward ? 
 I was very weak. I fainted and was ill. They 
 took me home, where I found them talking of the 
 wound being slight and all in spirits from the 
 reports of Ryan's wound being better. 
 
 ' May 26th. — ^No one writes. No one dares 
 write from that unhappy Country. We talk in 
 whispers, even here. There is a universal dread 
 and horror on all faces. The moment is awful. 
 Liberty, whither art thou flown ? 
 
 * May 27th, — Henry set out for Ireland : he 
 
278 LOED EDWARD 
 
 had stay'd for lawyer's advice. I am at last recon- 
 cird to his not taking me, as I might bring sus- 
 picion on him, which at present don't exist in his 
 case, and so hinder him. Mr. 0. assures me from 
 a conversation he had with the Chancellor that 
 I should be sent away, which I the easier believe 
 from Pamela being sent away. They have no 
 heart. But I trust to going with Mama for a 
 few days.' 
 
 VIII 
 
 ' May 2Sth. — Mama was at last told of his being 
 wounded. She declares she will go, but they 
 persuade her she must do a great deal for him 
 here first, in consequence of which she sees every- 
 body, poor soul, and our house is crowded from 
 morning till night. The object is to get his Tryal 
 put off, which is fixt for the 11th. The Duke 
 of Richmond, Charles Fox, Lord Holland and 
 others promise to go over to Ireland. 
 
 ' Maij 3Qtk — Pamela arriv'd with her two 
 little girls. Mr. 0. brought her a passport from 
 the Duke of Portland and she is to stay a week 
 in London. She is determin'd to stay. What 
 monster could ask her to go ? She employ 'd 
 friends (Mr. Sheridan) to get her leave to stay : 
 this made violent anger on the part of Mr. 0., 
 who behaves sadly to us both. He is too Loyal. 
 
AKEEST 279 
 
 The Duke of Eichmond has taken my poor httle 
 sister under his protection and she is to stay. 
 
 ' June 2nd, — A letter at last from Aunt Louisa 
 to Pamela, saying that he had been very bad and 
 had made his will, but is better. I had known 
 it from the beginning. Mama still patient and 
 waiting instead of flying to him. I miserably 
 felt my dependent state, and being tyed down to 
 wait the will of others when I felt — Oh, my God ! 
 — that we were losing his last few precious hours.' 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE TWILIGHT 
 
 Turning to her Journal after all was over, Lucy 
 recalls : 
 
 ' I felt obliged, miserably obliged, for all their 
 efforts, but I knew it was useless. All that Human 
 foresight could point out they were doing, but 
 Edward was dyiyig and alone ! My senses nearly 
 forsook me, distrusting all, watching the motions 
 of the Insurrection, trying to recollect my Darling's 
 injunctions, my promises to Him, — oh, he must 
 have known it ! — to be stout when the time came. 
 My God, the Time had come ! I was still catching 
 at the Hope of Mama's departure, of getting to 
 Ireland at last, to the Prison, of beholding again 
 my soul's Treasure, perhaps dpng with Him. I 
 knew then I had never lov'd any but Edward. 
 What I felt for that other was because he lov'd 
 Edward and we were all together in Love. 
 
 280 
 
THE TWILIGHT 281 
 
 II 
 
 ' At this saddest moment of my life/ she writes, 
 ' a Friend came to see me. I had refus'd to see him 
 before I learnt it was Mr. Foley. Then I con- 
 sented to see him. There is something of stay in 
 him, of support. When I heard he had come I 
 felt a sudden longing to tell him my perplexities, 
 my sorrows, how my heart was broken because 
 I might not fly to Edward, that I was like a bird 
 round whose wings and feet there are a thousand 
 fine meshes which the Creature cannot break 
 through. 
 
 ' I saw him in the Little Parlour. He was 
 standing in the middle of the room when I entered : 
 and I was aware that the atmosphere was full 
 of sweetness from the flowers in the greenhouse, 
 and that the canaries were singing against each 
 other with a deafening clamour. I gave him my 
 hand. *' Come out to the garden," I said. '' The 
 birds are too noisy. They make my head ache." 
 As I said it I caught sight of myself in the mirror 
 behind him, and was shockt at what I saw. I 
 had not slept for nights. There were heavy rings 
 of fatigue and fear about my eyes. My skin was 
 yellow. I had a wild, disordered look. I felt I 
 could not endure the noise the birds made. 
 
 ' We went out together, down the steps from 
 the window, through the garden and hazel-grove 
 and into the fields beyond. We sat on the little 
 
282 LOED EDWARD 
 
 bridge where a few days before Mary and I had 
 wept together. 
 
 * '' You are dead tir'd/' he said. 
 
 ' '' Yes/' replied I with a sigh, *' and my heart 
 is broken. Indeed I am the tiredest creature 
 under Heaven.'' 
 
 ' '' 1 came as soon as I could obtain leave/' 
 he said. *' I need not express to Lady Lucy the 
 great and deep compassion in my heart." 
 
 * Then he lookt at me, and he said with sudden 
 passion : '' What have you been doing to yourself ? 
 It is killing you ! " 
 
 ' '' It is very kind of Captain Foley to come/' 
 I said : and my voice sounded cold in my own ears, 
 small and cold. '' Especially since he is a loyal 
 servant of His Majesty. Does he not know the 
 cloud that lies upon us ? " 
 
 ' '' There is no disloyalty to His Majesty in 
 feeling as a man must/' he said. '' There is no- 
 thing I would not do for your brother — although 
 I am a loyal man." 
 
 ' '' I am not a loyal woman/' I struck out at 
 him. '' I only wish that I might be with my 
 brother, dying hke him in the cause of humanity 
 and a most unhappy country." 
 
 He blinkt rapidly as though a sword had 
 flashed in his eyes. Then he said : '' There is no 
 sacrifice consistent with honour and duty which 
 I would not make for Lord Edward's sake." 
 
 ' I said nothing, but I felt it was comfortable 
 
THE TWILIGHT 283 
 
 to have him there. After all, I was weak. He 
 was strong and kind. There was nobility in every 
 look. He rested me. 
 
 * Suddenly I began to weep heart-brokenly 
 and to pour out my complaint. 
 
 " I can't go to Edward/' I sobbed. '' I can't 
 go to Edward. No one will take me to him. Oh, 
 if only I was a man ! " 
 
 ' He questioned me then about the cause of 
 the cruel delay which was wearing me out, every 
 moment being precious, only they would not see 
 it. His eyes watch 'd me, as I could not help 
 seeing through my tears, with the most tender 
 compassion. I saw that tears stood in them, and 
 though I ached too much to consider any wound 
 but my own, I was grateful. 
 
 ' '' If I dar'd," he said in a low voice, '' I might 
 propose something to end this weary suspense." 
 
 * I lookt up at him and saw that the colour 
 had come to his cheek. I was too unhappy to be 
 interested in what that might portend. My one 
 thought was to reach Edward's side, to kneel beside 
 his bed, to pillow his head on my breast. 
 
 ' '' If you could do that," said I, '' you would 
 do me the greatest service was ever render' d to 
 a woman." 
 
 * '' If your heart was not elsewhere . . ." he 
 began with hesitation. 
 
 ' '* My heart is nowhere but with Edward," 
 I replied : and then, remembering how he had 
 
284 LORD EDWAED 
 
 assisted me to see Arthur I could not help blush- 
 ing — though unhappily. 
 
 * ** All that belongs to a time that is forgotten/' 
 I said. " There is only my Brother,"' 
 
 * '' Shall I go to the Duchess/' he asked, " and 
 tell her you will marry me ? It can be done by 
 special license. I know the poverty of my deserts — 
 that I never could aspire to anything so beautiful, 
 so bright as Lucia. But I would give her my life. 
 I long to be beside her, to protect her, to comfort 
 her ..." 
 
 ' He took my hands and rais'd them to his 
 lips, with the most tender respect. 
 
 * '' Lucia will think I am mad,'' he said. *' She 
 will send me from her presence ..." 
 
 * Suddenly I was aware of the immense comfort 
 he ofier'd me. There was not a thought of love 
 in it. I was blind with tears as I put out my 
 hands to him. There was no passion. Not a trace. 
 Only compassion and kindness. 
 
 ' But I would not listen to his proposal. I 
 Imew already that his suit would be welcome to 
 my Family, who have the highest opinion of him 
 and fear my Future. I said he should come and 
 talk to Mama and urge upon her that there should 
 be no more delay. He said very honestly that the 
 Duchess would think he had taken leave of his 
 senses. I answer' d that she, dear soul, was so 
 bewilder'd by a multitude of counsellors that 
 she vfould rest on one straight assurance : I 
 
THE TWILIGHT 285 
 
 remember' d what she had said of Captain Foley : 
 '* Edward esteems him : Donny Napier praises 
 him: He is to be trusted/' Her dear eyes had 
 rested on me. The Family are frightened of what 
 I might do/ 
 
 III 
 
 * Mama has listen' d to Captain Foley. She 
 broke through all the web of their arguments and 
 prepared to go at once. I believe she loves me 
 better than ever. She leans on me. She knows 
 how I love that beloved Creature whom everyone 
 adores, but not as she and I do. Mr. Foley has 
 returned to his ship. 
 
 ' At last it was settl'd. The Fuss of the Day 
 was beyond description. We saw the Prince of 
 Wales and the Duke of York. They were very 
 kind. In the evening of the day Mama and Mimi 
 set ofi travelling by slow stages. We were to 
 follow and catch up with them the next day. 
 The day was June 6th. 
 
 ' June 7th, — I had not been able to sleep — or 
 when I slept it was a horrible hurly-burly of noise. 
 Hammer, hammer, hammer, went the noise through 
 my poor head. It was as tho' someone was building 
 a scaffold. I was tir'd when I arose. We got o£E 
 at last, Mr. 0., Sophia and I. I was so eager 
 for Ireland that I could not enjoy the beauty of 
 the country, which was a late Spring and the lilac 
 
286 LOED EDWARD 
 
 and laburnum yet hanging upon cottage walls, 
 and the new leaves yet glistening. My heart was 
 too heavy to care. I was in Winter. At Towcester 
 we were overtaken by a messenger. On seeing 
 him I knew his errand. I had known it all the 
 time. My God, how am I to endure life without 
 Him?' 
 
 IV 
 
 * I wi'ite this from Moira House,' writes Colonel 
 Napier to Mr. Ogilvie on May 21st. ' Opposite 
 to me in Thomas Street the houses are burning, 
 and I expect on my return to find Celbridge and 
 Maynooth in ashes, for that is the Order of the 
 Day. ' 
 
 ' As yet there does not appear to be any leader 
 who can be dangerous,' \rates Lady Louisa Conolly, 
 * and their depending on numbers, which they 
 endeavour to collect as they pass through the 
 country, shows great want of skill, for the numbers 
 must embarrass instead of assisting, and the 
 consequence has been the loss of hundreds of these 
 poor creatures, who confess they do not know what 
 they were going to fight for. . . . There have 
 been several skirmishes in this neighbourhood : 
 two hundred of them forc'd through our gates and 
 pass'd across our front lawn at 3 o'clock on Sat. 
 morn, last, the 26th, when I saw them, but they 
 went through quietly. However, it is thought 
 
THE TWILIGHT 287 
 
 prudent to put our house in a state of defence ; 
 we are about it now and shall remain in it. The 
 rebels have a camp at Blackmore Hill near Rus- 
 borough ; are in possession of Lord Milltown's 
 house, another camp at Taragh, and another at 
 Stapletown near the Bog of Allen. At Dunboyne 
 the first breaking out appeared and the town is 
 burnt down all to a few houses. Mr. Conolly tells 
 me that the distruction in the country from Sallins 
 to KilcuUen Bridge made him sick and that many 
 years cannot restore the mischief. We are happy 
 in having been able to preserve Celbridge; and 
 the poor people, I trust, will find that we are their 
 best friends at last.' 
 
 Lord Henry — ' Dear Henry, he is perfect ' — 
 had hurried over to Dublin with the intention of 
 sharing his brother's prison if that were possible. 
 It may be imagined that Lady Henry, poor English 
 lady, was thoroughly alarmed by this scheme, 
 which the Duke of Richmond did his utmost to 
 discourage. It was bad enough for the amiable 
 English nobleman to have one nephew in Eddy's 
 situation without another Quixote sharing his 
 cell. He wrote many letters of dissuasion, unneces- 
 sarily as it proved ; for so far from such a privilege 
 being conceded. Lord Henry, when he reached 
 Dublin, was told that he could not even see Lord 
 
288 LORD EDWARD 
 
 Edward. Nor was any other relative admitted 
 to see him till he had shpped so far from the prison 
 of this life that he was hardly conscious of their 
 presence. This mean cruelty is to be laid primarily 
 at the door of John Fitzgibbon, Earl of Clare 
 the Chancellor. But while ' Dear Henry ' ate his 
 heart out, someone did see Lord Edward. This 
 was a Mr. Brown, whose father was landlord of 
 the house in Thomas Street where Lord Edward 
 had been arrested. His unwilhng host — unwilling 
 from the fear of having anything so precious in 
 his charge — had also been arrested and was in 
 Newgate. Mr. Brown had business with Mr. 
 Murphy,the feather merchant, one of those Catholics 
 who, by reason of the Penal Laws against the 
 Cathohcs, were obliged to conceal what they 
 possessed of wealth and refinement behind their 
 business premises, in an apparent humbleness. 
 For some reason unexplained the Chan\3ellor, 
 having given Mr. Brown a permit to see Mr. 
 Murphy, gave him also a permit to see Lord 
 Edward. Mr. Brown must have been persona 
 grata with Lord Clare, who later bestowed on him 
 Lord Edward's dagger as a gift. 
 
 Mr. Brown describes the visit. Having first 
 visited Mr. Murphy, he w^ent on to Lord Edward's 
 cell, but was stopped at the threshold by a truculent 
 brace of yeomen of Mr. Beresford's Corps, very 
 thorough-going gentlemen, whose deeds are yet 
 held in execration in Ireland. They stood with 
 
THE TWILIGHT 289 
 
 drawn swords by Lord Edward's bed, doubtless 
 a very soothing sight for the sick man. When Mr. 
 Brown had shown his permit from Lord Clare he 
 was allowed to speak with Lord Edward for a few 
 seconds. Having mentioned that he had been 
 with Murphy, Lord Edward remembered how 
 Major Swan had struck the good feather-merchant 
 a * severe thrust of the pistol under the left eye/ 
 when he sprang between him and Lord Edward, 
 and asked with feeling, ' And how is poor Murphy's 
 face ? ' 
 
 VI 
 
 We must hark back to Mr. Murphy's narrative 
 — all those rebels could write — for a description 
 of Lord Edward. 
 
 * I believe he was about 5 foot 7 inches in 
 height, and a very interesting countenance, beauti- 
 ful arched eyebrows, fine grey eyes, a beautiful 
 nose and high forehead, thick, dark hair, brown 
 or inclining to black. Any person he addressed 
 must admire his manner, it was so candid and 
 good-natured, and so impregnated with fine feel- 
 ing ; as playful and humble as a child, as mild 
 and timid as a lady, and as brave as a lion. He 
 was altogether a very nice and elegant-formed 
 man. Peace be to his manes ! ' 
 
290 LORD EDWARD 
 
 VII 
 
 From the Earl of Clare to Lord Henry 
 Fitzgerald 
 
 'Ely Place, Dublin, June 3rd, 1798. 
 ' My dear Lord, — Be assured it is not in my 
 power to procure admission for you to Lord 
 Edward ! You will readily believe that Lord 
 Camden's (the Viceroy) situation is critical in the 
 extreme. The extent and enormity of the treason 
 which has occasioned so many arrests make it 
 essentially necessary that access should be denied 
 to the friends of all the persons now confined for 
 treason. Judge then, my dear Lord, the situation 
 in which Lord Camden will be placed if this rule 
 is dispensed with in one instance. Mr. Stewart 
 has just left me, and from his account of Lord 
 Edward he is in a situation which threatens his 
 life. Perhaps if he should get into such a state 
 as will justify it your request may be complied 
 with, and believe me it will give me singular 
 satisfaction if your wishes can be gratified. You 
 may be assured that his wound is attended to as 
 well as it can be/ 
 
 VIII 
 
 Here are some of Lord Henry's distracted 
 jottings in those dreadful days: 
 
THE TWILIGHT 291 
 
 ' Has he got fruit ? Does he want linen ? ' 
 
 ' How will the death of Ryan affect him ? ' 
 
 ' What informers are supposed to be against 
 him ? ' 
 
 ' Upon his pain subsiding the hearing of Ryan^s 
 death, w^hich he must have heard, caused a dreadful 
 turn in his mind/ 
 
 ' Affected strongly on the 2nd of June — began 
 to be ill about 3. Clinch executed before the 
 prison. He must have known of it, ask'd what 
 the noise was/ 
 
 ' 2nd of June in the evening was in the greatest 
 danger. ' 
 
 ' Mr. Stone, the officer that attended him — who 
 he hked — removed the 2nd of June — could not 
 learn who was put with him." 
 
 ' 2nd June in the evening, a keeper from a 
 mad-house put with him, but finding him better 
 in the night left him.^ 
 
 * June 3rd exhausted but composed. Wrote the 
 Chancellor a pressing letter to see him.' 
 
 IX 
 
 A letter from one of Lord Edward's fellow- 
 prisoners in Newgate to Lord Henry Fitzgerald 
 
 ' Newgate, 3rd June. 
 ' My Lord, — Having in happier days had 
 some success and much satisfaction in being 
 concerned for you and Mr. Grattan on the city 
 
292 LOED EDWAED 
 
 election I take the liberty of writing to you to 
 inform you that your brother Lord Edward is 
 most dangerously ill, in fact dying — he was 
 deUrious some time last night. Surely, my lord, 
 some attention ought to be paid him. I know 
 you'll pardon this application. 
 ' I am, yours, 
 
 ^ With respect and regard, 
 
 'Matt. Dowling. 
 
 ' Seeing you or any friend he has confidence in 
 will, I think, be more conducive to his recovery 
 than 50 surgeons. I saw him a few moments last 
 night, but he did not know me. We'll watch over 
 him as well as is in our power.' 
 
 Poor prisoners — they would watch over him as 
 well as was in their "power, as though an Irish rebel 
 in Newgate had any power ! 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 
 
 Dr. Armstrong Garnett, who succeeded Mr. 
 Stone in personal attendance on Lord Edward, tells 
 the story of the execution of Clinch at length. He 
 had found Lord Edward evidently in the first stages 
 of fever, and, having left him for a few moments — 
 ' One of the Prisoners ran into my room to say 
 that they were preparing for an execution at the 
 Front of the Prison, and in a few minutes after 
 a second Person ran in to make the same report. 
 The first impression on my mind was that these 
 people had come with the view of calling off my 
 attention from Ld. Edward, and thus of affording 
 an opportunity for some Persons on the Watch to 
 communicate with him. But the horror I have of 
 being Witness to an Execution would alone have 
 defeated such a design. I continued to arrange 
 matters in my room. One of the windows of it 
 looked into the Porch leading from the outer to the 
 inner gate of the Prison. By looking obliquely 
 through this window the space in the front of the 
 
 293 
 
294 LOED EDWAED 
 
 Prison could be seen through the Barrs of the front 
 gate ; when these reports were made to me I lookt 
 out, and seeing nothing Uke the crowds that attend 
 executions I was the more strongly confirmed in 
 my Suspicions. It was now nearly 5 o'Clock. 
 I ordered some Dinner, and went into Lord 
 Edward's room. I asked him how he was : he 
 said pretty well. I asked him if his wounds were 
 painfull. He said, no, that he was easy. He 
 asked, ' Is not your name Garnett, Sir ? "* I 
 answered that it was. He said ' I hope I do not 
 take you from more important occupations." I 
 answered that my most important occupation was 
 the attendance on the sick, and I trusted his Lord- 
 ship would have no reason to complain of any want 
 of care or vigilance. I mentioned that I had 
 brought some books with me, and that I was 
 ready to read to him whenever he should be dis- 
 posed to be amused in that way : he thanked me 
 and said he would trouble me sometimes when I 
 thought it would not be hurtfuU to him. While 
 this conversation was passing I heard the trampling 
 of horses and a confused noise at the front of the 
 Prison. On looking out at one of the windows of 
 Lord Edward's room I saw parties of several of the 
 Corps of Yeomanry drawing up at the front of the 
 Prison : that at once removed the suspicions I 
 had entertained and I was satisfied that an Execu- 
 tion was about to take place. 
 
 ' The noise and the words of those without, 
 
THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 295 
 
 which were heard distinctly enough to' give an 
 Idea of what was going forward, evidently agitated 
 Lord E. The word Croppy was frequently repeated, 
 and damn all the Croppies y and / tvish all the Croppies 
 were hanged^ and exclamations to that effect were 
 uttered. I drew up the windows to exclude the 
 noise as much as possible and I retired to my own 
 room lest he should enquire what the tumult 
 proceeded from. On looking out at the window 
 I saw that expression on the faces of the Yeomen 
 that were attending that showed they were listen- 
 ing to an address from the Criminal, and I could 
 see a Sergeant leaning on his Halbert repeat after 
 him that he died a bad soldier : almost immediately 
 a sudden Crash, made by the falling of the Machine 
 on which the Criminal stood. And the expression 
 of countenance of those who attended convinced 
 me that he had been launched into Eternity. . . . 
 * I was called by the man in attendance on 
 Lord Edward with great hurry and eagerness. 
 I found him in a state of excessive agitation, his 
 tongue was thrust forward between his teeth and 
 his jaws were closed by the most rigid spasm. I 
 forced the jaws assunder with some difficulty by 
 means of a spatula covered with linen, and thus 
 defended his tongue from any further wound 
 than it had already suffered. After about half 
 an hour's attendance the spasm subsided and he 
 spoke. He complained of the Involuntary Protru- 
 sion of his tongue and of a troublesome catching 
 
296 LORD EDWARD 
 
 about his Jaws ; his Wounds also, he said, were 
 painfull. By degrees these symptoms subsided. 
 The noise at the front of the Prison now increased, 
 and the words, '' Cut him down ! '" were distinctly 
 heard. Soon after I heard the words '' Don't 
 touch him. Damn you, don't touch him.'' And 
 a shot was fired. All this evidently agitated Lord 
 Edward, and he cried out '' God look down on those 
 who suffer ! God f reserve me and have mercy on me 
 and those who act with me! '' 
 
 II 
 
 That was on the evening of June 2nd. About 
 7 o'clock delirium began. A blameless delirium. 
 He raved. ' He was happy in the persuasion that 
 he was dying for his country.' When the doctor 
 tried to quiet him he answered that it was cruel 
 to resist his dying when he chose to die. That 
 he was going to Heaven ; ' that God would receive 
 him for having contributed to the Freedom of his 
 Country. That he gloried in dying for his Country. 
 That he had nothing to lament but his wife and 
 children, but that his Country would take care 
 of them. He knew he would not live to be a 
 Witness of the Freedom he had contributed to, 
 but that he died happy in the Cause of his Country. 
 He felt the most firm Persuasion of Eternal Salva- 
 tion thro' the Merits of Our Saviour ; he was 
 Convinced of the Truth of the Christian Religion : 
 
THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 297 
 
 he believed all and would believe more if it were 
 necessary.' 
 
 During the night the delirium became more 
 violent. ' He cried out '' Dear Ireland, I die for 
 you/' and then '' Damn you, why don't you let 
 me die ? I want to die. You are a Tyrant. If 
 I had a knife I would kill myself." Dr. Garnett 
 said, '' My Lord, that would be a violation of the 
 Religion of which you profess yourself a Believer.'' 
 He answered by saying, '' But I want to die. I 
 want to go to the Bosom of my Saviour." ' 
 
 III 
 
 In the night they brought a keeper from a 
 madhouse with straps to tie him down, but 
 Dr. Garnett said these were not used. Towards 
 morning the delirium subsided, though he could 
 not sleep. At half- past six he said, ' I wish I 
 had thirty thousand guineas this morning. They 
 would make thirty thousand happy men.' The 
 doctor observed, ' Your Lordship would distribute 
 them generously ? ' He said, ' A guinea would 
 do a great deal with a poor man.' And with a 
 momentary depression of countenance he added, 
 ' Nothing can be done without money. ' 
 
 Later on in the day he said to the doctor, ' I 
 have a Brother Henry that I doat on. I wish 
 greatly to see him, but that, I suppose, cannot 
 be allowed. ' After a short pause he said, ' I 
 
298 LORD EDWARD 
 
 have a Brother Leinster for whom I have a high 
 respect/ . . . 
 
 ' He requested that I would read a portion of 
 the Bible to him. I asked what Part he chose. 
 
 4 
 
 He said '' The account of Our Savioiir's Death.'' 
 I read to him from the Gospel of St. John, and he 
 listened with the utmost attention. When I had 
 finished reading I took his hand to feel his Pulse, 
 he asked me, '' How long I thought it would last.'* 
 I answered that he was very ill. He said that he 
 was prepared for Death, if the translation to a 
 state of Eternal Happiness could be called Death. 
 That he confided in the Mercy of God and the 
 purity of his own Intentions. 
 
 * He ate a few Cherries and some strawberries, 
 remarking that they came from dear Carton and 
 he ate them with a good appetite. 
 
 * A volume of Shakespeare lay in the room. 
 I asked him if he admired his Plays. He answered 
 with vivacity that he did, greatly : and he asked 
 me to read the Speech on the Immortality of the 
 Soul, but I believe he had then in his view the 
 speech in *' Cato '' — ''It must be so, Plato, thou 
 reasonest well '' — for he immediately asked me if I 
 thought he could get Addison's Cato. The volume 
 of Shakespeare contained some of the Comedies. I 
 asked if he had any desire to have any of them 
 read to him. He said that he could not now 
 enter into them/ 
 
THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 299 
 
 IV 
 
 The doctor's account of those last hours goes 
 on painstakingly. He seems to have been a good, 
 conscientious, kindly man. The medical details 
 are interspersed with the sick man's conversation, 
 sometimes with his ravings. There were people 
 he wished to see — someone whose name is dis- 
 creetly suppressed, who was ' the first United Man 
 in the County.' He talked with enthusiasm of 
 the Presbyterian meeting-houses being alternately 
 used for their own and the Catholic congregations. 
 It was a glorious sight. 
 
 * In the course of my sitting by him, I asked 
 what regiments his Lordship had been in. He 
 answered, ''In the 54th and 19th." He had 
 served in the American War and hoped that God 
 would forgive him.' 
 
 Later on he was addressing the People, who he 
 thought were ' uf, ' He was singularly gentle and 
 considerate to his doctor when the violence of de- 
 lirium was not upon him. '"1 give you a great deal 
 of trouble," he said, stretching out his hand to me.' 
 
 V 
 
 The time had now arrived when, in Lord Clare's 
 judgment. Lord Edward was in such a state that 
 his brother's desire to see him might be gratified. 
 From the point of view of any comfort or help it 
 
300 LOED EDWARD 
 
 might afford the sick man, the concession was by 
 a long time too late. I leave it to Lady Louisa to 
 tell the story : 
 
 * Dublin, June Uh, 1798. 
 
 * My dear Mr. Ogilvie, — At two o'clock this 
 morning our beloved Edward was at peace. . . . 
 On Friday night a very great lowness came on that 
 made those about him consider him much in danger. 
 On Saturday he seem'd to have recover'd the 
 attack, but on that night was again attackt with 
 spasms that subsided again yesterday morning. 
 But in the course of that day Mrs. Pakenham 
 thought it best to send an express for me. I came 
 to town and got leave to go, with my poor dear 
 Henry, to see him.' 
 
 The Chancellor, Lord Clare, accompanied them 
 to the prison, and was so overwhelmed at the sight 
 of that dying bed that he stood by the wall weeping, 
 and presently left the room as though his endurance 
 had come to an end. 
 
 * Thanks be to the great God, our visit was 
 tim'd to the moment the wretched situation 
 allow' d. His mind had been agitated for two 
 days, and the feeling was enough gone not to be 
 overcome by the sight of his brother and me. We 
 had the consolation of seeing and feeling that it was 
 a pleasure to him. I first approach' d his bed : 
 he lookt at me, knew me, kiss'd me, and said 
 (what mil never depart from my ears) " It is Heaven 
 to see you,'' and shortly after, turning to the other 
 
THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 301 
 
 side of his bed, he said " I can't see you/' I went 
 round, and he soon after kiss'd my hand and smil'd 
 at me, which I shall never forget, though I saw 
 death in his dear face at the time. I then told 
 him that Henry was come. He said nothing that 
 mark'd surprise at his being in Ireland, but 
 exprest joy at hearing it, and said, '' Where is 
 he, dear fellow ? '' 
 
 ' Henry then took my place, and the two dear 
 brothers frequently embract each other to the 
 melting of a heart of stone : and yet God enabled 
 both Henry and myself to remain quite compos' d. 
 As everyone left the room, we told him we only were 
 with him. He said '' That is very pleasant.'' 
 However, he remain' d silent, and then I brought 
 in the subject of Lady Edward, and told him that 
 I had not left her until I saw her on board. And 
 Henry told him of his having met her on the road. 
 He said : " And the children too ? She is a charm- 
 ing woman," and then became silent again. That 
 expression about Lady Edward prov'd to me that 
 his senses were well lull'd, and that he did not 
 feel his situation to be what it was. But, thank God, 
 they were enough alive to receive pleasure from 
 seeing Henry and me. Dear Henry in particular he 
 lookt at continually with an expression of pleasure. 
 
 * When we left him we told him that as he 
 appear' d inclin'd to sleep we would wish him a 
 good night and return in the morning. He said 
 *' Do, do," but did not express any uneasiness at 
 
302 LORD EDWARD 
 
 our leaving him. We accordingly tore Ourselves 
 away . . . within two and a half hours before the 
 sad close of a life we prized so dearly. ' 
 
 VI 
 
 So died the Beloved, alone and in prison, he for 
 whom the Fates and the auguries, one would have 
 said, had decreed a life of the most unclouded 
 bKss. Young, beautiful, kind, noble, highly-born, 
 the friend of princes, the most adored of human 
 creatures, he died in as great a loneliness as any soul 
 ever passed to its Creator : all the love of his world 
 could not save him. Yet death came as a friend. 
 None would have wished him to live to the know- 
 ledge of the terrible things that followed. 
 
 Lord Henry, in the anguish of the moment, 
 wrote to Lord Camden, the Viceroy, a letter of 
 such anguish that it yet bleeds. Immortal sufiering 
 in a letter which Moore cut and eliminated, 
 with better reason than he cut and eliminated 
 other things, because he believed that not Lord 
 Camden personally, but the Administration, was 
 responsible for the cruel events of Lord Edward's 
 last days. He cites as a witness that great and 
 good General, Sir Ralph Abercrombie, whose 
 name is always held in honour and aSection in 
 Ireland, because he was just to the people in 
 those dreadful days and saved them where he 
 might. 
 
THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 303 
 
 From Lord Henry Fitzgerald to the Earl of 
 
 Camden 
 
 ' My Lord — A little removed from scenes 
 of misery and wretchedness scarcely to be equalled, 
 I feel myself, thank God, sufficiently composed 
 to write you this letter. I owe it to the memory of 
 a beloved, an adored brother. An uncommon 
 affection from our childhood subsisted between 
 us. . . . The purport of this, however, is not to 
 give a loose to reproaches, but to state to you and 
 to the world . . . supported by facts. A full 
 catalogue of them would take up many pages. 
 Mine is very short. Many indignities offered to 
 him I shall for the present pass over in silence 
 and begin from the time of my arrival in Ireland, 
 which was last Thursday. 
 
 ' Surgeon Lindsay, who attended my brother 
 with Surgeon Stewart, .told me when I had really 
 imagined my brother to be in a recovering state, 
 that a few days before he had been dangerously ill — 
 *' apprehensive of a lock jaw,'' was his expression : 
 and that he had been consulted about the breast. 
 I also learned that he had made his will, etc. Mr. 
 Lindsay added, '' But, however, he is now much 
 better; " and told me also that the wounds were 
 going on well, and that he did not apprehend any 
 danger from them. When I came to enquire 
 into the circumstances relating to the signing of 
 the will from others, I find this suffering dying 
 
304 LOED EDWAED 
 
 « 
 
 man was not even allowed to see his lawyer, a 
 young man he put confidence in, but his papers 
 were handed first in and then out of the prison 
 through the hands of the surgeons. Possibly he 
 might have had little or nothing to say to his 
 lawyer, but a decent consideration of his situation 
 ought to have left him a choice of seeing him or not. 
 
 * Thus, situated as he was, who would have 
 thought, my lord, but that upon my arrival you 
 would yourself have urged my seeing him ? . . . After 
 this came my audience of your Excellency. . . . 
 I implored, I intreated of you to let me see him. 
 I never begged hard before. All, all in vain. You 
 talked of lawyers* opinions — of what had been 
 refused to others and could not be granted for me 
 in the same situation. His was not a common 
 case ; he was not in the same situation : he was 
 wounded and in a manner dying, and his bitterest 
 enemy could not have murmured had your heart 
 been softened or had you swerved a little from duty 
 (if it can be called one) in the cause of humanity. 
 
 ' On Friday the surgeon told me still that the 
 wounds were going on well ; but that he perceived 
 as the pain subsided that his mind was more than 
 usually engaged. He felt ill-treatment . . . but 
 he communed with his God, and his God did not 
 forsake him. But oh, my lord, what a day Satur- 
 day was for him. ... On Saturday my poor 
 forsaken brother, who had but that night and 
 the next day to live, was disturbed. He heard the 
 
^ THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 305 
 
 noise of the execution of Clinch at the prison door. 
 He asked eagerly " What noise is that ? '' and 
 certainly in some manner or other he knew it, 
 for, — oh God, what am I to write ? — from that time 
 he lost his senses, most part of the night he was 
 raving mad ; a keeper from a mad-house was 
 necessary. Thanks to the Almighty God, he got 
 more composed towards morning. 
 
 ' Now, my lord, shall I scruple to declare to 
 the world — I wish I could to the four quarters of 
 it — that amongst you, your ill-treatment has 
 murdered my brother as much as if you had put a 
 pistol to his head. In this situation no charitable 
 message arrives to his relatives, no offer to allow 
 attached servants to attend upon him who could 
 have been depended upon in keeping dreadful news 
 of all kinds from him. No, no ; to his grave, 
 in madness, you would pursue him — to his grave 
 you persecuted him. 
 
 ' One would think I could add no more — ^but 
 I have not yet done. At this very time a Mr. 
 Stone, an officer, that was in the room with him, 
 whom they tell me he grew fond of, was removed 
 and a total stranger was put about him. Are 
 you aware, my lord, of the comfort, the happiness, 
 of seeing well-known faces round the bed of sick- 
 ness and the cruelty of the reverse ? Or have you 
 hitherto been so much a stranger to the infirmities 
 of this mortal life as never to have known what 
 it was to feel joy in pain or cheerfulness in sorrow 
 
306 LORD EDWARD 
 
 from the pressure of a friend's hand or the kind 
 looks of relations. Yet he, my lord, possessed 
 as he was of the tenderness of a woman to all 
 whom he loved, was abandoned, most barbarously 
 neglected. 
 
 * These were his friends, these his attendants, 
 on his deathbed in Newgate. Sunday I urged the 
 Chancellor once more, and stung him so home with 
 regard to the unheard-of cruelty of hanging CHnch 
 close to my brother in his weak state that he did 
 seem sorry and to relent. He said it was very 
 wrong indeed, that he was sorry for it, that it 
 should not happen again, but that they did not 
 know it, was his expression. Oh my lord ! what 
 does not this expression involve ! What volumes 
 might be WTitten on these last words ! At last 
 the Chancellor, in a sort of way, gave me hopes 
 of seeing my poor brother, talked even of the 
 secrecy with which the visit must be conducted. 
 The joy of a reprieved wretch could not exceed 
 mine ; it was of short duration. The prospect 
 that gladdened me with the hopes that in the 
 interval when he was quiet, I might be a comfort, 
 be of use to him — vanished. A note from the 
 Chancellor came saying that my request could not 
 be granted. What severity could surpass this ? 
 
 *In the evening of the same day the surgeons 
 told me that the symptoms of death were such as 
 made them think he would not last out the night. 
 
THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 307 
 
 Then I believe the Almighty smote yowa consciences. 
 Lady Louisa and myself indeed saw him — ^three 
 hours before he breathed his last in the grated 
 room of Newgate. God help you ! That was the 
 extent of your charity. This was your justice 
 and mercy — but I will not embitter the sweet 
 remembrance of that scene, which I hope will go 
 with me through life, by mistimed asperity nor 
 
 will I dare to talk of it. 
 
 • • • . . • 
 
 ' My grief has plunged me deeper into corre- 
 spondence with you than I at first wished ; but to 
 recount a brother's sufferings, a brother's wrongs, 
 and above all his patience, is and will be my duty 
 to the end of my life. I will complain for him 
 though his heart never uttered a complaint for 
 himself, from the day of his confinement. My 
 lord, you did not know him, and happy it is for 
 you. He was no common being. I have now 
 eased my mind of a part of the load that oppressed 
 it, and shall now conclude returning thanks to that 
 kind Providence that directed my steps to Ireland 
 just in time to discover and to be the recorder 
 of these deeds." 
 
 Is not this letter, written more than a hundred 
 years ago, living to-day, seared and bhstered as it is 
 with the burning tears of an agonised indignation, 
 the scBva indignatio of Swift ? 
 
308 LOED EDWARD 
 
 Lady Lucy Fitzgerald to the Irish 
 Nation 
 
 Irishmen, Countrymen, it is Edward Fitzgerald's 
 sister who addresses you. It is a woman, but that 
 woman is his sister : she would therefore die for 
 you as he did. I don't mean to remind you of 
 what he did for you. 'Twas no more than his 
 duty. Without ambition he resigned every blessing 
 the world could afford to be of use to you, to his 
 countrymen whom he loved better than himself, 
 but in this he did not more than his duty : he was a 
 Paddy and no more : he desired no other title than 
 this. He never deserted you — will you desert 
 yourselves ? Will you forfeit this title which it is 
 still in your power to ennoble ? Will you disgrace 
 it ? Will you make it the scoff of your triumphant 
 Enemies while 'tis in your power to raise it beyond 
 all other glory to immortahty ? Yes, this is the 
 moment, the precious moment, which must either 
 stamp with infamy the name of Irishman and 
 denote you for ever wretched, inslaved to the power 
 of England, or raise the Paddies to the conse- 
 quence they deserve and which England shall no 
 longer withhold, to happiness^ freedom, glory! 
 These are but names to you as yet, my Country- 
 men. As yet you are strangers to the reality vrith 
 the power in your hands to reaUse them. One 
 
THE LAST OF THE BELOVED 309 
 
 noble struggle and you will gain, you will enjoy 
 them for ever. 
 
 Your devoted Countrjrwoman, 
 
 Lucy Fitzgerald. 
 
 This address was found among the papers of 
 Lady Lucy Foley. There is no proof that it was 
 ever published. 
 
AUTHOR^S NOTE 
 
 In compiling this book I have drawn largely on 
 * Edward and Pamela Fitzgerald/ by Gerald 
 Campbell, to whom I desire to express my indebted- 
 ness ; I have used also the ' Life and Letters of 
 Lady Sarah Lennox/ by Lord Ilchester and the 
 Dowager Lady Ilchester, as well as Moore's ' Life of 
 Lord Edward Fitzgerald/ 
 
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