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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY 
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MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS, 
 
 OH 
 
 gap of J[0^*. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. GORE. 
 
 Ca.tP€rir>e Q-ra.ee Frp.."nee5. Ch©041«|) Q. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, 
 
 REVISED BY THE AUTHOR: 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 KNIGHT & SON, CLEEKENWELL CLOSE, 
 
 1859 . 
 
 [Right of Translation reserved?^ 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/memoirsofpeeressOOgore 
 
C^^^^^PREFACE. 
 
 The lapse of a quarter of a century since the first pub- 
 lication of the “ Memoirs of a Peeress, or the Days of 
 Pox,” has converted much that was then tradition, into 
 sober and substantial history. At the period in question, 
 no authentic memoirs of Charles James Pox, — of the 
 House of E/Ussell, — of the Marquis of Pockingham, — of 
 Burke or Selwyn, — had seen the light ; and the greater 
 ^ portion of the Memoirs and Letters of Horace Walpole 
 was still unpublished. It was consequently far easier 
 
 then, than now, to enlist the interest of the public in 
 
 ^ pages purporting to pourtray, with some degree of accu- 
 ^ racy, the state of morals and manners in England at the 
 ^ close of the last century. 
 
 ^ At Paris, where I was residing, a similar attempt had 
 ^ been successfully made, by Monsieur de Courchamps, in 
 v-iis fictitious “ Memoires de la Marquise de Crequy 
 i and my “ Memoirs of a Peeress” were subsequently 
 ^ ratified by the approval of several of my friends who had 
 u been intimate with the great statesman. Among others, 
 the Dowager Lady Cork was greatly amused by the 
 ^ part she was made to play as the “ Mary Monckton” 
 ^ of my story. The late Lady Holland, though she dis- 
 liked the book, admitted its perfect accuracy. But 
 it was from my cousin, godfather, and preceptor. Sir 
 Charles Wentworth, who, as the inmate of Lord Pitz- 
 ^ william and his private secretary when in office, was 
 
 familiarly acquainted with the great Whig statesman, 
 ^at I imbibed my deep veneration for his memory. Por 
 Sir Charles was painted, by Pichter, immediately after the 
 decease of Mr. Pox, the allegorical portrait, supposed to 
 
IV 
 
 PEEPACE. 
 
 present the most striking likeness of him, now in the 
 possession of Lord ritzwilliam. 
 
 Experience has convinced me that the strictures of my 
 friends Lord and Lady Holland were just; and that 
 nothing can be more objectionable than the introduction 
 of real characters into a work of fiction ; — confusing the 
 mind of the young or careless reader, and creating a 
 semi-vitality, half flesh, half marble, like that of the 
 Prince in the Arabian Tale. 
 
 The “Memoirs of a Peeress” have been frequently 
 attributed, in library catalogues, to the pen of Lady 
 Charlotte Bury ; and a Prench translation has lately 
 appeared under the title of Memoir es d''une Fairesse, 
 par Lady BuryF This error is the consequence of her 
 Ladyship’s name having been placed by Mr. Colburn 
 on the title-page of the first edition, as “Editress an 
 arrangement made during my residence on the Continent, 
 to which I strongly objected. Lady Charlotte Bury, 
 however, was not permitted to see the MS., or make the 
 slightest alteration in its contents; adding only two 
 short notes, which I have removed from the present 
 edition. I have reason to believe that, like many other 
 readers, she was induced to believe the work the genuine 
 autobiography of a person deceased. 
 
 The copyright having fallen into fresh hands, I gladly 
 take the opportunity of a new edition to appropriate to 
 myself, during the lifetime of her Ladyship, the maternity 
 of a favourite literary offspring; as well as to remark 
 that at the time the book was written, (in the reign of 
 William TV.,) the title of Prince of Wales having become 
 temporarily extinct and fallen into desuetude, did not 
 seem to retain, what it has since regained, a claim to 
 public and personal deference. 
 
 C. E. G. 
 
 Linwood, 
 
 September, 1858 . 
 
MEMOmS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 CHAPTEE 1. 
 
 It is a melancholy fact, that people seldom set about 
 the task of recollecting till their memory begins to fail. 
 Autobiographies are usually an act of dotage, attempted 
 when the evening of life renders us dull and drowsy; 
 and Death, in prognosticating to Mrs. Thrale’s Old 
 Dobson,’^ as warnings of his end, lameness, deafness, 
 and blindness, omitted the surest of all — prosiness, — the 
 moral origin of most self-edited memoirs. 
 
 The other day, accordingly, w^hen I detected my grand- 
 niece, Lady Susan, yawning at an anecdote which I fancied 
 I Avas relating with more than ordinary piquancy, I said 
 to myself, ‘T am growing tedious, — I am repeating myself. 
 jN'ow or never, I must write my memoirs. Before I 
 dwindle into imbecility, let me bequeath a word to the 
 v/ise of the coming generation ; lest they pique themselves 
 on too vast an improvement on the wisdom of their 
 ancestors.” 
 
 Truth,” say the philosophers, “ is not to be told at 
 all times.” But told it surely ought to be in times like 
 the present ; when the Avorld is learning to spell, in order 
 that it may teach to read. 
 
 I was born of what is called a good family, in one of 
 the midland counties of England. We were great people 
 in our own parish, — greater in our own estimation. I 
 Recollect believing my father to be one of the most 
 important personages in England. Yet he wrote himself 
 a simple Esquire, and his rent-roll scarcely exceeded 
 two thousand per annum. Eortunes have wonderfully 
 
 E 
 
2 
 
 I-IEMOmS OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 increased of late years. Great Britain, whicli, like some 
 grey-bearded Jew, buys and sells with the whole universe, 
 a gainer by every bargain, has incalculable hoards in her odd 
 holes and corners, — old stockings, and weasel-skin purses. 
 
 Seventy ^^ears ago, however, my father. Squire Mordaunt 
 of Spetchingiey, was the first man in his neighbourhood. 
 My birth, the date of which, thanks to the irregularities 
 of parish-registry in England, will never be exactly ascer- 
 tained, occurred about four years after that of his late 
 Majesty. One of my earliest impressions is that of royal 
 popularity — the God-save-great- George-our-Kingism,now 
 verging into oblivion. This proves that I must have 
 speedily followed the Prince of "Wales into the world ; 
 for, within a few years of their union, the young king 
 and queen, so warmly welcomed on their accession, were 
 ‘‘sailing in the IN’orth” of national favour. High as 
 pohtics have run in later days, never did the Hecate of 
 the civilised world weave her spells with blacker influence 
 than during my childhood. The country squirehood of 
 the times of Wilkes and Liberty perpetuated the youth 
 of their political squabbles by magic baths of fiery port ; 
 toasting, where now they argue. The “ True Briton” 
 was drunk (dead drunk) at my father’s table, till the 
 names of Whig or Tory seemed synonymous with sot. 
 
 At my father’s table, however, the port was claret, and 
 excess (at any other suggestion than that of politics) 
 studiously discouraged ; for the gentility of the Mordaunts 
 of Spetchingiey had been exalted by aristocratic alliance. 
 My mother. Lady Betty Mordaunt, was a daughter of 
 the Earl of Eawborne, who, with half a dozen others to 
 dispose of, was forced to mark his moderate estimation of 
 the gift, by bestowing her hand on a Leicestershire 
 squire. My mother readily forgave the injury ; for she 
 was a thoroughly good soul, who lived only for the 
 benefit of her house and home, her husband and children. 
 Her education had been of the limited nature usually 
 bestowed in those days on the superabounding daughters 
 of a needy Scottish earl. She knew only that which she 
 had heard or seen. Even “ a little learning” was a peril 
 she had never encountered. 
 
 I had two sisters and a brother younger than myself— 
 
MEMOIES OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 3 
 
 two brothers, older. We were a happy Oar child- 
 
 hood, with the exception of the spring-physic suggested 
 by Lansberg’s Almanack to nurse and groom, was rarely 
 visited by a dose ; and our school-room was untormented 
 with backboards. My father provided us with ponies to 
 scamper over the park ; my mother, with a governess not 
 likely to put her own ignorance to shame. The squire 
 called us “ the girls,” Lady Betty “ the young ladies 
 and so we grew up in peace and simplicity, till, in my 
 sixteenth year, I was fated to weep over the death-bed 
 of my excellent mother. 
 
 This affliction made a woman of me at once. In her 
 dying moments, my mother, calling me to her side, bad 
 me watch over Jane and Helen, and be a comfort to my 
 father. And so I trust I was. Brom the week succeed- 
 ing his bereavement, his first care, when he entered the 
 hall on his return from hunting, was to call aloud for 
 “Lizzy.” I was never called “Betty” again at Spetch- 
 ingley after the death of my mother. Bor every one 
 loved her ; — husband, children, servants, poor. Brilliant 
 qualities or dazzling talents have far less hold on ths 
 affections of our fellow-creatures than kindliness and mercy. 
 
 Very soon after the decease of Lady Betty, however, 
 Squire Mordaunt became once more every inch a squire. 
 The claret was once more port, and every glass a bumper. 
 But for the conviviality, indeed, with which he rendered 
 Spetcliingley attractive to his neighbours, the dulness of 
 his life might have become insupportable ; for my brotliers 
 were away at college, and Jane and Helen still children. 
 At length, in the midst of politics and potations, some 
 officious brother-squire suggested that, Miss Elizabeth 
 being too young to assume the head of his house, he had 
 best pluck up his courage, take another wife, and be a 
 man again. 
 
 The advice came late. He had been already three 
 weeks married ; and the only courage he wanted was to 
 announce to his daughters that he had selected their 
 governess to be Mrs. Mordaunt of Spetchingley ! 
 
 When at last the secret was unfolded, I was too much 
 surprised to display much displeasure. But step-mothers 
 have a, prescriptive claim to detestation ; and I soon 
 
4 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 learned from the old nurse and housekeeper who had 
 looked forward to my lax rule over the establishment, 
 that mine was a monster. The usual consequences ensued. 
 I became rebellious, and incited others to rebellion. My 
 brothers wrote insulting letters, — my sisters and myself 
 exhibited a most unfilial disrespect towards the intruder ; 
 till we rendered my father miserable, and Mrs. Mordaunt 
 resentful. 
 
 She had prepared herself, I verily believe, for kindness 
 and moderation. Eut we would not hear of being well- 
 used. We insisted on having a tyrant, and a tyrant we 
 had. No more ponies, no more indulgence; but abund- 
 ance of grammar and history, to wreak the school-room 
 vengeance of the governess-squiress. 
 
 One day, some six months after the avowal of his clan- 
 destine marriage, my father called for me, according to 
 his old custom, on his return from hunting. Eut I was 
 sullen, and scorned to reply. I had taken refuge, as I 
 always did when oifended, in my mother’s dressing-room ; 
 in which, as it had remained untouched since the death 
 of Lady Eetty, my step-mother never presumed to make 
 her appearance. There was something in its cold, glazed, 
 unoccupied neatness painful to the eye, and in unhappy 
 accordance with my temper of mind when disposed to 
 resist the authority of my father’s wife. 
 
 On the present occasion, to my great surprise, my 
 father pursued me to my sacred retreat. Eut he was too 
 much excited by the object of his interview, to notice 
 my perversity. 
 
 “ Lizzy,” said he, “ I wish you joy. You have an 
 opportunity of making an excellent match. This morn- 
 ing, as I was riding to cover, Sir Eobert Warley made 
 proposals for your hand.” 
 
 “ Sir Eobert Warley ?” 
 
 “ Sir Eobert "Warley of Speen Park. His father kept 
 the famous Speenham hounds.” 
 
 Did I ever see him ?” 
 
 “ Did you ever ! — Why, he spent three days at Spetch- 
 ingley, last Christmas was a twelvemonth ; and you sat 
 betwixt him and Dick Mordaunt at dinner the day the 
 Winningtons dined here.” 
 
ME]\IOirvS OF A PEEFESS. 
 
 
 “ Yes, I remember him now.” 
 
 Sis thousand a-year good, and heir to Sir Bichard 
 'Wilmington. — He will ride over to breakfast to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Better spare him the trouble,” said I, coldly. 
 
 ‘‘ The trouble 
 
 “ By writing him word, sir, that it is out of my power 
 to accept his offer.” 
 
 “ The deuce it is ! — And why, pray ?” 
 
 “ Because I consider him ill-mannered, ill-tempered, 
 and ill-looking.” 
 
 My father, who had drawn me to the window-seat to 
 make his communication, jumped up when I delivered 
 this decided verdict; and having clapped his hat on his 
 head and uttered some unintelligible words — of which I 
 could only distinguish — “ Sophy always said she was a 
 queer one; I must go and consult Mrs. Mordaunt,” — 
 quitted the room. 
 
 When we met again at dinner I had added two inches 
 to my stature ; not by the refusal of the baronet, but by 
 the opportunity of proving to my ex-governess that I 
 had a will of my own. There was, however, a personage 
 at Spetchingley more disagreeable to me, if possible, than 
 Mrs. Mordaunt ; a poor relation and hanger-on of my 
 father, who like him rode hard and drank hard, when he 
 could ride and drink at the expense of other people. 
 Dick Mordaunt, who had been called in his youth a 
 “ deuced good fellow,” was now in his middle age called 
 a “ deuced knowing one ;” and this knowingness was in 
 my eyes an inexpiable offence. The creature affected a 
 significant saucy laugh whenever women were spoken of, 
 for which I could have killed him ; and, on the day of 
 my accession of dignity, having caught his eye as I sat 
 bridling with importance, he burst into a fit of laughter 
 which provoked me into a fit of tears. Dick Mordaunt and 
 my step-mother, united, were certainly enough to drive a 
 less positive damsel into the arms of a Sir Bobert Warley. 
 
 Apparently, they were not very ardently extended to 
 receive me ; for after one more appeal to my better judg- 
 ment in favour of Speen Park, my father signified my 
 negative ; and, some months afterwards, the daughter of 
 a neighbouring squire was elevated to the dignity of 
 
MEMOmS OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 Lady "Warley.” Meanwhile, the mere ofier had excited 
 a thousand vagaries in my mind. Since I had made so 
 important a conquest, I began to fancy I must be a pretty 
 girl, and to fear that, with a father immersed in country- 
 squirehood, and a step-mother suffering under the scorn 
 and exclusion of the high-mightinesses of the county, my 
 first adorer might prove my last. My seventeenth birth- 
 day found me in despair ; for not a word was heard in 
 the family of my “ coming out.” My brothers declined 
 passing their college vacations at Spetchingley, so that 
 I had no one to whom to confide my misgivings. Jane 
 and Helen were too young for confidantes ; and I almost 
 began to believe, what was plainly expressed in the 
 significant glances of Dick Mordaunt, — “Miss Lizzy, 
 you were a fool to refuse a good offer. The chances are 
 that you will never get another.” 
 
 But, in the midst of these evil auguries, my father 
 called for me, once more, with an open letter in his hand. 
 — Another proposal! — not from a rich young baronet 
 but from a poor old aunt. 
 
 CHAPTEE IT. 
 
 Spetchingley, I fancy, sang for joy when it became 
 known that my mother’s widowed sister. Lady Carleton, 
 Avas desirous that her eldest niece should become her 
 inmate ; my chittish airs having rendered me equally 
 obnoxious to my father’s second wife, and second cousin. 
 Dick Mordaunt laughed outright at the notion of my 
 consorting Avith the great, and becoming a London lady ; 
 Avhile the old servants made evident to the promoted 
 governess their delight at seeing Miss Mordaunt adopted 
 by the family of their late beloved lady, — “their lady 
 Avho was a lady-born.” 
 
 But, great as was the general satisfaction, mine Avas 
 still greater. A whole night after my father’s accept- 
 ance of Lady Carleton’s proposal did I lie awake, revolving 
 
MEM0IE3 OP A PEERESS. 
 
 7 
 
 in my mind visions of stars and garters, balls and masque- 
 rades. Though a simple country girl, an odd volume of 
 Sir Charles Grrandison, included among the literary trea- 
 sures of the housekeeper’s room, had roused those latent 
 instincts which long ago induced the poetical moralist to 
 declare that 
 
 Men, some to pleasure, some to business take. 
 
 While every woman is at heart a rake. 
 
 Since the courtship of Sir Eobert, I had considered 
 myself a Harriet Byron, and he, my Greville ; and I 
 doubted not that legions of Pollexfens and Grandisons 
 were waiting my arrival in town, to become the bane and 
 antidote of my matrimonial destinies. 
 
 Of Lady Carleton, my notions were vague and incon- 
 clusive. I remembered that divers of my mother’s family 
 had in my childhood visited Spetchingley ; in particular, 
 a certain aunt Clara, a tall meagre ungain creature, whose 
 usual costume "was a cravat and riding-habit. But, Lady 
 Carleton’s letter, of which my father had left me in pos- 
 session, was signed “ M. Carleton;” and, whatever else 
 she might be, it was clear that Lord Carleton’s widow 
 was no Clara. To me she was London. The association 
 between my aunt and the metropolis was at present too 
 close to be disunited. 
 
 Much, however, as for the last year I had detested 
 Spetchingley, I found it impossible to leave it without 
 regret. There were my two little sisters to be taken 
 leave of, whom a dying mother had committed to my 
 affection. There was my father ; there were the old 
 domestics, — the old walks, — the old avenues, — to all of 
 which, it was painful to say farewell. Even my step- 
 mother seemed to improve at the moment of separation. 
 
 May you enjoy health and happiness. Miss Mor- 
 daunt !” said she, taking my hand, when the chaise con- 
 taining the housekeeper who was to escort me to London 
 appeared at the door. ‘‘ Evil counsel has created estrange- 
 ment between us. But, should you ever need protection, 
 you will find a mother in your father’s wife.” 
 
 “ God bless you, Lizzy 1” added my father, folding me 
 tenderly in his arms. “ Be obedient to your aunt Carle- 
 ton ; and, if you can, as good a woman as your mother.” 
 
8 
 
 MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 Conscious that I scarcely merited so much forbearance, 
 I was many miles on the London road before my com- 
 punctious visitings were at rest. The first thing that 
 attracted my attention from recollections of home, was 
 the lodge-gate of Speen Park. I could not forbear a 
 smile as we passed. I was going where Sir Poberts 
 were as plenty as blackberries and blessed my stars 
 that the world was still before me where to choose. My 
 father had presented me with a purse containing a fifty 
 pound note, and five guineas in gold ; and a fine set of 
 pearls belonging to my mother. Ignorant of the value 
 of money, these treasures seemed inexhaustible ; and few 
 people have changed horses at Barnet on their first 
 entrance into London, with a more mistaken estimate of 
 their own importance. 
 
 I had concluded that Lady Carleton’s residence must 
 be handsome and well situated. But the widows of 
 Irish viscounts are often sadly “ small deer,” and I found 
 her living in a shabby house in Jermjm Street. It was 
 winter; and the smoky dingy atmosphere, and mean 
 aspect of my future abode, damped the excitement of 
 my spirits. My aunt, a tall hard-featured woman, curtsied 
 formally on my entrance ; and I discovered that I was to 
 find protection instead of kindness, and tea instead of 
 dinner. Lady Carleton’s means were evidently small, or 
 her economy great. Her establishment consisted of a 
 plain w^aiting-woman, named Phillis, a plainer cook, and 
 a footman in a showy livery. All this differed widely 
 from the old-English-gentleman style of living at Spetch- 
 ingley; and still more different was the shabby chilly 
 attic in which I was installed, from my airy chamber at 
 liome, with its blazing fire and ample accommodations. 
 I rejoiced that the proud old housekeeper had taken 
 leave, and departed on a visit to her relations, so as not 
 to witness the meagreness of Lady Carleton’s hospitality. 
 
 Still, it was London : — in Jenny n Street there was no 
 usurping step-mother, — no vulgar Dick Mordaunt. I 
 was coming out, — I w^as to be presented at court, — I w-as 
 independent. Next morning, I rose as soon as it was 
 daylight, — such daylight as it was ! Lady Carleton did 
 not breakfast till eleven • and the onlv boolc I could 
 
MEMOIPcS OF A FEEIIESS. 
 
 0 
 
 discover was an odd volume called the Court Calendar, 
 which at that period I held to be a barren catalogue of 
 names. Before my dilatory relation made her appear- 
 ance, I was quite sick of my studies, and of London. 
 
 “ What an object the child is !” was her first remark 
 to Phillis, upon whose arm she was leaning. “ Yet my 
 nephew Harry assured me she was a beauty!” 
 
 We must make allowances, my lady, for a countrified 
 miss,” replied Phillis, in a patronising tone. Let us 
 see what a new corset and Monsieur Pose can do for 
 her, before we decide.” 
 
 “We 1” — The waiting- woman then was to be admitted 
 into the conclave to whose decrees I was subjected : — I 
 — Miss Mordaunt of Spetchingley — the daughter of a 
 Lady Betty, — the niece of a Viscountess 1 
 
 “ Pray, child, what are your pursuits ?” inquired Lady 
 Carleton, startling me from my reverie, as she sipped her 
 tea. “ Are you musical ?” 
 
 “ I am fond of music, but I have never learnt.” 
 
 “ Do you draw ?” 
 
 “ No, madam.” 
 
 “You neither play nor draw? — At least you can dance ?” 
 
 “ I have never had a master ” 
 
 “ Totally uneducated, I protest 1” exclaimed my aunt, 
 turning to Phillis, who waited at breakfast. “ My poor 
 sister seems to have strangely neglected her family. I 
 am sure,” she continued, addressing the waiting- woman, 
 but glancing at me, “ I don’t know what is to be done 
 with her.” 
 
 Lady Carleton’s next inquiry regarded the state of 
 my finances. “ The fifty pounds, which was of course 
 intended for your personal expenses, you can give into 
 my charge. The five guineas you may keep for pocket- 
 money, but they must not be foolishly squandered,” 
 observed her ladyship in an authoritative tone ; and, 
 during the remainder of that first, dreary, dispiriting 
 day, I was exhibited to visitors and measured by trades- 
 men, all of whom agreed with my aunt that at present 
 I was not fit to be seen. 
 
 Such was the overthrow of the lofty structure my 
 vanity had created ! — My “ Thrasonical brag,” that I was 
 
10 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 to come, see, and conquer, was a delusion: — I was not 
 even considered presentable. But for the recollection of 
 Dick Mordaunt’s face, sneering over the park-palings as 
 I drove past, I would have asked leave to return to 
 Spetchingiey. 
 
 Another week in town, however, and my prospects 
 brightened. Ee-equipped, and embellished by the hand 
 of a fashionable coeffeur, even Mrs. Phillis admitted that 
 my brother Henry’s laudations -were not exaggerated; 
 and my aunt announced her intention of having me 
 presented at court. 
 
 It is now just fift}?- years since, at seventeen, I com- 
 menced my study of the world. I have associated in my 
 time with royal, gentle, simple, — the great, the little, and 
 the middling ; and have seen each successive epoch pro- 
 duce some temporary idolatry. At one time, saintship is in 
 fashion, — at another, scepticism; at one time, liberalism, — 
 at another, loyalty. At the period I arrived in London, 
 politics were in vogue, and political celebrities the rage. 
 The handsomest man of the day, the richest, the noblest, 
 the young Duke of Ancaster himself, would have been 
 eclipsed the moment either Fox, Burke, or Fitzpatrick 
 appeared in company. Hot that then, any more than 
 now, the high priestesses of fashion cared a rush for the 
 country, or its constitution. But the Prince had em- 
 barked in a political career. The Prince (the Prince !) 
 was known to assemble at Carleton House the leading 
 members of the Fox party ; and to be a countess, duchess, 
 princess, was nothing if unhonoured by the personal 
 friendship of some eminent party-man. 
 
 Lady Carleton was in herself too little distinguished 
 by beauty, wit, or fortune to aspire to this. But she 
 saw those who saw them ; and, at second-hand, we were 
 enabled to enjoy the hon-mots of Hare and Sheridan, or 
 the gruff truisms of Thurlow. I had not been a month 
 in town before her house acquired distinction in my eyes, 
 far beyond that of my commodious hospitable home. 
 
 I was becoming familiar, too, with the surviving mem- 
 bers of my mother’s family. There was her brother, the 
 old Earl of Eawborne, (a title enveloped in gout and 
 flannels, — who for any active duties he performed in the 
 
MEMOIRS OP A PEERESS. 
 
 11 
 
 world, miglit have been for the last ten years a tenant of 
 the family vault,) — a widower, with two sons. Lord 
 Medway and Algernon Eawborne. There was my eldest 
 aunt. Lady Lavinia Shanstone, like Lady Carleton, a 
 widow, but unlike Lady Carleton, a rich widow, and a 
 saint. Two other sisters of Lady Betty had died un- 
 married, and one was the wife of a clergyman in the 
 north of England ; but of the youngest, the wife of Lord 
 John De Vere, no mention ever escaped the lips of Lady 
 Carleton. 
 
 What has become of my aunt De Vere ?” I ventured 
 one day to inquire of my handsome and agreeable cousin, 
 Algernon Bawborne, who had called in Jermyn Street 
 during the absence of the Viscountess. I never see 
 or hear of her among you.” 
 
 You will never see or hear of her again,” he replied 
 gravely. 
 
 Indeed ?” 
 
 “ Lady John De Vere is no longer in existence.” 
 
 “Yeb I cannot remember having worn mourning for 
 her ?” 
 
 That is a duty still to be performed,” replied Algernon, 
 laughing. Lady John is metamorphosed, not into dust 
 and ashes, but into a personage no less imposing than 
 Duchess of Bochester. Her husband’s elder brother died 
 unmarried last year, within a few months of the death of 
 the duke his father; and the new duchess is still at 
 Paris, wearing off the freshness of her strawberry leaves. 
 We are expecting her every day.” 
 
 “ I rejoice to hear it. I have often v/ished to see her.” 
 
 “ You are presumptuous. The Duchess of Bochester 
 is a person not to be seen for wishing it.” 
 
 But in our own family ?” 
 
 “ There least of all, and here especially. She always 
 detested Lady Carleton, as clever spoiled children are 
 apt to detest cross elder sisters.” 
 
 In short, I am not likely to have a glimpse of her ?” 
 
 “ Certainly not. You will probably see nothing else ! — 
 At Court, — at Almack’s, — at the Opera, — wherever beauty 
 is worshipped, the Duchess shines a never-setting star.” 
 
 ‘‘You are not very reverent in your allusions.”. 
 
12 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 “ Who cares for the beauty of his aunt, particularly 
 with a cousin still more beautiful ? By the way, do you 
 know that you strikingly resemble Lady John? So 
 much the better! Qui se ressemhle, s' assemble — and 
 you would be far happier under her roof than in this 
 
 abominable old Ha! my dear Lady Carleton, how 
 
 do you do ? I did not hear you enter the room !” said 
 Algernon, discreetly interrupting himself. 
 
 “ I am quite well, I thank you,” she replied, eyeing us 
 with displeasure in her looks ; while Algernon adroitly 
 forestalled her purposed declaration of hostilities, by 
 engaging her to dine in St. James’s Square the following 
 day. Bor my poor uncle Bawborne, as I had already 
 discovered, loved to have himself and his flannels rolled 
 to the dinner table, and to fancy that himself and his 
 flannels were enjoying the society of his family ; and as, 
 during the hunting season, Lord Medway ceded the 
 control of the establishment in St. James’s Square wholly 
 to his brother, Algernon took care that my “ pocr dear 
 sister Carleton,” and my poor dear niece Betty Mor- 
 daunt,” should very frequently administer to the domestic 
 happiness of the Earl. 
 
 In spite of the vigilance of Lady Carleton, Algernon 
 contrived to visit Jermyn Street whenever there was a 
 chance of finding me alone; and a few days after the 
 family dinner party, we had another confidential inter- 
 view, which confirmed the deep regard I was beginning 
 to entertain for my cousin. 
 
 It appeared that a letter had been addressed to the 
 coronet in flannels by his godson, Alfred Mordaunt, my 
 youngest brother, entreating Lord Eawborne’s interest 
 with the Admiralty to procure him a commission ; having 
 got into some boyish scrape at Eton, which he did not 
 desire to make Imown at Spetchingley. 
 
 “ With an exclusive privilege of franking for my father,” 
 observed Algernon, “ I felt entitled to use his name in 
 addressing their lordships in behalf of his godson; and 
 here, my dear coz, is Alfred’s appointment to the Beso- 
 lute, a first-rate frigate, on the point of sailing for the 
 Mediterranean. I have already communicated on the 
 subject with Mr. Mordaunt, who, I trust, will raise no 
 
^klEMOIPvS OE A PEERESS 
 
 13 
 
 objections to my father’s proposal of having Alfred in 
 St. James’s Square, to be fitted out in a manner becoming 
 his godson.” 
 
 “ All this is the result of your own kind feelings, Mr. 
 Eawborne,” said I. “ How shall I thank you for my 
 brother ?” — 
 
 By calling me ‘ Algernon,’ as a cousin ought,” he 
 replied ; “ and treating me with a little less ceremony.” 
 
 Hor was this interposition in favour of my wild brother 
 a solitary instance of Algernon’s good-will towards us. 
 All he could do to enliven my monotonous mode of life, 
 was done without ostentation. — He procured for Lady 
 Carlqton boxes for the play, — the opera; and became 
 our escort whenever the conscientious discharge of his 
 duties in St. James’s Square admitted of his quitting his 
 father. But Lady Carleton, though willing to accept 
 dinners, breakfasts, suppers, and opera-boxes, grew uneasy 
 lest they should eventually excite in my bosom a tenderer 
 sentiment than gratitude towards the donor. 
 
 “ My nephew Algernon walked home with you, then ?” 
 she inquired of me, one Sunday morning, when herself 
 indisposed for church. That young man is here too 
 often. Have a care, child. Algernon Eawborne is no 
 match for you, nor you for 
 
 ISTor has he any inclination for me, madam, I assure 
 you, nor I for him.” 
 
 “ Psha ! what should a country miss of eighteen know 
 of the inclinations of a young man of wit and fashion 
 about town ?” 
 
 Is my cousin Algernon a man of wit and fashion ?” 
 said I in a scornful tone, piqued by Lady Carleton’s allu- 
 sion to my rusticity. 
 
 On such points. Miss Mordaunt, bow to the autho- 
 rity of those more experienced than yourself. Algernon 
 is a charming fellow, but he cannot afibrd to marry. My 
 brother, Eawborne, as you may have heard, Vv^as born 
 one of the poorest of his Order. On succeeding at fifty 
 years of age to his title, he was v>^eak in mind, ordinary 
 in person ; too limited in income to reside at his family 
 place, — too limited in abilities to augment it by profes- 
 sional or ofiicial distinctions. Under these difficulties. 
 
14 MEMOIES OF A PEEBESS. 
 
 foolish as he was supposed to be, Lord Eawborne found 
 wit enough for the wisest resolution in the world. By 
 marrying an heiress, he obtained the weight of his coronet 
 in Bank Stock. We, his sisters, were too discreet to 
 inquire whence she came. — Whither she went, was no 
 secret in the family. The countess scarcely survived 
 three years. After giving birth to two sons, she slept 
 with our forefathers; bequeathing to my brother the 
 hoardings of her own.’’ 
 
 By her death, then. Lord Eawborne became rich ?” 
 
 “Immensely! — So possessed, however, was his narrow 
 mind with an impression of the humiliations inseparable 
 from an impoverished peerage, that on his marriage with 
 Miss Moses — Joses — Samuel — Levi, — (I forget the 
 woman’s name 1) — he allowed her fortune to be entailed 
 with the title, without a shilling of provision for younger 
 children ; so that, had it not pleased Providence to remove 
 Lady Eawborne, we might have had another brood of 
 beggars, bearing the family name.” 
 
 “ But why, with Algernon’s abilities, does he not 
 embark in some professional career ?” 
 
 “ Lilce most clever people, the lad never had a grain of 
 common sense. My brother having married so late in 
 life, was superannuated when his boys came to need 
 control ; and the younger, a pauper-honourable, has been 
 brought up in the enjoyment of twenty thousand a-year, 
 with as comfortable a prospect of starvation as heart can 
 desire.” 
 
 “ He relies perhaps on the brotherly kindness of Lord 
 Medway ?” 
 
 ^ He leans, then, on a reed that will pierce him. — 
 Medway never wasted a thought on the interests of any 
 living creature. He is content to let Algernon live and 
 rule in St. James’s Square, that he may devote his own 
 time to sporting. But Algernon monopolises the noble 
 blood of the family, while Medway takes after his Israel- 
 itish ancestors in St. Mary Axe ; and he is as capable of 
 turning Algernon’s situation to account, as the brethren 
 of Joseph of selling him to slavery.” 
 
 “ Poor Algernon 1” 
 
 “ Pity him and welcome, — so there be no love in the 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 15 
 
 case. And having now fairly warned you, it win seriously 
 displease me, child, should I find you encouraging his 
 attentions.” 
 
 There was no need for alarm. My feelings were just 
 then otherwise occupied. My brother Alfred, the young 
 sailor, had arrived in town, full of life and spirits, and 
 that genero’us spirit of enterprise, which rendered him 
 from his birth an universal favourite ; and though it 
 grieved me to see him devote himself to a profession of 
 perils and privations, I was forced to admit that the boy 
 had chosen wisely, and that the subordination of the 
 navy was alone likely to subdue his wild recklessness. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the kindness with which he was 
 welcomed in St. James’s Square by his cousin Algernon. 
 Eut his ship was already under sailing orders ; and well 
 do I remember the reprimand I received from Lady 
 Carleton for the tears I shed on the day of his departure 
 for Portsmouth ; for, on the following morning, I was to 
 make my first appearance at Court, where red eyes afford 
 no letter of recommendation. 
 
 I was to be presented by Lady Harefield; a distant 
 relative, of the Pawborne family, and distinguished favour- 
 ite of the King and Queen. A course of lessons from the 
 celebrated Lepicque, (minueteer to the courts of Ver- 
 sailles, and St. James,) prepared me for the august cere- 
 monial; and, duly attired in presentation -white, and 
 adorned with the Spetchingley pearls, I raised my head 
 with swanlike dignity, prepared to produce a sensation. 
 
 But sensations are things of rare occurrence in actual 
 life. Whether singly or in a crowd, people are engrossed 
 by themselves and their belongings, and indifferent to 
 the triumphs of strangers ; more particularly at court, 
 where pride and egotism are sharpened by collision. A 
 few of those who happened to stand near me at St. 
 James’s thought me perhaps a fine-looking girl, but 
 unformed and awkward; while the rest passed me by 
 with a vacant stare, as part of the furniture of the place. 
 No vanquished Strephon followed me with inquiring eyes 
 to Lady Harefield’s carriage ; nor did it much disappoint 
 me to learn, the following day, that Boothby, or Hare, 
 or Jekyll, or some other wit, had amused the world of 
 
16 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 White’s at mj expense, by an odious remark about the 
 redundance of bone in the Leicestershire breed. — ]!^*[o 
 matter what, — the impertinence is not worth repeating. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 We dined the following day in St. James’s Square. Lord 
 Eawborne’s carriage, which was always sent for us, was 
 followed to the door by the stately equipage of Lady Lavinia 
 Shanstone; and as we w^atched her ascend the stairs, 
 escorted by her two tall daughters, Clara and Lavinia, 
 my aunt exclaimed in a peevish tone, This is the first 
 time my sister has found it convenient to dine here this 
 winter. — I lay my life that Medway has arrived.” 
 
 “ Is she so fond, then, of her nephew ?” 
 
 So fond, that she want-s to make him her son-in-law. 
 Those horrid girls have enormous fortunes ; and Lady 
 Lavinia is wild that they should form great matches.” 
 
 A saint, yet so ambitious ?” 
 
 A saint, because so ambitious. What but the desire 
 of distinction, in Paradise, is the origin of saintship ?” 
 
 “But fortune will scarcely tempt the rich Lord 
 Medway ?” 
 
 “ Jewish blood ! — It would never surprise me to see 
 him marry one of the Shanstones.” 
 
 My sanctimonious relatives added little to the con- 
 viviality of our family party. Lady Lavinia, a woman of 
 narrow understanding, was the widow of a man rewarded 
 by Grovernment with a baronetcy for the same line of con- 
 duct in the East, which afterwards brought Warren 
 Hastings into Westminster Hall. Sir Obadiah Shanstone, 
 on his return from Bengal, thought to gloze over, in the 
 eyes of man, the sin of his low extraction, by bribing into 
 wedlock the daughter of an earl ; and to gloze over in the 
 eye of Heaven the sin of his Oriental peculations, by try- 
 ing to make a conventicle of the House of Commons. 
 But Sir Obadiah was gone to his veri/ long account ; 
 
MEMOIKS or A PEERESS. 
 
 17 
 
 leaving to Lady Lavinia tlie disposal of his two tall 
 daughters, and half a million in Sicca rupees. The 
 girls were of an age to he presented in society ; hut, as 
 prayer-meetings and religious dissipation had not then 
 been introduced into fashionable life. Lady Lavinia was 
 perplexed in what way to reconcile her views for their 
 aggrandisement with the forms of sanctity forced by her 
 marriage on her adoption. Lavinia, the eldest, was a 
 puritan at heart. But I fancied I detected a gleam in 
 the dark eyes of my cousin Clara, indicative of a child of 
 perdition. In their mother’s presence, however, both 
 sisters maintained the rigid perpendicularity of the twin 
 towers of Westminster Abbey. 
 
 All this was dull enough ; and I was mortified by see- 
 ing Algernon reduced, for the first time, to the insignifi- 
 cance of a younger brother. Still more, when, in the 
 course of the evening, I discovered the altered state of 
 things established by Lord Medv/ay’s arrival. Algernon 
 scrupulously refrained from rendering his father’s dotage 
 a spectacle to any but the near relatives of the family ; 
 but his brother seemed to keep open house. One after 
 another, half-a-dozen young men, his favourite associates, 
 dropped in; — talking of Newmarket, — White’s, — Jockey- 
 club, — Green-room: — not to t^s indeed, but to him; and, 
 at length, carrying him off to some of these favoured 
 resorts. Lady Carleton looked indignant; and I ex- 
 pected every moment to hear Lady Lavinia explode. 
 But she turned a deaf ear to the conversation ; or rather 
 turned her conversation to a deaf ear, by drawing close to 
 the easy chair of the Earl, and directing a monologue to 
 the flannels. It was not her cue to be either shocked or 
 afironted by Lord Medway’s proceedings. 
 
 At breakfast, next morning, while munching her scanty 
 allotment of dry toast. Lady Carleton expressed her 
 resentment of the unobservant indifference with which 
 Lord Medway had received the presentation of his new 
 cousin. 
 
 ‘‘ His Lordship has my full forgiveness,” said I, calmly. 
 
 The offence, child, was to me. Medway should have 
 remembered that you were under ony protection. But it 
 is easy to trace the source of his contempt. He had 
 c 
 
18 
 
 ^MEMOIPvS or A PEERESS. 
 
 doubtless beard Bootliby’s Ion-mot about the Leicester- 
 shire breed.” 
 
 “My cousin Algernon informs me,” said I, “that 
 Boothby’s wit is regarded at the clubs as obsolete.” 
 
 “Your cousin Algernon!” interrupted my aunt in a 
 rage : “ a pretty authority, truly 1” 
 
 “ You told me the other day, madam, that Mr. Eaw- 
 borne was a man of wit and fashion about town.” 
 
 “I might have spared my pains. A girl is always 
 ready to attribute importance to the first silly boy who 
 calls her an angel.” 
 
 “ Had my cousin so wasted his flattery,” I rejoined, “ he 
 would not have been altogether the first. When Sir 
 Eobert Warley proposed for me to my father, I believe 
 he called me an arc/z angel.” 
 
 “ Sir Eobert Y/arley, of Speen Park ? And your 
 father allowed you to refuse such a match 1” 
 
 By degrees, the history in all its details was unfolded ; 
 and the discovery was advantageous to me. Por though 
 it decided Lady Carleton that I was a greater fool than 
 she had supposed me, it also tended to prove that I had 
 attractions which might still verify her projects for my 
 advancement. Even Phillis became more gracious after 
 learning from her lady that a rent-roll of six thousand 
 a-year had been at my disposal. 
 
 Her ladyship’s animadversions piqued me, however, 
 into bestowing upon Algernon twice as much encourage- 
 ment as my inclination suggested. Algernon was young, 
 handsome, sprightly, gallant, kind ; but his position rela- 
 tively to myself was such as, with a nature so proud 
 as mine, Avas decisive against falling in love. I stood 
 towards Lord Eawborne’s son in the light of a poor 
 relation. I, the daughter of Mordaunt of Spetchingley, 
 accustomed, by the local importance of the name, to 
 fancy myself a great lady ; Z, one of five younger children 
 inheriting my fifth of a settlement of £15,000 ; Z, as the 
 inmate on sufferance of a dowager-aunt, was reduced to 
 the degradation of receiving courtesies and obligations at 
 his hands ; and to cherish a tender passion for one to 
 whom I had been obliged to say “ thank you” for benefits 
 received, was not in my nature. 
 
MEMOIi:S or A PEEIIESG. 
 
 19 
 
 A day or two after my presentation, Lady Harefield, com- 
 passionating perhaps myj^a^ce, offered to chaperonme to one 
 of the weekly balls of the King Street club, batter known 
 under the name of the proprietor, Mr. Almack ; an ordeal 
 more vital to my fashionable fame, than even the burning 
 ploughshares of St. J ames’s. All eagerness to display my 
 Lepicque-perfected minuet, and a hoop just thirty-three 
 inches in diameter, I prepared my silver brocade, and 
 submitted my side curls to the poivder-puff ; while Lady 
 Carleton, whose dissipation was confined to drums and 
 card-parties, saw me depart with a smile which the name 
 of Sir Eobert Warley had called into her cheeks. 
 
 Lour o’clock by the chimes of St. J ames’s ere I returned 
 from the ball ; and Mrs. Phillis was at the pains of 
 rendering her discontent at sitting up so audible, that I 
 was summoned to the dowager’s bed-side for a repri- 
 mand. 
 
 “ AVhat an object the child is ! — Scarce a sliade of 
 powder left in her hair !” — she ejaculated. What is 
 the meaning, IMiss Mordaunt, of keeping reasonable 
 people out of their beds till this unreasonable hour ? 
 Lady Harefield never stays at a ball after tv/o o’clock.” 
 
 “ It was not Lady Harefield, madam, who brought mo 
 home. At two o’clock. Lady Harefield was preparing to 
 go away, just as I had engaged myself for a minuet.” 
 
 “To Mr. Algernon Eawborne, no doubt.” 
 
 “Ho, madam ; — to the Prince!” 
 
 “ Prince Stahremberg, pray, or Prince Casteicicala ?” 
 
 “Heither, madam ; the Prince of Wales.” 
 
 Lady Carleton was now wide awake ; and even Mrs. 
 Phillis suspended her grumbling. 
 
 “ You danced with his Eoyal Highness ?” — 
 
 “ I thought, madam, you would not be displeased at 
 my quitting Lady Harefield’s protection to fulfil such an 
 engagement, as the Duchess of Eochester undertook to 
 bring me home.” 
 
 “ The Duchess of Eochester 1” — reiterated my aunt, 
 rubbing her eyes, to ascertain whether she were awake. 
 
 “ I. ask your pardon for disturbing your rest,” said I, 
 preparing to retire. “We will talk over the ball at 
 breakfast.” 
 
20 
 
 MEMOIKS OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 •^N'o, my dear child, I insist on hearing all, this very 
 moment. In the first place, how did you like Almack’s 
 
 “ Better than anything I have seen in town.” 
 
 “ Was my nephew Medway there ?” 
 
 “ He was ; — and his brother also.” 
 
 “Never mind Algernon — I want to hear about the 
 Duchess.” 
 
 “We cannot reach her Grace without Algernon’s 
 assistance. I was moping disconsolately in the tea-room 
 with Lady Harefield, when my cousin approached, in 
 conversation with a lady who had already attracted my 
 attention as the handsomest woman at the ball, whom I 
 heard exclaim in reply to his observations — “ My sister 
 Betty’s girl ? — A daughter of poor dear Lady Betty 
 Mordaimt’s ?” — And, in a moment, my hands were clasped 
 in hers, while the tears started from her eyes. 
 
 “I ought to have discovered you at once,” said she, 
 “'by your likeness to a sister whom I dearly loved. You 
 are welcome to London ; where, by the way, I am just 
 now almost as much a stranger as yourself. What am I 
 to call you ? — ‘ Betty,’ I hope. — The old-fashioned name 
 will remind me of my play-days.” 
 
 “ I used to be called so. — But I became ^ Lizzy,’ after 
 my mother’s death.” 
 
 “Bight!” interrupted the Duchess ; “too much defer- 
 ence cannot be shown to the memory of a good mother. 
 But, my dear child, I am detaining you from the dance. 
 Have you a partner ?” 
 
 I was forced to reply by a mortifying negative ; and 
 the Duchess issued her commands to Algernon to lead 
 me out. 
 
 “ Go and do your best,” said she. “ I want to ascertain 
 all I have to be proud of in my niece.” 
 
 Engrossed by my desire to excel under the Duchess’s 
 scrutiny, I did not raise my eyes towards her during the 
 minuet ; and, on returning to her side at the close, w^as 
 wholly unprepared for the honour of a sudden presenta- 
 tion to the Prince of Wales, with whom she was in con- 
 versation. 
 
 “ Then I lay my life you were as awkw^ard as a milk- 
 maid!” cried Lady Carleton. 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 21 
 
 I tliink not, or his E-oyal Highness would scarcely 
 have condescended to ask my hand for the following 
 minuet.” 
 
 “ And after the minuet 
 
 After the minuet, a miracle ! — My cousin Medway 
 found me grown worthy of becoming his partner ; an 
 honour for which I thought it my duty to acknowledge 
 my obligation to the Duchess.” 
 
 “Vastly bad taste, child, for one of your years to 
 indulge in the flippancy of a joke with a person — ” 
 
 “ Do not say of hers, if you hope for pardon, my dear 
 aunt,” interrupted I. “ Besides, her G-race appears as 
 light-hearted as myself. I never saw so lively a person.” 
 
 “ The liveliness of a fine set of teeth. Smiles become 
 her.” 
 
 “In her, everything seems becoming. She embraced 
 me at parting, and expressed a hope (as I must be so 
 great an incumbrance to yourself) to have me a great 
 deal with her during my stay in town.” 
 
 “Well, well, — enough of her Grace’s plans and perfec- 
 tions for to-night,” said Lady Carleton, affecting a yawn. 
 “ Homely people, who not dance with Eoyal Highnesses, 
 are not so fond of having their night’s rest disturbed.” 
 
 I was forced to retire ; but not to sleep. If the nights 
 preceding my removal from Spetchingley to London had 
 been unquiet, what were the visions of glory which 
 now crowded on my aching sight! Hitherto, my sojourn 
 in the great Babylon had been a matter of disappointment. 
 Lady Carleton’s modes of life were wearisome ; her 
 society was composed of people, like herself, inclining to 
 threescore ; old bachelors and old maids, — widows and 
 widowers, — the ragged selvage of the aristocracy. To 
 enable me to taste even sparingly of the pleasures of 
 society, she was often forced to apply to chaperons who 
 thought her troublesome ; and I, so long accustomed to 
 courtesy as the daughter of the Mordauntsof Spetchingley, 
 found myself rejected by many, and importunate to all. 
 
 But now, this was to be reformed. The affectionate 
 notice of the Duchess of Eochester would assign me in 
 society a place more consonant with my pretensions. 
 Henceforward, London was to assume a new aspect. 
 
22 
 
 CIIAPTEE IV. 
 
 IlATiis'a entered thus minutely into my family affairs, it 
 is time my recollections should include that more exten- 
 sive framework of society which surrounded the trivial 
 group I have been describing. Yet though London was 
 then comparatively circumscribed, and the outworks of 
 the great w^orld were more strongly set up than now 
 against the encroachment of aspiring opulence, society 
 was less easy to collect into a focus. There existed, as 
 in Paris, distinct societies of the court and the town; 
 and Windsor Castle ate its roast mutton, while Carlton 
 House devilled its kidneys. Eeligion and politics, if less 
 potential, were more polemic. People did not slide from 
 a house where High church implied salvation, to one 
 where Low church was all iii all ; or glide from an 
 assembly given by a Whig premier, to a ball overruled by 
 the blessed hierarchy of the Tories. There were as many 
 divisions and subdivisions in society as there are canals in 
 the city of Ghent ; where a thousand bridges are indis- 
 pensable to enable neighbour A. to live on neighbourly 
 terms with neighbour B. 
 
 Under such disadvantages, a sketch of social life must 
 be less accurate than at the present time, when all is 
 imitation, — echo, — tautology ; — when “half the platform 
 just reflects the other,” and the aristocracy of rank stands 
 aloft on its pedestal, in order that its illegitimate brother, 
 the aristocracy of wv^alth, may prove affinity by aping 
 every grimace and exaggerating every gesture. 
 
 Nevertheless, some generalities existed that served to 
 impress the epoch on my memory. Much as has been 
 said of the demoralisation of the higher classes during the 
 decrepitude of George IV., the demoralisation prevalent 
 during his youth w^as far more remarkable. Paris, like a 
 repentant Magdalen, affected just then, on the death of 
 a vicious, and the ateession of a virtuous sovereign, the 
 most prudish propriety ; and, as Horace AValpole used to 
 
HEMOIES OP A PEEKESS. 
 
 23 
 
 say of Prance and England, that “like the sea and land, 
 one could not gain without the other being a loser,” the 
 vices put out of countenance by Louis XVI., took refuge 
 under the protection of the Prince of Vfales. Madame 
 du Barri retreated into the obscurity of her pavilion at 
 Luciennes ; but the chariot of a Perdita drove triumph- 
 antly through the parish of St. James. 
 
 Prom the days of Alcibiades, however, to those of 
 Brummel, fine gentlemen have existed, like excrescences 
 on the oak, the disease and not the product of the age. 
 It is rather from the women, the matrons of the times, I 
 would draw deductions of its morality ; and I own that, 
 in defiance of the example of a most domestic court, the 
 noble ladies my contemporaries would have little to learn 
 from the levities of their grand-daugWers. 
 
 Though less graced with superficial accomplishments 
 than the damsels of to-day, our reasoning faculties were at 
 that time better cultivated. AVe performed no miraculous 
 concertos, competed for no prizes at the Society of Arts ; 
 but we were the chosen associates of a Johnson, a Cowper, 
 a Burke. AVe listened more, — we chattered less. But 
 this intellectual cultivation added only a new page to the 
 annals of gallantry. It was only the conversion of Lai’s 
 into Aspasia, Prom Mrs. Bobinson to my lovely relative, 
 the danger was but magnified through the atmosphere of 
 refinement surrounding the meretricious charms of the 
 goddess of voluptuousness. 
 
 In its highest circle, London already emulated the 
 witty profligacy of Paris under the sceptre of Louis XV., 
 and the influence of a Boufilers and a Du Defiand. Of 
 these, more than enough has been consigned to us in the 
 memoirs of their day. But, saving in the archives of 
 Doctors’ Commons, nothing remains to perpetuate the 
 peccadilloes of our grandmothers ; for the Prudery of 
 England, like that of the Spartan virgins, heeds not that 
 her zone should be unbound, so it be done in darkness 
 and silence. 
 
 Septuagenarian as I am, however, I lift up my voice to 
 attest that the last age was a sinner in its generation ; 
 and uiimisled by maternal blindness or bitterness, have 
 no hesitation in tracing the efFeminacy and fatuity of 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 certain lords of tlie creation and the realm, of the present 
 day, to the bad habits of their progenitresses. When I 
 arrived in London, its ways were “pleasant hut wrong.’’ 
 It was something, at least, that they loere “ pleasant for 
 I have since found them not only “ wrong,” but mighty 
 disagreeable. 
 
 The morning after my unexpected introduction to my 
 Duchess aunt, I entered Lady Carleton’s breakfast-room 
 prepared for a storm ; for on the stairs I had encountered 
 Mistress Phillis, wearing her most smiling countenance, 
 as was invariably the case when she had been stirring up 
 the wrath of her lady. 
 
 “ Almost noon 1” she exclaimed, looking at her huge 
 enamelled Tompion, as I made my appearance. “ You 
 have been dreaming, I presume, of crowns and coronets.” 
 
 “ I am now fully awake to the attractions of tea and 
 toast,” I replied, taking my accustomed place, and trying 
 to look unconscious of her ill-humour. 
 
 “ I have been reflecting. Miss Mordaunt, on our con- 
 versation of last night,” said my aunt, coming at once to 
 the point, as she dashed, rather than dropped, the sugar 
 into my cup ; “ and as an inexperienced young woman, I 
 feel it my duty to decline giving you up to the care of the 
 Duchess of Rochester, without previously warning your 
 father.” 
 
 “ This is the first I have heard of such a scheme, 
 madam,” I replied. “ My aunt expressed herself anxious 
 to conduce to the amusement of my season in town. JN’ot 
 a word was said of taking me under her protection ; and 
 even had there been a thousand, you cannot suppose me 
 so ungrateful as already to forget your promptitude in 
 affording me a home, when my father’s roof became 
 distasteful.” 
 
 “ Well, well!” said the Viscountess, somewhat mollified. 
 “ I am glad to find, child, that you see things in a proper 
 light.” 
 
 “ I certainly, however, conceived, from the manner in 
 which I have heard your Ladyship, and still more fre- 
 quently Mrs. Phillis, enlarge on the trouble and expense 
 occasioned by my residence here, that you would not be 
 sorry to be relieved from my presence.” 
 
2^IEM0IRS OE A PEEHESS. 
 
 25 
 
 Certainly not,’’ answered Lady C , “ had I any- 
 
 thing at heart but your permanent advantage. But the 
 roof of the Duchess of Rochester is not one under which 
 a girl, — a mere child, — can wdth impunity become an 
 inmate. Rochester House is the head-quarters of the 
 witty and wicked of the metropolis. Her Grace is the 
 high priestess of the leaux esprits of the day. Strange as 
 it may seem, I have one sister a disciple of Whitfield, and 
 another of Voltaire ; — two silly women, neither better nor 
 worse, though more self-sufficient, than the rest of their 
 sex.” 
 
 ‘‘ The Duchess,” said I, more timidly, “ talked of visiting 
 you this morning. She has been but three days arrived 
 from Paris — ” 
 
 Bringing with her an importation of fashions and 
 follies, enough to poison the morals of the parish ! — Did 
 she say what would be worn in the way of hoods this 
 spring ?” 
 
 “ She did not attempt to poison one. Though beauti- 
 fully dressed, she seemed perfectly indifierent on such 
 subjects.” 
 
 At that moment, the Bochester vis-a-vis, with its 
 liveries of blue and silver, stopped at the door ; and, 
 preceded by a potent odour of Marecliale, and two yelping, 
 silken-haired lap-dogs, the lady we were so freely dis- 
 cussing glided into the room. 
 
 ‘‘ I have not a moment to stay. I am in the most 
 miserable hurry. — How do. Lady Carleton? You are 
 looking a world of wonders younger and better than when 
 I left England. I am come to borrow this child of you 
 You must lend her to me for Moses in the Bulrushes.” 
 
 I was all astonishment ; Lady Carleton equally be- 
 wildered. 
 
 “ Your Grace is, of course, welcome to Miss Mordaunt’s 
 society,” said she, stiffly. ‘‘ The purport of your request, 
 I suppose, I live too much out of the world to under- 
 stand.” 
 
 “I thought all London had heard of Sherwin’s Moses ?” 
 said the Duchess. 
 
 “ Neither of Sherwin nor his Moses. But no matter. 
 A Moses, patronised by the Duchess of Bochester, is, 
 
26 ME3I0I11S OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 doubtless, tlie fashion. Gro, child ; put on your liat and 
 cloak to accompany your aunt.” 
 
 Her aunt — oh, horror of horrors ! — G-o, little girl — 
 make haste ; and show too much tact to insult me with 
 such a title.” 
 
 I hastened to obey ; and, on my return, found that’ the 
 sisterly regard of the two ladies was scarcely sufficient to 
 restrain them within terms of courtesy. 
 
 I wish you joy,” cried the Duchess, as we entered her 
 carriage, and drove off at a tremendous pace. I was 
 happy to perceive in you, at first sight, my dear, a claim 
 to the clear complexion and lofty carriage of the Eaw- 
 bornes. On a second interview, I find you rise superior 
 to their virtues, since you can put up with that tiresome 
 old woman, which I positively can notP 
 
 Lady Carleton took compassion upon me, under the 
 disagreeable circumstances of my father’s second marriage.” 
 
 Don’t make me detest her more,” interrupted the 
 Duchess, “ by taking up her defence. You will put me 
 out of humour, which will put me out of countenance, 
 which will bring me to shame where I have promised 
 myself to be brought to honour. In a moment, we shall 
 be at Sherwin’s ; — Slier win lodges in St. James’s Street. 
 There ! — Look at the carriages waiting at his door. — I 
 knew I should be late !” — 
 
 I now recollected having heard tliis artist named by the 
 friends of Lord Medway, when relating the gossip of the 
 town in St. James’s Square, as young and self-educated, 
 sinking, or rather rising, under the weight of aristocratic 
 patronage. Three duchesses were in constant attendance 
 on his easel ! The elegance of his costume and style of 
 life spoke of the patron rather than the patronised ; and, 
 while the painter busied himself in transmitting to 
 posterity the smiles of the charmers around him, tlie 
 charmers around him busied themselves in lavishing upon 
 tlieir immortaliser the brightest of their smiles. 
 
 The picture alluded to by tlie Duchess of Eochester, 
 The Dinding of Moses,” occupied just then the exclusive 
 attention of Sherwin. An infant Hercules had dropped 
 from the skies, or the Foundling Hospital, to form the • 
 model for the babe ; and the Princess Eoyal was to stand 
 
MEMOIHS OE A PEEllESS. 
 
 for tlie Egyptian princess, snrronnded by all tliat was 
 fairest of the aristocracy as her attendant maidens. In 
 this attractive group, the Duchess of Rochester had been 
 solicited to take a place ; and it did not surprise me, 
 when we liurried into Sherwin’s painting-room where the 
 sitting was already begun, and the Duchesses of Devon- 
 shire and Rutland established in their parts, to observe 
 the vexation produced in more than one beauteous coun- 
 tenance, by the arrival of her Grace. 
 
 “ I am too late — you are admirably grouped — I shall 
 interrupt you !” said the Duchess, affecting to retreat. 
 But the artist, remembering the instructions he had 
 received from his royal patron, insisted on detaining her : 
 
 a new maid of honour could easily be added to the 
 household of ‘Pharaoh’s daughter.” Just, however, as 
 the Duchess was fixed in her post of honour, it seemed to 
 occur to Mr. Sherwin that two were more easily intro- 
 duced than one; and, addressing himself to my aunt, he 
 observed, pointing to myself, that ‘^if that young lady 
 would condescend to favour him, the adjustment of the 
 group would be more perfect.” 
 
 I was of course well pleased to attach myself to a 
 company so distinguished. That day was devoted to the 
 composition of the group. And what a fund of amuse- 
 ment for any rational being, to have entered the room 
 where stood, in hoops, and powdered o^j^oufs^ a dozen 
 of the finest ladies in the land, hating each other with 
 indescribable hatred, but looking delightfully with all their 
 might, for the benefit of the maccaroni-artist, arrayed, 
 as was the fashion of the day, in a scarlet coat, with 
 nankeen shorts, and top boots ! — Such were the prepara- 
 tory steps for “ The Einding of Moses in the Bulrushes.” 
 
 ‘‘All this has been very tiresome,” said the Duchess, 
 when we regained the carriage ; “ and if I am to read my 
 face refiected in your own, we neither of us look the 
 better for our attempts at beaut}^ Yfe have sadly lost 
 our time, too ; for we must hasten home to dine, or the 
 Duke will be late at the House, and you and I at the 
 Pantheon.” 
 
 “ I fear I must beg you to take me to Jermyn Street. 
 Hot having apprised Lady Carleton ” 
 
28 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 “ Apprised ? — Of what ? — My sister knows you are 
 under my domination. Eut if you are afraid of being 
 scolded black and blue, let us stop the carriage in Jermyn 
 Street. ‘ John — my compliments to Lady Carleton, and 
 Miss Mordaunt dines with me to-day. — I will send her 
 home at night.’ ” 
 
 I liked this peremptory mode of settling matters, as it 
 happened to settle them in the way that suited me. 
 “You need not ask for a change of dress,” added the 
 Duchess ; “ I dare say you have nothing belonging to 
 you that is not horrible ; and, as we are of a size, some 
 of my Paris finery will do better.” 
 
 The distance seemed considerable between Jermyn 
 Street and Eochester House. I was not aware that the 
 ancient mansion of the De Veres stood in so remote a 
 quarter as the neighbourhood of Montague House, now 
 known as the British Museum ; having been built “ in the 
 fieldes neare Pancrace,” when not a mansion intervened 
 between its spacious court and the Hampstead hills. 
 
 “I am trying to persuade the Duke,” said she, “to 
 exchange this antediluvian mansion for one in Spring 
 Gardens, adjoining the Mall. We have here a vast 
 garden, worth its weight — not in gold — but brick-earth, — 
 which would create half a parish on the spot. At 
 present, we have scarcely subsided into our new dignities 
 and possessions ; but John, who is fond of Erookes’s and 
 Carlton House, as I of Almack’s and the Opera, finds 
 himself sadly isolated here ; so that I have hope of 
 success.” 
 
 This was the first time I had heard mention of “ John.” 
 Prom the recency of his father’s death, and his accession 
 to the title, I vaguely concluded him to be a young man ; 
 and was greatly surprised, on my presentation to the 
 Duke of Eochester, to find him at least twenty years older 
 than his wife, — a man of grave and imposing presence. 
 
 “ Have we any one to dinner ?” inquired his Grace, 
 when w^e re-entered the drawing-room, attired with the 
 last finish of Parisian elegance. 
 
 “No one. I expect the boys in the evening, to escort 
 us to the Pantheon.” 
 
 I was puzzled. Could the Duchess, young as she 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 29 
 
 looked, liave sons old enough to accompany us to a place 
 of public resort F — I took an early opportunity of solving 
 my doubts. 
 
 “The boys, my sons ?^^ — said she, laughing heartily. 
 “ My dear child ! Where is your Debrett ? Before I 
 was your age, I could have dated every member of the 
 house of Eawborne to a year and a day, or rather to a day 
 and a year. Begin, I beseech, your studies to-morrow, 
 and you will find me Debretted at nine and twenty. Alas ! 
 that I should have to plead guilty to my thirtieth year !” 
 
 There certainly was no personal indication of the 
 necessity. The Duchess might have subtracted half a 
 dozen years, and none but a rival beauty have gainsayed 
 her. These “boys” of hers must be of tender years; — 
 and I now ventured to inquire their age. 
 
 “Still harping on my sons? — ISio! my dear Miss 
 Mordaunt,” said she, evidently in a tone of vexation, “ I 
 am not so fortunate as to be the mother of a son. I have 
 daughters, (more almost than I care to acknowledge,) 
 very much at your service, whenever you feel inclined to 
 drive down to a rambling, old-fashioned villa of ours at 
 Chelsea; where the five Lady De Yeres, and five acres 
 of fiower-beds, are growing and blowiug.” 
 
 “ You do not have them with you, then, in London?” 
 
 “ I did not have them with me even at Paris. Children, 
 like trees, do not bear transplanting till a certain age : 
 every removal disturbs their health and education. My 
 girls are destined to Beaufort Lodge for the next five 
 years, when Lady Helena will be old enough to be pre- 
 sented, and her mother old enough to be a grandmother.” 
 
 “ Your Grrace will perhaps take me, some day, to visit 
 my little cousins ?” 
 
 “ Some day, when my Grace is in the mood maternal. 
 I do not often go to Chelsea. My arrival throws 
 governesses, nurses, and children into confusion.” 
 
 All this displeased me. I began to feel the truth of 
 the Duchess’s tribute to the memory of my mother, — 
 “ We Eawbornes are a heartless set, — Betty was the 
 best of us !” — Por without regard to the discomfiture of 
 lessons or governess, I cannot remember the day of my 
 early life, when less than a third of the twenty-four 
 
30 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEvESS. 
 
 hours was spent in the presence of my mother. Lady 
 Betty Mordaunt would not have allowed a girl of us 
 to sleep from under her roof, to have endowed us with 
 the learning of Anne Dacier, or Lady Jane Grey. 
 
 The Duchess noticed my reverie. “At the risk of 
 repeating myself, — still harping on my sons!” she ex- 
 claimed. “ Know then that ‘ the boys’ are my nephews, — 
 Medway and Algernon; who, for ten years of their 
 life and mine, 'were as sons or brothers to me. Lord 
 Bawborne (as with all your family ignorance you may 
 happen to know) w^as the best-natured and poorest of 
 peers, when, on his accession to his title, he sold his 
 good-nature and poverty to a Jessica, riclier than all her 
 tribe; and found worthy use for his new fortunes by 
 taking under his roof the two orphan girls with which 
 his father’s second marriage had burtbened the family. 
 I and my sister Louisa (now wdfe to the Dean of Eipon) 
 resided with him in St. James’s Square from eight years 
 old till eighteen ; and, after the early death of their 
 mother, those boys became our own. Louisa doats on 
 Medway, I on Algernon ; but in truth I love them both, 
 and would fain repay them in affection the debt of 
 kindness I owe their father. Lord Bawborne is morally 
 dead, and unconscious of my good-will. The boys are 
 bright and flourishing.” 
 
 While she ran on in this way, the Duke ate his dinner 
 in silence. But it was plain he liked to hear, and even 
 see her talk. Strong affection and strong admiration Vv^ere 
 mingled in his looks. He was an indolent man. His 
 enjoyments were all passive ; and his wife supplied energy 
 and vivacity for both. 
 
 But for her gaiety, Bochester House would have been 
 as solemn as Westminster Abbey. The apartments were 
 grand and lofty, with painted ceilings, carved wainscots, 
 or hangings of gilt leather. Stately historical portraits 
 adorned the walls. A crowd of servants waited in stately 
 liveries. All remained as in the time of the late duke, — a 
 formal courtier of Frederick Prince of Wales. 
 
 While we were taking coffee, “the boys” made their 
 appearance ; singly, and wuth a mutual salutation of “How 
 are you, Medway?” — “Algernon, how are you?” — that 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 31 
 
 said little in favour of tlieir brotlierly intercourse. Soon 
 afterwards, and just as the Duke of Rochester’s carriage 
 had been announced, the doors were thrown open more 
 formally than for the nephews of her Grrace, and under 
 the name of “Mr. De Vere Eitzirnham,” a tall handsome 
 young man was ushered into the room. The Duchess 
 and my cousins looked surprised at the visit. But the 
 enigma was solved by the Duke of Rochester leading the 
 stranger to his wife, and presenting him as “ the son of 
 my late friend, Mr. Eitzirnham, whose acquaintance I 
 made yesterday at dinner at Jack Townshend’s. — The 
 last time we met,” added the Duke, pointedly, “ was at 
 his father’s place in Kent; when my knee Avas the 
 privileged post of my little godson.” 
 
 “ You have, I trust, engaged Mr. Eitzirnham to join 
 our party to the Pantheon, to-night?” said the Duchess, 
 with one of her most ingratiating smiles, addressing the 
 new comer, rather than the Duke. 
 
 “His Grace aaus too considerate, madam, to throAv 
 such a temptation in my way,” replied he, with an air of 
 ceremony. “I am here for the graver purpose of ac- 
 companying him to the House. This is the night of the 
 India Bill.’’ 
 
 “And I must already hasten you away,” added the 
 Duke, looking at his watch ; on Avhich, they took lea^^e 
 and departed. 
 
 “A fine young man,” said the Duchess, as the door 
 closed after the Duke and protege, 
 
 “ Prodigiously fine, though not in point of ruffles,” 
 said Lord Medway, with a sneer. 
 
 “ I have often met Eitzirnham at Brookes’s and 
 Becket’s,” observed my cousin Algernon. “He seems 
 popular. Erskine or Einch told me he Avas looking for 
 political preferment, and Avas considered a rising young 
 man.” 
 
 “ He belongs, then, to Brookes’s ?” — inquired Lord 
 Medwmy, in an altered tone. 
 
 “ He belongs to everything ; — a nepheAV, you know, of 
 the late Lord Halifax.” 
 
 A kinsmanship which seemed to establish the stranger, 
 at once, in the good opinion of my elder cousin. 
 
32 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 Ois" this, and many following occasions, Lady Carleton 
 was circumstantial in her inquiries as to all I had heard, 
 seen, or imagined at Eochester House. Little, however, 
 as I knew of the world, I felt it necessary to guard my 
 replies. I had “ passed a pleasant day, concluding with a 
 party to the Pantheon ; where we were escorted by my 
 two cousins, and joined by a Lord and Lady Pembury, 
 and Sir Claude Lovell. Mr. Eitzirnham,” I added, “ pre- 
 ferred attending a debate in the House of Lords.” 
 
 What Mr. Eitzirnham 
 
 “ A godson of the Duke, and son to one of his early • 
 friends.” 
 
 Aha !” cried Lady Carleton, with a significant smile ; 
 
 I always guessed as much ! — She was an exquisitely 
 beautiful woman.” 
 
 I was too discreet to inquire the meaning of these 
 allusions; particularly as she spoke of the Duchess in 
 terms equally mysterious ; and in course of time, as her 
 Grace’s kindness towards me increased. Lady Carleton’s 
 vindictive feelings became more and more apparent. 
 Whenever my duchess-aunt arranged some party to 
 Eanelagh, or the theatre, in which she wished me to be 
 included, my dowager-aunt Avas sure to project some 
 abominable tredrille, or tea-drinking, at home; and, to 
 prevent my accompanying the Duchess one night to 
 Almack’s, she tied up her head, on pretext of a toothache, 
 and compelled me to pass the evening in soothing it with 
 the polite literature of the Toavii and Country Maga- 
 zine,” and the gentle Elegies of Mr. Pratt. Even the 
 sittings at Sherwin’s soon failed as a pretext for enjoying 
 the society of the Duchess of Eochester. Long before 
 little Moses could be surrounded by his nymphs and 
 bulrushes, the Duchess of Eutland being compelled to 
 quit her post for that of the Viceroyalty of Ireland, the 
 picture was at a stand-still. 
 
MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 S3 
 
 Meantime, the letters I received from Spetchinglej 
 were far from satisfactory. I found from Jane and 
 Helen, who were permitted to correspond with me un- 
 restricted, that they experienced all possible kindness 
 and consideration from my step-mother ; but that every- 
 thing had grown duller since my departure ; that several 
 of the old servants had been dismissed, and very little 
 company visited at the house. The latter circumstance 
 wns easily accounted for, by the dissatisfaction of the 
 neighbouring families at the successor chosen by Mr. 
 Mordaunt to the loved and venerated Lady Betty. But 
 Jane imparted particulars calculated to excite my uneasi- 
 ness. My father, slie said, was miserably out of spirits, 
 and would pass hours and hours without speaking ; espe- 
 cially while his cousin Dick was away a week in town for 
 the arrangement of family business. 
 
 Dick Mordaunt in town ? — I should have as soon ex- 
 pected to hear of Stonehenge finding its way to Hyde 
 Parle! — And for the arrangement of family business, — • 
 when my father might just as well have relied upon the 
 intervention of his shooting pony. I forgave the creature 
 for having passed me over with such disregard, as not 
 even to leave his name in Jermyn Street. But wLat 
 could be the business which demanded his migration from 
 Leicestershire, and reduced my jovial father to medita- 
 tion ? Careful not to excite the curiosity of my aunt, I 
 addressed my inquiries on the subject to my eldest 
 brother, the confidant of all my dilemmas. 
 
 That there is a mystery, I readily believe,” was 
 Henry’s reply. “ But my father has always shown reluc- 
 tance in adverting to his affairs in my presence. Unless 
 actuated by tlie jealous}^ of his successor common to 
 sovereigns and squires, I cannot conceive why he should 
 withhold his confidence from a son who loves and respects 
 him, to lavish it on a kinsman who, to do him justice, has 
 scarcely wit enough for an earth-stopper. An observa- 
 tion that escaped my father in the altercation between 
 us on occasion of his second marriage, first led me to 
 suspect that his affairs were embarrassed. He spoke of 
 the want of housewifery of ladies of quality, as gradually 
 D 
 
m 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 leading a respectable country family to ruin, in a tone of 
 conscious bitterness, which I feared must bear reference 
 to his own. Let not, however, my dear Lizzy concern 
 herself too much on mere surmise. We know the style 
 of living at Spetchingley. The house is maintained on 
 its own resources, and neither parents nor children 
 indulge in blameable excess. Embarrassments, even if 
 they exist, mmst be of a comparatively unimportant 
 nature ; and, unless aggravated by the blunder-headedness 
 of Dick Mordaunt, will scarcely bring the family estates 
 to the hammer. 
 
 “ My brother Alfred has been provided for by Lord 
 Kawborne. Miss Mordaunt, of whose conquests w’^onders 
 are related at Oxford, is expected to make a brilliant 
 match ; and she is hereby requested to look out without 
 delay for an heiress, (not, however, after the Eawborne 
 fashion, at the synagogue,) for her affectionate brother, 
 
 H. M.” 
 
 This letter served to rally my spirits. I began to 
 hope that my father’s melancholy might proceed from 
 the absence of his favourite “Lizzy;” and that Dick 
 Mordaunt’s expedition to London was an act of pure 
 vagabondage. Perhaps he wanted to spy into the naked- 
 ness of the land, and ascertain into how moderate a com- 
 pass of brick and mortar his proud cousin had been com- 
 pelled to compress her pretensions. 
 
 From such surmises, it was agreeable to be summoned 
 by the playful peremptoriness of the Duchess. 
 
 “ I am under orders from my Duke and master to 
 proceed this moment to Chelsea,” said she, one morning, 
 snatching the fourth volume of “ Sydney Biddulph” from 
 my hand, and causing Lady Carleton to drop her quilt- 
 ing, with surprise. “ Bear me company, my dear Liz, 
 and to reward you, we will finish to-night at Banelagh. 
 You must not refuse me, sister,” she continued, address- 
 ing Lady Carleton, “ for I have pledged myself for Miss 
 Mordaunt’s presence to one whom it is little less than 
 high-treason to disappoint.” 
 
 “ I do not see how such a person can with propriety 
 interest himself in Miss Mordaunt’s comings and goings,” 
 
MEMOmS OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 85 
 
 said Lady Carleton, provoked to find her authority thus 
 tacitly dispensed with. ‘‘ But as your Grrace and the 
 young lady settle these things with so much ease between 
 you— I—*’’ 
 
 “ What a handsome quilt that will he, when finished !” 
 cried the Duchess, affecting to pick it up without giving 
 ear to the remonstrances of the Viscountess. “ I saw 
 just such a one, at Paris, at Madame de Mirepoix’s ; who 
 declared it was worked for her when ambassadress in 
 England, by the beautiful Lady Coventry, — Maria, you 
 know, — the woman who died of white lead.” 
 
 By aid of her sang froid, she always managed to defeat 
 the manoeuvres of Lady Carleton. 
 
 “ What a happy woman should I be,” she observed, 
 when, after a pleasant drive along the King’s Load, we 
 reached a pair of huge, old-fashioned iron gates, opening 
 into a gloomy avenue of sycamores, “ were I, lilve our 
 venerable cousin of Portland, smitten with the love of 
 antiquity! — All the earthly possessions of the De Veres 
 are encrusted with the mildew of age. The tliree last 
 Dukes of Rochester lived to be doting ; so that their 
 successors did not inherit till the}^ were too old to 
 improve, — I mean, to become improvers. You have 
 already seen Rochester House. Lift up your eyes, my 
 dear, and admire Beaufort Lodge, — once the residence of 
 Sir Thomas More, and now the maison de sante of the 
 Tres-nobles Demoiselles De Vere, whom you see crowded 
 yonder under the old portal to receive us.” 
 
 I lifted up my eyes to admire — not Beaufort Lodge 
 and its antiquities, but the youthful beauty of my little 
 cousins. — What a group ! — What a study for Sherwin 1 — 
 Yet their mother patted each upon the head with scarcely 
 more emotion than I had seen her bestow -with the same 
 caress on Silverfleece, her lap-dog 1 While Lady Isabella 
 and Lady Helena, the two elder girls, strove to attract 
 her attention by every little art in their power, the 
 Duchess kept pointing out to me the painted windows 
 and quaint carvings of the curious old mansion. 
 
 A venerable family nurse, who, leaning on her stick, 
 waited the arrival of the Duchess in the great gallery, 
 now converted into a school-room, seemed, by the reserved 
 
86 
 
 MEMOIIIS OE A PEEEES3. 
 
 solemnity of lier deportment, to resent this coolness on 
 the part of the mother of her nurslings ; while the Ereneh 
 and Grerman governesses pressed forward to gabble their 
 compliments to her Grace, evidently with a view of elicit- 
 ing some in return. 
 
 But they were disappointed. 
 
 Don’t you find these creatures shockingly awkward ?” 
 said my aunt, addressing me. ‘‘ Helena, stand forward — 
 Lady Isabella, pray do not let your arms hang as if 
 they were broken. ’Tis really strange. They have had 
 Lepicque all winter, and are more uncouth than when I 
 left England.” 
 
 “ What can be expected at so early an age ?” 
 
 Everything ! — 
 
 Just as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclined ; 
 
 and if Miss Holdfast, Mademoiselle Clairval, and Madame 
 von Klattowski, cannot drill them into a better deport- 
 ment, I must send them to Paris, and settle them at 
 Panthemont. I saw a little girl of Madame de Lauzun’s, 
 not so old as Isabella, perform the minuet and gavotte, 
 one night at Trianon, in a style that Vestris himself 
 admitted to be inimitable.” 
 
 She started ; for at that moment, she perceived that, 
 while uttering all this heartless nonsense, the Duke of 
 Eochester had entered the room. It was delightful to 
 see the little creatures, who were hanging their heads 
 behind the Duchess’s chair, brighten up on their father’s 
 approach. As he sat down, with hands extended towards 
 them, all five were instantly clustered round his knees. 
 Prom Lady Helena it was, Dearest papa, I have 
 finished the landscape I promised you — from Lady 
 Isabella, I am embroidering you a waistcoat, papa, for 
 the birthday.” A third claimed the fine gold watch he 
 had promised to bring her from Paris ; the two youngest 
 little creatures could exact or bestow nothing but kisses 
 on their favourite — their friend — their father ! 
 
 In return for these endearments, the Duke brought 
 forward a case containing for each some little token of 
 remembrance, — a ring, a locket, an etui; of no great 
 value, but calculated to procure childish delight to a child. 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 :i7 
 
 ‘^Tou put me to tlie blusli,” observed tlie Duchess, 
 literally blusliing with mortification. “ I suppose the 
 strictness of my education blinded me to the necessity of 
 initiating children into the pomps and vanities of life. 
 But I will shortl}^, young ladies, amend my neglect, and 
 we shall see whether Mrs. Chenevix can supply us with 
 baubles to rival those of the Petit Dunquerque.” 
 
 The Duke of Bochester was a person to whom the 
 world in general scarcely rendered justice. Society is 
 an arbitrary tribunal. It chooses the wife of its popular 
 poet to be a woman of genius ; the wife of its favourite 
 statesman to be an Agrippina. It seemed of opinion 
 that the husband of its lovely Duchess ought to be an 
 Adonis ; and the Duke, though a distinguished-looking 
 man, was neither young nor handsome. His hair, a 
 sable silvered, grew every day whiter ; his countenance, 
 naturally grave, every day more serious. His broad 
 commanding forehead, his reflective eye, the firm, though 
 benignant expression of his countenance, would have 
 attracted, if limned by Vandyke or Sir Joshua, the idlest 
 lounger through a picture gallery to inquire the name of 
 the original ; certain of hearing in reply the announcement 
 of some great legislator, some benefactor of his country. 
 
 But such a face was misplaced at Banelagh, and voted, 
 in the gay salons of the Mirepoixes and Boufilers, ennu- 
 yeux coinme la 'pliiie. It became the fashion to say that 
 Lady John De Vere was ill-matched ; that she had an 
 old and disagreeable husband ; though London and Paris 
 united could not have produced his equal. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 As we were returning from our visit to the little girls, 
 whose adieus were damped by the supercilious tone 
 assumed towards them by their mother, some anxiety 
 expressed by the Duchess respecting the completion of 
 a new hat, induced me to allude to our projected party 
 to Eanelagh, as if it included the Prince of W ales. 
 
38 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 You have not yet got rid of your Philly Nettletop 
 naivete^'" she replied, laughing outright. “ A less prac- 
 tised eye than yours might have seen that the Prince’s 
 name was thrown into the scale to decide poor old 
 Carleton in our favour. He may be there ; and ^ there, 
 (or bright eyes go for nothing,) will certainly join our 
 party. But the illustrious personage to whom I alluded 
 was no other than Lord Pembury ; to whom I promised, 
 in presence of his wife, that Miss Mordaunt should bear 
 me company to-night, because the said wife is too jealous 
 to let him join me with the possible prospect of a tete-a- 
 tete, Plow I do hate a jealous wife ! — If the next philan- 
 thropic Captain Coram who w^ants to found an hospital 
 would but relieve us from such semi-lunatics, what a 
 benefit to society ! I own I cannot understand the 
 malady. All Banelagh might flirt with my duke, and I 
 should care no more than if he were dozing away his 
 evening in the House of Lords.” 
 
 Needless to remind her how far this admission went to 
 prove her want of attachment towards her husband. 
 
 ‘‘ And of all women to indulge in jealousy, Lady 
 Pembury !” she exclaimed. A woman who cares for 
 nothing in this world of vanity and cards but the four 
 knaves ! Had she taken it into her head to pull caps 
 with me for Pam, I could have forgiven her ; for last year, 
 at Bath, I won three hundred guineas of her, at old 
 Lady Montagu’s loo parties. — But Lord Pembury, — for 
 whom she entertains no higher value than I for the effigy 
 of General Monk in Westminster Abbey! — It is too 
 absurd.” 
 
 “ Lady Pembury strikes me as a beautiful woman,” 
 said I. 
 
 “ Beautiful, for those who prefer colour to form. She 
 has a charming pink and white complexion, eyes like the 
 Midsummer sky, and the old eternal story of coral lips and 
 teeth of pearl. But one may buy just such waxen beauty 
 in a toy shop. No expression, — no character, — no play 
 of feature ; — the monotonous innocence of a flock of 
 sheep concentrated in a single face I — Plow dares so 
 inanimate a creature expect to preserve the affections of 
 a man of taste and talent 1” 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 39 
 
 Certainly not by losing bis money at loo/’ said I, 
 laughing. 
 
 Pembury would forget her existence/’ replied the 
 Duchess, inadvertently, “ unless she occasionally favoured 
 him with reminders, in the form of cheques upon his 
 banker.” 
 
 I no longer wonder that Lady Pembury is jealous/’ 
 said I, as Ave turned from Oxford Poad into the newly- 
 paved streets leading toAvards the tus in urhe of the 
 house of De Vere. 
 
 “ In my opinion,” retorted the Duchess, “ husbands 
 and wives should have attractions and merits to produce, 
 as title-deeds to their property, in addition to the special 
 license by Avhich they Avere originally transferred.” 
 
 “ A Parisian, rather than an English sentiment !” said 
 I, adventurously. “ Had it been uttered Avithin hearing 
 of my homely home, I should have expected to see the 
 trees of the old avenue of Spetchingley start from their 
 places.” 
 
 “ Less would probably suffice to unroot them,” replied 
 the Duchess, looking at her Avatch. “ In England, the 
 country gives the law to the toAvn ; while in Erance, the 
 town keeps doAvn the country. Paris has its factories 
 for the improvement of ideas for the good of the king- 
 dom, as Avell as for the improvement of calicoes or 
 crockeryAvare ; et Ion train ^ en avant le siecle ! Whereas 
 our country gentlemen impose upon London their quizzi- 
 cal families and quizzical notions, while they vote with 
 Grovernment, and see the lions. IBut here we are again 
 at Eochester House. I would as soon Ha'c in the great 
 pyramid, tete-a-tete Avith the mummy of Cheops !” 
 
 Already, I had learned to turn a deaf ear to half the 
 flighty ramblings of the Duchess. My cousin Algernon 
 assured me she seldom knew half she said, or meant the 
 other half. 
 
 In London,” said he, the Duchess is a mere prating 
 mask, who gabbles on to prevent her real character from 
 being discovered. Get her at anchor, at Yere Court, in 
 the quiet country, and, instead of the Thames so foul and 
 turbid at Elackfriars Bridge, you will find the glassy Isis, 
 pure and Avholesome, gliding through the green meadows/* 
 
40 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 The simile was graceful — I hoped to find it accurate. 
 
 Our party that night at Eanelagh was composed of a 
 sufficient number of Sherwin’s beauties and White’s fine 
 gentlemen, to excite considerable attention. Wherever 
 we turned, our steps were followed. The music ice 
 thouglit worth listening to was vehemently applauded ; 
 and when w^e sat dowm to supper, that gaping monster, 
 the public, came to note how w^e swallow^ed our minced 
 cluchen and champagne. We had, however, no Prince of 
 Wales. Other orgies were perhaps more attractive ; and, 
 as to Lady Pembury and her jealousies, she seemed to take 
 as little note of the proceedings of the Duchess as of mine. 
 
 She wvas escorted throughout the evening by Mr. 
 Pitzirnham, whom I had now^ heard proclaimed, by twenty 
 difterent voices, the most agreeable man about towm. 
 
 ‘‘ I can’t make out that Pitzirnhara, wdiom Algernon 
 calls good company,” observed Lord Medway, wLo w^as 
 appointed my cavalier. ‘‘ The fellow seems to have 
 dropped from the clouds among us ; and, like other things 
 that drop from the clouds, w’hat passes to-day for a 
 thunderbolt, may prove to-morrow^a piece of base metal.” 
 
 “ Mr. Pitzirnham may, in one respect, have fallen from 
 tlie clouds,” said I. ‘‘Lady Diincannon pronounces him 
 to be as handsome as an angel.” 
 
 “ Plumph ! he has a faux air of the Duke of Eochester 
 — a sort of pinchbeck look of fashion. I fancy, how- 
 ever, your angel is father a man of letters, than a 
 man of quality. He sets up as heir presumptive or 
 presumptuous to George Selwyn, who is superannuated. 
 They repeat this man’s Ion-mots at White’s ; Mrs. Vesey 
 swears by his wit ” 
 
 “And Lady Pembury smiles by it, which is better. 
 A very pretty woman. Lady Pembury!” 
 
 “ I prefer many a plain one. Lady Pembury blazes 
 in eternal sunshine, wnth a set smile of beatitude and 
 beauty, inefiably self-contented. One sees that she has 
 been a star at Bath, at Spa, in Paris, in London.” 
 
 “Indeed I see nothing in her but a beautiful woman.” 
 
 “ While she — or I am mistaken — sees in you that hate- 
 ful thing, a rival 1 By the w^ay, do vre meet to-morrow’ 
 night at the dinner at Eochester House?” 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 41 
 
 “ I have no invitation.” 
 
 “ And will probabl}^ receive none. The Duchess could 
 not invite you without Lady Carleton ; and in a family 
 so numerous as ours, to begin inviting one’s relations is 
 a rash measure.” 
 
 Grlibly as he settled the question, it was no easy matter 
 to tranquillise the ire of the Viscountess wLen, on the 
 following morning, the gossip of the St. James’s Chronicle 
 announced the Assembly at Rochester House. 
 
 “ It is not,” she exclaimed, “ that I have the slightest 
 wish to be mixed up with the set of profligates whom the 
 Duchess is pleased to assemble around her. But it has 
 a singular appearance to the public, for her own family 
 to be excluded from her mob. All London will be in 
 arms.” 
 
 “All London is otherwise employed,” I ventured to 
 observe. “ The Clubs are busy discussing the expected 
 visit of the Due de Chartres ; and the fine ladies the 
 dismissal of Perdita, upon whose chariot the basket of 
 white roses, simulating a countess’s coronet, had so excited 
 their indignation. They have no leisure to notice our 
 disappointment.” 
 
 “I tell you it is no disappointment!” said Lady 
 Carleton, in a higher key. “ My sole reason for vexation 
 at the Duchess’s neglect is, that, involved as she is in 
 scandalous imputations — ” 
 
 She paused. The loudness of her tone had prevented 
 her hearing the announcement of a visitor ; and the 
 Duke of Rochester, with a card in his hand, already 
 stood bowing at the door. 
 
 “ I have to apologise for my intrusion,” said he, struck 
 by our air of confusion. “Let my anxiety to be the 
 bearer of a note from the Duchess plead my excuse.” 
 The card which he placed in the hands of the Viscountess, 
 enabled me to admire the matchless skill of her Grace in 
 the lying logic of apology. “ She trusted,” she said, 
 “ that an invitation to a crowded assembly at Bochester 
 House was needless to any member of the Bawborne 
 family; but, lest the well-known politeness of Lady 
 Carleton should prove punctilious, she had requested the 
 Duke to be her representative in expressing, etc. etc.” 
 
42 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 I expected to see Lady Carleton return a dignified 
 refusal to this tardy civility. But the invitation was so 
 graciously accepted, that, after the departure of the 
 Duke, I could not help testifying my surprise. 
 
 I had a strong motive for wishing to he at the party,’* 
 
 replied Lady C . “The Prince, who of course will 
 
 be there, is going to give a gala at Carlton House, after 
 the political dinner of the gentlemen of St. Alban’s 
 Committee ; and, perhaps, on meeting us at my sister’s, 
 he may consider us worth inviting.” 
 
 “But you have so long retired from the world, and 
 avoid so scrupulously all public places !” 
 
 “ I do not, like my sister Eochester and her clique, make 
 my face a sign-post for Weltjie’s, the Pantheon, Eanelagh, 
 Vauxhall, and other notorious resorts. But this ball at 
 Carlton House may be considered the opening of a new 
 era. It is worth walking from York to London, to see 
 the Prince put on his hat in a minuet. Lepicque declares 
 there never was anything like him; — Heorge Selwyn 
 declares there never was anything like him ; — Charles 
 Pox declares there never was anything like him ” 
 
 “ And Mrs. Eobinson — and Mrs. Crouch ” 
 
 “ I request. Miss Mordaunt, that you will refrain from 
 namiug such persons in my presence.” 
 
 “His Eoyal Highness, then, shall be all perfection, 
 dear aunt ; and let us humbly hope he will vouchsafe us 
 an invitation to his ball. But, I warn you, that the 
 Duchess of Devonshire, with Lady Duncannon and Lady 
 Melbourne, have made out the list; and our claim of kin 
 to the Duchess of Eochester argues ill in our favour.” 
 
 “ I have a vast mind to drop my sister’s interest alto- 
 gether,” said Lady C , musingly, “ and see what I can 
 
 do through Devonshire House. Lord Carleton was one 
 of the many friends of Mr. Hare ; (Selwyn’s ^ Hare with 
 many friends,’ you know.) Supposing I tack about, and 
 try Jiis interest ?” 
 
 “ But you forgot that you have pledged yourself to the 
 Eochesters.” 
 
 “ True, true. — And when the ball at Carlton House is 
 over and forgotten, we shall see at Eochester House this 
 Due de Chartres, of whom all the world is talking. At 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 43 
 
 Paris, last winter, my sister was the only Englishwoman 
 who succeeded equally well with the Court and the 
 Orleans party; playing alternately soubrettes in the 
 theatricals at Trianon, and duets wdth Madame de 
 G-enlis. My nephew would add, ‘ and pharoah with the 
 Duchesse de Grammont, and the deuce with her repu- 
 tation!”’ 
 
 That night, the Duchess received us with great cor- 
 diality, at the door of the magnificent gallery of Eochester 
 House ; and it would be dif&cult to decide which sister 
 exhibited the most consummate hypocrisy, and which was, 
 in reality, least deceived by the exhibition. 
 
 “ Think of my being obliged to have you, after all,” 
 whispered the Duchess to me, after having disposed of 
 Lady Carleton among a synod of loo-playing dowagers. 
 “The Duke insisted that everything boasting, having 
 boasted, or likely to boast, the name of Eawborne, should 
 be invited to my party ; and forced me to put the best 
 face on the matter. However, his whim has enabled me 
 to have you ; which I should not have dared attempt, had 
 not your dragon been appeased. By the way, I have 
 been so civil to her, that she cannot refuse me your 
 company to-morrow to dine at Weltjie’s. Eitzpatrick 
 gives us a banquet ; and Devonshire House and Eochester 
 House, — the courts of Elizabeth and Mary, — are to be 
 for once united. Lord Pembury took care to have your 
 name on my card ; and, what is more to the purpose, you 
 have a ticket for the affair at Carlton House, and we 
 will go dressed alike, as Virgins of the Sun. The cits 
 call it a character ball. But Burgoyne has named it the 
 ‘ imnt of character ball.’” 
 
 “ What right have the cits to call it anything ?” 
 
 “ Hush, hush, my dear 1 — Cits are just now the fashion. 
 I have two of the City members here to-night, and an 
 alderman’s wife and a half. The city is to do everything 
 for the Prince, as it always does for rebellious heirs- 
 apparent. It is to get his debts paid, — his improvements 
 carried on. But I can’t stay gossiping, now. — I have 
 fifty guineas on the pharoah table ; and Lady Ailesbury 
 won a septleva as I passed through the room.” 
 
 Although a topic peculiarly unfitted to Eochester 
 
M 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEERESS. 
 
 House and the Prince’s presence, there were few other 
 times and places where the embarrassments of the Prince 
 were not just then discussed. From the day of attaining 
 his majority, he had laid the foundation of expensive 
 buildings at Carlton House, and of debts of honour and 
 dislionouv innumerable. He outdrove Sir John Lade, — 
 he out-diced Charles F ox. Ten thousand guineas were ex- 
 pended in a single year on his toilet ; and between the turf 
 and the tailor’s shop, it was hard to say in what quarter 
 his Poyal Highness’s pecuniary engagements lay heaviest. 
 But the nation, or (as the London part of the nation is 
 called) the Public, was satisfied. So long as he shared 
 his hazard with Fox, his claret with Sheridan, all was 
 well. The sordid respectability of Kew, or the petty- 
 G-erman-courtliness of A¥indsor, was lampooned by 
 Wolcot, reviled by Junius, and burned in effigy by 
 Wilkes’s mob ; while the profligacy of Carlton House 
 commanded the applause of theatres, and the grants of 
 senates. 
 
 The best of royal husbands and fathers,” with his 
 experimental farms, and Handel, and Dr. Johnson, had 
 not a huzza at command. The Prince, Avho threw away 
 on the bouquets of his footmen thrice as much as the 
 Berkshire farmer on his turnip-fields, — whose anthems 
 were opera airs, — whose Wyatt was Nuovolieschi, — 
 whose West, Sherwin, — whose Johnson, Dick Sheridan, 
 — the Prince was the universal idol ! 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 Tite Carlton House gala, given professedly to promote 
 the union, and consequently to betray to the world the 
 (disunion of parties, just then occupied the idlers of 
 London. A hal costume^ a masquerade where the people 
 were not afraid to show their faces, presented a novel 
 feature. 
 
 To myself the occasion presented a thousand per- 
 
MEMOIES OF A TEEEESS. 
 
 45 
 
 plexities. That I had an invitation and was to accom- 
 pany the Duchess’s party, costumed a la Feruvienne^ 
 (the romance of Marmontel and the opera to which it 
 gave rise, having brought IManco Capac into fashion,) 
 was a difficult matter to declare to Lady Carleton. 
 
 I almost wish we had chosen something simpler,” 
 said the Duchess, wLen describing to me the costume of 
 a Virgin of the Sun ; “ or something in which my Bertin 
 frippery could be useful to you. Dor alas! my dear, I 
 cannot offer to make you free of Peru. Jewels I can 
 lend, — brocades and embroidery give. But as to money, 
 — thank the knaves — ^I’m now not w^orth a ducat! — 
 Versailles and lansquenet stripped me of my last 
 louis. Brag, pharaoh, and loo, have completed my ruin ; 
 and as my husband, at his father’s death, paid off* 
 thousands of debts — and debts of thousands for me, on 
 condition that the Duchess of liochester should not 
 renew the follies of Lady John De Vere, I have not 
 courage to tell him that I am as much embarrassed as 
 ever. This was the secret, by the way, of that empty- 
 handed visit to Beaufort Lodge, which affronted the 
 poor children.” 
 
 I hastened to relieve her on my own account, professing 
 myself sure of my Peruvian costume. 
 
 “ But I fear you will be hectored by tlie Dow^ager ; 
 who will scarcely throw away so much money, without 
 accompanying every hard guinea with a hard word. 
 
 I would not be indebted to Lady Carleton, were her 
 words as soft as eiderdown,” I replied, proudly. But 
 she has in her care some money provided by my father 
 for my London expenses.” 
 
 “ So much the better. And since you are rich, be fine. 
 Beat your guineas out into tinsel for this occasion, and 
 they will turn to guineas again. I predict some im- 
 portant conquest.” 
 
 Great was my consternation, therefore, on applying to 
 Lady Carleton, to learn that the whole sum had been 
 expended for my benefit in other words, that she had 
 appropriated it to her own use for my board. My five 
 guineas, too, had melted away. — I was absolutely penniless! 
 
 “ You have only to write to Spetchingley,” was the 
 
4G 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 cool remark of tlae Yiscountess. Your father could not 
 expect fifty pounds to last for ever. Let Mr. Mordaunt 
 know that an immediate remittance is indispensable.” 
 
 To admit to her my suspicions relative to the state of 
 affairs at home, was not to be thought of ; but, to apply 
 to my good father, with such misgivings on my mind, was 
 equally impossible. I resolved, therefore, to give up the 
 ball ; and, as a preparatory measure, pleaded indisposition, 
 and next evening declined accompanying my aunt to the 
 Mall. But no sooner had she departed thither, than 
 my cousin Algernon unluckily made his appearance, 
 and found me musing over a scanty fire and abundant 
 vexations. 
 
 “ I thought you had heard enough of Lady Carletoii’s 
 objections to your visits in Jermyn Street, during her 
 absence,” said I, peevishly. 
 
 “ Don’t be uneasy. I am sure of her forgiveness. I 
 come in the pacific character of a herald from my father, 
 or rather like Danse’s Jupiter, I descend upon her lady- 
 ship’s roof in a shower of gold ; a shape so questionable, 
 that I suspect she would welcome even Lord Carleton 
 back to life, if he rained guineas into her attics. In 
 short, (for, rhodomontade as I may, I must come to the 
 awkward phrase at last,) my father long ago deputed me 
 to purchase for his beloved niece Betty, some dress or 
 trinket worthy her acceptance ; and the hundred guineas 
 entrusted to me for the purpose, weigh heavily on my 
 pocket and conscience. I have so little skill in ‘ black, 
 white, and gray, and all their trumpery,’ that, if you do 
 not mean, coz., to be made as ridiculous as the old Princess 
 Amelia, you will purchase your own gewgaws with your 
 own coin of the realm.” 
 
 AYhile giving confusedutterance to this tirade, he placed 
 a splendid purse on the chimney-piece. 
 
 My ready pride was on the alert. 
 
 “ You would as easily persuade me,” said I, “ that 
 Parliament had voted me a Benevolence, as that Lord 
 llawborne was sufficiently himself to dream of making me 
 a present !” 
 
 “ You admit, at least, that from him such a gift would be 
 only becoming ; and what more proper than that Medway 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 47 
 
 and myself, acting for him on all occasions, should fulfil 
 the duties of his position ?” 
 
 “ Pardon me. A gift from an uncle to a niece differs 
 widely from a gift from a cousin to a cousin, in the name 
 of the uncle. And, though you assume the interference 
 of Lord Medway, I am convinced this trait of munificence 
 arose wholly with yourself.” 
 
 You would accept it, then, more willingly from my 
 brother?” 
 
 “Were I to say so, the inference would only be flatter- 
 ing to you. But uncle, cousin, or cousins, acceptance is 
 impossible.” 
 
 And taking the purse from the chimney-piece, I placed 
 it in his hands ; Avhen, as Algernon again attempted to 
 force it on my acceptance, the clasp unluckily flew open, 
 and the four rouleaux fell into my lap. 
 
 “What is all this ?” demanded the Viscountess, who, 
 for the express purpose of espionage, had prematurely 
 returned home. “ I thought. Miss Mordaunt, I had 
 sufficiently explained the impropriety of your receiving 
 visits from young gentlemen during my absence ?” 
 
 “ You, perhaps, omitted to explain it to your servants, 
 madam,” I replied, greatly confused. “ Once admitted, 
 you would scarcely wish me to be guilty of the dis- 
 courtesy of turning a member of your family out of your 
 house.” 
 
 “ And what is the meaning, pray, of this ?” cried my 
 aunt, pointing to the gold. “ Am I to understand ” 
 
 “ Do not rack your brains, my dear good aunt, with 
 surmises concerning the simplest transaction in the 
 world,” said Algernon, coolly. “ My cousin, Harry Mor- 
 daunt, sent me yesterday from Oxford a credit on his 
 banker for a hundred guineas, as a gift for his sister, 
 which he wished her to receive with as little trouble as 
 possible.” 
 
 “Vastly considerate of my nephew — very kind of 
 Harry !” ejaculated the old lady, enchanted to find the 
 money present itself in a shape that warranted acceptance. 
 “ It could not arrive more opportunely ; for the poor child 
 was sadly in want of a remittance.” 
 
 Meanwhile, I was on thorns. I had not courage to 
 
48 
 
 MEM0IE3 OE A PEERESS. 
 
 expose myself to the inferences of my aunt, by declaring 
 the truth ; yet by countenancing the statements of 
 Algernon, I was involving myself in a maze of deceit. 
 At the moment, I fancied nothing would be easier tlian to 
 return the money to St. James’s Square, at the earliest 
 opportunity. But scarcely had our visitor left us, when 
 my aunt, in the interests of her strong box, took posses- 
 sion of the whole, for necessary expenses leaving me 
 only the disposal of a few guineas. 
 
 I was now thoroughly perplexed, — thoroughly angry. 
 The splendours of the costumed ball were, indeed, dearly 
 purchased. I took, however, the only honest step that 
 remained for me, by writing every detail of the transac- 
 tion to my brother Henry, requesting his advice and 
 assistance. Harry, I doubted not, would see the impro- 
 priety of my incurring a pecuniary obligation of such a 
 nature. But, to my great surprise, his answer assured 
 me that there was nothing more indelicate in the cadeau 
 presented to me, than in the liberality practised by my 
 mother’s family towards my brother Alfred; and he ended 
 by saying, that “ he had not thought me so onissisli.'^^ 
 
 I was disappointed. — I was infinitely vexed. I took a 
 dislike to Algernon, through whom this wound was in- 
 flicted oh my pride ; and began to detest the thoughts of 
 the ball at Carlton House, which, I doubted not, had 
 suggested his impertinent generosity. I almost repented 
 that I had not made my application to my second brother, 
 Bichard, rather than to my usual councillor. 
 
 AVhether some evil influence prevailed in the name of 
 Bi chard Mordaunb, I will not determine ; but the brother 
 of that name Avas as little a favourite with me, as tlie 
 cousin. Not from any resemblance between the two. 
 Bor Avhile Dick laughed the world and myself to scorn, 
 Bichard laughed not at all ; and Avhile Dick dranlv, 
 raced, and hunted. Bichard Avas a model of sobriety 
 and decorum. 
 
 At Eton, instead of getting into scrapes like Alfred, or 
 good company, like Harry, he got into an exhibition, 
 and had already distinguished himself at Oxford ; and 
 Bichard the Demure, to the disgust of Dick the DoAvn- 
 right, was noAV studying hard for his degree. Had I 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 49 
 
 applied to him concerning Algernon’s benefaction, instead 
 of sending me the means of repayment, he would pro- 
 I bably have favoured me with a sermon ! 
 
 “\Ve will assemble to-night in Sfc. James’s Square, on 
 our way to Carlton House. The sight of our finery may 
 serve to amuse my poor brother,” was the arrangement 
 of the Duchess for the memorable evening, the source to 
 me of so many heart-burnings. 
 
 “ Better not,” was Algernon’s rejoinder. “ Lady 
 Lavinia and her daughters dine with him.” 
 
 Then St. James’s Square shall most certainly be our 
 rendezvous,” said the Duchess. “ Those envious women 
 shall see how handsome Lizzy Mordaunt and Lizzy Mor- 
 daunt’s aunt look in their Peruvian costume.” 
 
 At my uncle’s house, accordingly, we assembled ; and, 
 having paraded our glittering splendours before his 
 vacant stare and the sneers of the Shanstones, it remained 
 only to marshal the group as it was to make its appear- 
 ance in the ball-room. The Duke of Bochester being of 
 the dinner-party at Carlton House, the Duchess was to 
 be led by Lord Pembury, and Lady Pembury by Lord 
 Medway. 
 
 “ And whom will you have, child, for your Cacique ?” 
 inquired her Grace, whose spirits were too high for much 
 regard to propriety. “ There is Mr. Pitzirnham, and here 
 is your cousin Algernon, waiting the honour of your 
 election.” 
 
 “ Mr. Eawborne is nearest of Miss Mordaunt’s height,’* 
 suggested Lady Pembury. 
 
 “ And Pitzirnham the more experienced cavalier,” 
 observed her lord. ‘‘Pitzirnham knows the exits and 
 entrances of Carlton House as well as the page-im 
 waiting.” 
 
 “ Choose, child ; — we are all waiting 1” cried the 
 Duchess. 
 
 I replied by curtseying to Mr. Pitzirnham, resolved not 
 to bestow the smallest token of courtesy on my ofiending 
 cousin. 
 
 “ Ah ! poor Algernon !” cried Lord Medway, laughing, 
 as he rang for the carriages. “ The old story ! — A husband 
 or cousin is sure to be laid aside for the sake of novelty.” 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 “ You have caused a weighty duty to devolve on me,” 
 said ritzirnham, as he led me down stairs. I must take 
 care that Miss Mordaunt does not repent the honour 
 with which she has distinguished me.” 
 
 “ Pardon me for not allowing it to pass for a distinc- 
 tion,” said I. I wdshed to leave my cousin at the dis- 
 posal of the Duchess, who is accustomed to have him call 
 carriages, and take care of cloaks and hoods, at her 
 Lidding.” 
 
 A compliment, however, my new friend seemed de- 
 termined to esteem it. He never quitted my side. He 
 spoke to no other person ; devoting his time to announce 
 Ly name, and explain by nature, the eminent individuals 
 of whom that brilliant society was composed. I could 
 scarcely have had a better cicerone. Mr. Fitzirnham was 
 personally acquainted with the political notorieties of 
 the day; and, with regard to other notorieties, it was 
 singular with what tact he managed to avoid every anec- 
 dote savouring of vulgar scandal, while pointing out, by 
 characteristic traits, the most original in that world of 
 originals. 
 
 Till Mr. Fitzirnham offered himself as my cicerone, no 
 one had been at the pains of favouring me with a catalogue 
 raisonne of the Blue-and-Buff party and their auxiliaries ; 
 and at that period. Fox, Burke, Fitzpatrick, Sheridan, 
 or Townshend, were to me persons of minor interest, 
 compared with the Devonshires,Duncannons, Melbournes, 
 Crewes, St. Johns, Cravens, Jerseys, Bunburys, with 
 whom their names were associated in the gossip of society. 
 ‘‘Fox’s Martyrs,” as they were called, stood secondary to 
 his Angels. 
 
 Among the fairest present, by the way, was one, neither 
 an angel nor a martyr of the Foxites ; the young and 
 lovely bride of Lord Beauchamp, who, with her charming 
 sisters, the daughters of Lord Irwin, and her relatives 
 the pretty Talbots, arrayed as a group of Spanish Donnas, 
 were the successful rivals of our Peruvian party. Little 
 did I expect that, forty years afterwards, I should behold 
 lier in tliat very palace reigning, as Marchioness of Hert- 
 ford and a grandmother, over the capricious fancy of 
 royalty which her early loveliness had failed to enthral. 
 
MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 51 
 
 “May I presume to inquire wliat you think of us?” 
 inquired Mr. Fitzirnham, after watching my silent con- 
 templation of the scene before me. “ Are we not very 
 'brilliant 
 
 “ Yery glittering,^' said I, with an emphasis on tlie 
 latter word; (for the taste for foil, French paste, and 
 false stones Avas then disgustingly prevalent.) “ G-litter- 
 ing as a winter’s night, whose stars shine in proportion 
 to its coldness.”' 
 
 “ Hoav ?” said my companion, turning towards me with 
 amazement ; — “ an epigram from lips which, like those in 
 the story, ought to drop only pearls and diamonds.” 
 
 “ And what is an epigram but a diamond ?” I replied. 
 “ Brilliant, compact, and capable of cutting even the 
 hardest substances.” 
 
 “ I am beginning to be afraid of you!” cried Fitzirn- 
 ham. “ You were given in charge to me, as a lamb, 
 requiring the wind to he tempered in pity to its tender- 
 ness. I find, on the contrary, the sagacity and courage 
 of the shepherd’s dog!” — 
 
 “ Instead of a kitten, in short, a tigress. IMr. Euav- 
 borne ought to have prepared you for the failings of his 
 cousin.” 
 
 “ I should not have believed him. But we are playing 
 tapestry here among the dowagers, Avith a cotillon yonder 
 not yet made up. May I hope for the honour of your 
 hand?” 
 
 And for the first time, we danced together. 
 
 “ You did not accompany the Duchess of Eochester to 
 the supper at Mrs. St. John’s, on Saturday, after the 
 Opera?” said my partner, continuing the conversation. 
 
 “ Perhaps you are not aAA^are,” I replied, “ that I am 
 not the inmate of the Duchess ? My aunt is kind enough 
 to take me to balls and places of amusement Avhere I am 
 likely to be entertained. But cards and politics afford 
 me little diversion ; at these suppers I find little else.” 
 
 “ Unprofitable enough, I admit,” replied Fitziniham, 
 AAnth a sigh. “ But are you indeed that rara avis, the 
 Avoman who, of all London, avows her contempt for poli- 
 tics, which the dwinities with Avhom Ave are^?^?5 de basque- 
 ing, esteem the one thing needful ?” 
 
52 
 
 I^IEMOIIIS or A PEEEESS. 
 
 I was plainly brought up,” said I. “ Like most 
 country squires’ daughters, my occupations have been 
 confined to reading Tillotson, and hemming dusters. In 
 our house, politics, like liveries, came by inheritance. 
 My father’s tailor fitted his footman with purple and 
 silver, and my father’s daughters curtseyed mechanically 
 to the toast of ^ Church and King.’ The Mordaunts are 
 Pittites born. Under such auspices, do me the kindness 
 to hope that I am no politician.” 
 
 “ But you will surely lend your aid to the Duchess, 
 who has condescended to promise that she will canvass 
 for our friend Eox at the approaching election ?” 
 
 “ I accompany my aunt when she commands it. If 
 she considered me old or wise enough to be consulted, I 
 might be tempted to tell her how unsuitable to her sex 
 and rank I hold such an occupation as electioneering.” 
 
 I am glad you have the grace to yield the precedence 
 to ^ sexy observed Eitzirnham, with a mortified air. 
 
 Eor my part, I think nothing unsuitable to a woman 
 that approximates her interests in life to those of her 
 husband. Many a statesman’s wife would be better 
 employed in copying his notes, and studying the authors 
 whence his knowledge has been derived, than in squan- 
 dering her time and money at brag and pharaoh.” 
 
 “ Are there no other alternatives ?” said I. “ The 
 wife and mother of Coriolanus did not aid him by cajole- 
 ments to obtain tlie most sweet voices of the citizens ; 
 or procure bands of hirelings to fling up their caps in his 
 honour.” 
 
 ‘‘Ko! they only betrayed him into abandoning the 
 cause to Avhich he had pledged himself,” replied Eitzirn- 
 ham, bitterly. “ Perliaps because they had been taught 
 to curtsey mechanically to the toast of Church and State. 
 But iiow came you to And all this logic in Tillotson ?” 
 cried he, suddenly changing his tone. And, above all, 
 how come Aza and Zilia to be talking sense, when they 
 ought to be eating ices ?” 
 
 The foundations of acquaintancesliip were thus laid 
 between us. I rejoined the duchess, who, feeling perhaps 
 that she had sufficiently exhibited herself as the companion 
 of Lord Pembury, made the tour of the rooms, leaning 
 
jSIEMOIes or a peeiiess, 
 
 53 
 
 on my arm. She was always pleased that we should he 
 seen together. The family resemblance between us was 
 universally acknowledged ; and slie seemed proud of 
 hearing it said, Is not Miss Mordaunt the image of 
 the Duchess of Rochester, as she was a few years ago 
 Had they said twelve or ten, they would have been too 
 near the truth to have pleased her ; but it was satisfac- 
 tory to learn that she had been as young at five-and- 
 twent}^, as Lizzy Mordaunt at eighteen. 
 
 Meanwhile, few things amused me more than the 
 ingenuous questions touching the town and its pleasures, 
 contained in the letters of my sister Jane; whom such 
 matters as balls and beaux -were beginning to interest. 
 She did not, indeed, inquire, like the country-cousin of 
 Mrs. G-reville, “ whether mulfs and ponies were worn so 
 very small;” but was curious to ascertain whether I did 
 not feel ill at ease amid the formalities of the great world. 
 Poor dear Jane ! Little did she imagine that the “ great 
 world” I lived in was a world of Toms, Dicks, and 
 Harries; or that the “honoured sir” and “honoured 
 madam,” exacted by the filial duty of the county of 
 Leicester, were, in the parish of St. James, restricted to 
 the correspondence of footmen and chambermaids. 
 
 Etiquette was, in fact, pushed from its stool; and 
 already, the consequences of this abrupt dethronement 
 were disagreeably apjiarent. Their armour thrown aside, 
 the dismantled knights appeared in cuerpo ; while the 
 flowing robes replacing the farthingale of prudery, were 
 somewhat loosely fastened. In the society of the Duchess, 
 I heard and saw much to which I would willingly have 
 remained blind and deaf. 
 
 Before I quitted the gala at Carlton House, Algernon, 
 overcoming his ill-humour, condescended to invite me to 
 join the dancers. 
 
 “ Come with me into the gallery,” said he, drawing me 
 away from the play-room, where my chaperon had sta- 
 tioned herself the greater part of the night. “ I don’t 
 want you to dance with me, — I don’t Avant you to smile 
 upon me, — I will give you leave to be as disdainful as 
 you please. All I ask is, a promise that you will not 
 accept the Duchess’s invitation to drive out to-morrow.” 
 
5 - 1 . 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 A turn in the Park in my aunt’s phaeton would 
 refresh me after these hot rooms.” 
 
 “ You will refresh yourself more by a day of rest.” 
 
 But on what plea could I refuse, or where could I 
 go to avoid her ?” 
 
 I heard Lady Lavinia Shanstone reproach you the 
 other day with undutiful neglect of her invitations.” 
 
 Those girls are so tiresome !” 
 
 Clara, on the contrary, is a charming creature, if you 
 will be at the trouble of making her acquaintance.” 
 
 “ You have profited, then, my dear coz., by Lord 
 Medway’s suggestion that you should not suffer both the 
 tall heiresses to go out of the family for want of courage 
 to attempt a steeple-chase ?” 
 
 You are wonderfully witty to-night. In my opinion, 
 Clara is not an inch too tall. But I do not aspire so 
 high. All this, however, is no answer to my request. — 
 Will you oblige me ?” 
 
 Certainly not, without receiving rhyme or reason in 
 exchange for my compliance.” 
 
 “ I leave it to Pitzirnham and his friend Sheridan, to 
 gratify you with rhyme. Por reason, I have only to 
 give, that neither your father nor brothers would approve 
 of your being second to the Duchess in her Quixotic 
 expedition.” 
 
 After all, then, your mysterious preamble relates to 
 a little harmless electioneering ! Know, then, that I have 
 not only pledged my word to Mr. Pitzirnham to use my 
 utmost efforts in support of the Duke of Kochester’s 
 friend, but that my aunt is to be supported in her canvass 
 by all the most distinguished women in town — the Duchess 
 of Devonshire, Mrs. Crewe” 
 
 Enough, enough ! I might have guessed that I was 
 too late. That you have pledged your word is sufficient,” 
 cried Algernon, with bitterness. “ Let us rejoin the 
 Duchess.” 
 
55 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Algeei^on, as I had found him before and oEen found 
 him afterwards, was right in his conclusions. It Avas 
 not, however, till three weeks after the opening of the 
 Westminster election that I received from my brother 
 Henry the following epistle : — 
 
 “ Tlie fashionable intelligence of the newspapers informs 
 me, that among the belles gracing the Covent Garden 
 hustings, and winning partisans by her smiles, is ^ the 
 lovely and accomplished Miss Mordaunt.’ That this 
 smiling lady may not prove my very dear sister Lizzy, I 
 earnestly hope. I cannot reconcile it to myself that one 
 so punctilious about receiving a trifling present from her 
 mother’s brother, should have lent her face as a lure to 
 the worship of the mob, and her ears to the profanation 
 of its grossness ; in support, too, of a cause to which those 
 of her name and race are distinctly opposed. Write to 
 me, my dear girl, and relieve my mind from so vexatious 
 an apprehension.” 
 
 But so to write, alas ! was out of the question. It teas 
 Lizzy, the daughter of that mild and modest housewife, 
 Lady Betty Mordaunt, who had been courting coarse 
 retorts from butchers and tallow-chandlers. It was my 
 silly self who had been talking till I was hoarse, on 
 subjects wholly above my comprehension. It was the proud 
 Miss Mordaunt of Spetchingley, who had condescended 
 to have her hand pressed and her Avaist encircled, for the 
 honour of securing a vote for the friend of the Prince. 
 
 But what vilenesses become sanctified by custom, — 
 what follies are rendered classical by the ennobling badge 
 of fashion ! Every day, during the six weeks’ continuance 
 of the election, I saw the dignified Duke of Eochester, 
 the amiable Mrs. Crewe, with fifty others of equal unim- 
 peachability, launched into the vortex of noise and vul- 
 garity ; the wisest and best giving way to the enthusiasm 
 of the hour, and playing fantastic tricks before high 
 
56 
 
 MEMOIllS OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 Heaven and the High EailifF! An election, at all times 
 so exciting a crisis, was, in this instance, dignified by 
 the presence of talent — beauty — rank. Even the Prince, 
 in defiance of taste and propriety, affected to make the 
 cause his own. Our mornings were occupied in animating 
 the eloquence of Eox and his advocates, and our days in 
 
 S arading ourselves before the gaze, of the populace. We 
 ined almost in public ; sometimes at Weltjie’s, where 
 the evening concluded in high spirits with high play. 
 We wore the colours of the party; the ‘‘Eox medal” 
 round our necks, the “Eox laurel” round our brows. 
 Never was candidate supported by such zeal and fervour 
 of partisanship ! — 
 
 And all because it was the fashion ! The fascination 
 of Eox’s address, and his devotion to the sex, secured 
 him, far more than the liberality of his opinions or bril- 
 liancy of his wit, the support of those not already subdued 
 by the favour of Carlton House and the enthusiasm of 
 duchesses. The Prince of Wales displayed the Eox 
 favours on his equipages; the prettiest pony-phaetons 
 frequenting the parks w^ere decorated with the same 
 colours ; for (alas ! for the dignity of a reputation capable 
 of agitating the snows of Muscovy and thrilling the nerves 
 of the Convention) Charles James Eox was the fashion ! 
 
 While the election proceeded, I took no heed of time. 
 But when at last we became sobered by what usually 
 produces intoxication — success, I found that six weeks 
 had elapsed; and that summer, with its flowers and 
 verdure, had made its appearance. 
 
 It was strange that not even Lady Carleton, usually 
 so prompt in disturbing the even current of other people’s 
 satisfaction, had interfered to molest me. The Duchess 
 having propitiated her, in the first instance, by enlisting 
 her in our service, to canvass the loo-playing spinsters of 
 Abingdon Street ; the public prints secured her neutrality 
 in the second, by hinting in divers paragraphs that, “ at 
 the close of the election, one of the fairest supporters of 
 the popular candidate, the beautiful Miss M., of Spetch- 
 ingley, would be united to one of the most influential 
 adherents of the Blue-and-Bufi* party. Sir Claude Lovell, 
 of Lovell Park.” 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 57 
 
 These rumours satisfied mj aunt far more than the 
 bulletin of the state of the poll, that all was going on 
 right at the hustings ; and though I assured her, on my 
 nightly return to Jermyn Street, that the gossip-mongers 
 were at fault, she attributed my denials to my rustic 
 bashfulness, and, satisfied that I was about to become the 
 rich and fashionable Lady Lovell, joined more eagerly 
 than ever in the cry of “ Lox for ever !” 
 
 Lady Carleton seemed to have forgotten the very name 
 of De Vere Eitzirnham; and, strange to tell, not one of 
 the busy meddlers of our acquaintance was at the trouble 
 of informing her that it was by him, and not by Sir 
 Claude Lovell, Miss Mordaunt was escorted through the 
 throng ; that he was my partner at the public ball given 
 in honour of our triumph, at the Prince’s saloon at the 
 Opera, and the private one, at Devonshire House. Sir 
 Claude Lovell, it is true, was always sauntering in Potten 
 Pow, to hand me from the carriage when we found leisure 
 for a stroll in Kensington Gardens ; and dined frequently 
 at Weltjie’s, when the Duchess was persuaded into the 
 frolic of a club-dinner. But he was a party-man only in 
 one sense of the word. After dinner. Sir Claude sank 
 below the horizon, no one knew whither. Some said that 
 claret was his Lethe, and that he vanished from sight no 
 further than under the table. But this (never having 
 sought him) I could not affirm. I only knew that, while 
 he was said by the newspapers and the world to be paying 
 me his addresses, I was not once disturbed in my grooving 
 intimacy with Mr. Pitzirnham by his appearance in any 
 evening circle. 
 
 “ So you have actually robbed the wax-doll of its 
 lover!” said the Duchess one night, as she was convey- 
 ing me home to Lady Carleton’ s. I saw something as 
 nearly approaching to vindictiveness on its features, this 
 morning at Epsom, as so insipid a face is capable of ex- 
 pressing.” 
 
 If by the wax-doll your Grace means Lady Pembury,” 
 said I, “ her angry looks were probably directed rather 
 towards her lord’s devotion to others of the party, than 
 towards the common civilities of Mr. Pitzirnham to a 
 person so insignificant as myself.” 
 
58 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 “ If by others of the party your Missishness means my 
 Grace,’’ said the Duchess, laughing at my heroics, I 
 should think I had sufficiently accustomed her to the 
 spectacle of Lord Pembury’s attentions, to have taken 
 off the edge of her jealousy. But some women are in- 
 corrigible.” 
 
 “ Incorrigible, indeed.” 
 
 jy aut ant plus, that to the folly of jealousy. Lady 
 Pern, adds the crime of ingratitude. Did I not, with my 
 own voice and curtsey, introduce her this very morning 
 to the Due de Chartres ; and, while his Boyal Highness’s 
 quatre valets — Coeur, Carreau, Trejle, et Fique, (y’clept 
 by mortals the Dukes of Devon, Dorset, Bedford, and 
 Queensbury,) tried to drag him off to the Stand, did I not 
 detain him five minutes, opposite to her barouche, by an 
 eloquent discourse in honour of her ‘ bugle eye-balls and 
 her cheeks of cream ?’ But ’tis the last word I will ever 
 utter in the woman’s favour!” 
 
 “ Did you observe how very high Lady Pembury was 
 betting ? — Sir Claude Lovell won fifty guineas of her on 
 the Derby ; and I heard my cousin Medway accuse her 
 of having lost five hundred to the Prince.” 
 
 Did he ? The very surmise of such extravagance, on 
 the part of a woman, will keep Medway from marrying 
 for a year to come ! — Had Algernon anything on the race ?” 
 
 “ Algernon seldom comes near me, now. I am told he 
 is paying attention to one of the nieces of Lady Clifford.” 
 
 “ One of the Beaulieu girls ? — He cannot be such an 
 idiot 1 The Beaulieus, like that Pitzirnham of yours, are 
 beggars ; and Algernon Bawborne, like yourself, has his 
 fortune to make by marriage. He must put up with one 
 of his Shanstone cousins ; just as you must make the best 
 of Sir Claude Lovell.” 
 
 “ I, madam ?” 
 
 “ Yourself, child ! — And, by the way, I have good news 
 for you on that head. The Prince, my dear Liz, wishes 
 you well. He thinks you handsome, unassuming, amiable, 
 and so forth ; and being enchanted by your zeal during 
 Charlie’s election, has your match with Sir Claude at 
 heart. How Carlton House being the only place where 
 Lovell deigns to show himself of an evening, his Iloyal 
 
MEMOIRS OP A PEERESS. 
 
 59 
 
 Highness has allowed me to bring you to his next supper- 
 party. An especial favour, Lizzy ! I have never seen an un- 
 married woman there, except at the balls and assemblies.” 
 
 “ In that case, perhaps, I ought not to appear there,” 
 said I. 
 
 “ Perhaps you are a little fool,” rejoined the Duchess, 
 patting me on the cheek with her fan. “ Your good 
 name will soon have a suificient champion in the doughty 
 Sir Claude.” 
 
 “Even were it so,” said I firmly, “what do I gain by 
 endangering it in the interim ? Mr. Eitzirnham assures 
 me that — ” 
 
 “ Mr. Eitzirnham, — Mr. Eitzirnham 1” cried the Duchess, 
 now really angry. “ Do not let me suppose that young 
 gentleman capable of intruding his advice into my family, 
 in contradiction to my own ; or the forbearance with 
 which I have excused his presence may come to an end. 
 I rely upon you, Lizzy Mordaunt, to make your friend 
 understand this. He has, perhaps, counted too largely 
 on m}^ toleration.” 
 
 Eortunately, we were at the door of Lady Carleton, or 
 I might have been provoked to an unbecoming retort. 
 Once alone with my elder aunt, my thoughts were soon 
 diverted by her accustomed queries. There was always 
 some one thing she particularly wanted to know; her 
 anxiety concerning which she tried to disguise by con- 
 fusing it among ten thousand idle interrogations. On 
 this occasion, she was in the best of humours ; having 
 been pottering away the evening with small quadrille and 
 small negus, in some coterie of dowager twaddles, where 
 she was overwhelmed with congratulations on the ap- 
 proaching marriage of her niece. 
 
 “ Pray, my dear child,” said she, as she bad me good 
 night, “ do not forget that, though others may have aided 
 to forward this happy change in your prospects, but for 
 me you would still have been droning away your days at 
 Spetchingley.” 
 
 “ I trust, madam, I shall never give you cause to think 
 me ungrateful,” said I, cutting short a thousand unsatis- 
 factory explanations. Eor I was eager to find myself 
 alone in my once despised attic ; eager to commune with 
 
60 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 my own heart and in my chamber, but not, alas ! “ be 
 still!” The long neglected ceremony of self-communion 
 rendered me infinitely restless. 
 
 Tor I had now attained the climax of my Spetchingley 
 ambitions. I had thrown off the authority of the w'oman 
 I despised, the familiarities of the man I isliked. — I had 
 visited London, and reached the highest point of fashion- 
 able notoriety. My portrait, after Sherwin’s sl^etch, was 
 hanging in the print shops ; my name cited in the gossip 
 of courtly newspapers. I belonged to the supreme coterie 
 of Carlton House ; was the associate of Highnesses, Eoyal 
 and Serene, of fascinating duchesses and fascinated poli- 
 ticians. Hay, even the distinguished suitors of whom 
 my vanity had luxuriated in far-oif visions, were begin- 
 ning to throng to my feet. In addition to the courtship 
 of Sir Claude, Lord M., the only son of the Earl of C., 
 had made me an offer of his hand, which I had not dared 
 avow to either of my aunts. 
 
 Yet I was miserable, — miserable, according to the 
 most approved form of Miss-in-her-teenish desperation ; 
 nay, perhaps, of a still higher order of misery. I was in 
 love with a man of noble character, and eminent abilities, 
 without hope of return. The Toxes and Titzpatricks, 
 the Greys and Townshends, were to me no more than 
 their painted effigies from the pencil of Sir Joshua; for 
 these heroes belonged notoriously to a class to whom 
 their neighbours’ wives are more an object of coveting 
 than their neighbours’ daughters. But though I had 
 been assured by more than one Mrs. Candour, of the 
 Eochester House School for Scandal, that Mr. Titzirnham 
 was no otherwise to be distinguished from his gay asso- 
 ciates than by a handsomer person and less reckless 
 demeanour, I had, from our first acquaintance, discerned 
 in him a thousand superior qualities, inducing the hope 
 that his principles were regulated by a higher standard. 
 I was satisfied that he was not in love with Lady Pem- 
 bury ; but without the slightest reason to flatter myself 
 he was in love with Miss Mordaunt. 
 
 Jealousy is said to be a quick-sighted passion; and my 
 jealous cousin Algernon was evidently as confident of 
 Titzirnham’ s attachment to me, as of mine to him. But 
 
MEMOmS OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 61 
 
 Algernou, in tliis case, saw double. My affection was 
 returned only with admiration. Eitzirnham paid many 
 a tribute to my beauty, many to my sprightliness. But 
 the tenderness which beauty and wit fail to call forth, — 
 that tenderness, the sacred reward of humbler but better 
 gifts, — neither trembled in his voice, nor melted in his 
 glances. While Algernon’s colour went and came, ac- 
 cording to the sport of my caprice, while Algernon would 
 assert, deny, revoke, with charming inconsistency, accord- 
 ing to the dictation of my whims, Bitzirnham remained 
 uncompromised. My frowns might make him laugh; 
 my vivacity, weary. But never for a single instant had 
 I moved him from his self-possession. Was not this a 
 check to the presumption of the rising belle — a blow to 
 the arrogance of Lizzy Mordaunt of Spetchingley ? 
 
 It was idle for me to say^ in my self-conceit, ‘‘ It shall 
 be otherwise — I will subdue the man at last.” All the 
 arts at my disposal had been attempted in vain. I 
 owned to myself without disguise or shame, that I had 
 laboured my utmost to fix his attention ; for Bitzirnham’s 
 position in the world was so far from solid, that my 
 pride felt secure from the accusation of interested motives. 
 
 Having refused Sir Bobert Warley and Lord M , 
 
 and frowned upon Sir Claude Lovell, I felt privileged to 
 smile upon the younger brother of a country-gentleman. 
 I had perhaps even exceeded the bounds of prudence in 
 my encouragement; for my desire to find myself in 
 He Vere Bitzirnham’s society, which had induced me to 
 neglect the prohibition of my brother, was now about to 
 render me a guest at the far-famed suppers of Carlton 
 House ! 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 The fetes just then projected in honour of the first visit 
 of the Due de Chartres to the Prince of Wales, were 
 brilliant as became the hospitality offered by a royal host 
 to a royal guest ; and a thousand flattering voices were 
 
62 
 
 MEMOIBS OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 raised on all sides to welcome a prince, destined in after 
 years to be reviled as a disgrace to bnman nature. Tor 
 historical characters, like drawings in sympathetic ink, 
 assume tbeir colouring according to the degree of heat to 
 which they are exposed. As Eegent and King, even the 
 Prince was fated to fall from the eminence he had 
 enjoyed as Heir-apparent: while the Due de Chartres, 
 on presuming to profess under the name of ‘‘Egalite 
 Orleans” a practical interpretation of the Divine precept, 
 that ‘^All men are brethren,” was fated not only to 
 forfeit caste, but to lose head ! — 
 
 Knew him, I did, and in the happier hour 
 
 Of social freedom, ill-exchanged for power ; 
 
 applauded by the noble jockeys of Newmarket for his 
 pertinacity in confronting the displeasure of the Drench 
 Court, in order to witness the decision of his bets at the 
 Spring Meeting ; and lauded to the skies by the coterie 
 of Carlton House, for his generous offer of relieving the 
 Prince from his pecuniary embarrassments. 
 
 Hitherto, indeed, Madame de Genlis had succeeded 
 only in creating discord in the menage of a prince married 
 according to his degree, rather than his inclinations. 
 She had not yet involved him in revolutionary cabals ; 
 and the world of ’White’s saw in him only a showy, 
 brilliant, licentious man of quality, in whose mind were 
 jumbled Wilkes and Liberty, — Newmarket and Eclipse, — 
 Carlton House and Charlie Eox, — ^jockey-boots and 
 hunting-saddles, — all and equally as parts of the Anglo- 
 mania just then in vogue among the fashionables of 
 Prance : — a vain, idle, dissipated man, as little of a con- 
 spirator as Colonel O’Kelly, Lord Barrymore, or the 
 Duke of Queensbury. 
 
 It was fortunate for me that my inauguration into the 
 coterie of the Prince occurred at a moment of such 
 splendour. In addition to the parties at Carlton House, 
 we had constant parties to Kanelagh, the Pantheon, 
 Vauxhall, — or boatings to Kichmond or Hampton Coiirt. 
 Lord Pembury, Pitzirnham, and my two cousins, usually 
 escorted us ; the Duke of Bochester being engrossed by 
 his duties in the House of Lords, and frequent visits to 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 63 
 
 his invalid brother, Lord Hugh de Vere, who resided at 
 a family-seat, called Penderells, on the borders of Hert« 
 fordshire. 
 
 From these visits, I observed that he returned not 
 only depressed in spirits, but less disposed than usual to 
 indulgence towards the follies of his giddy wife. Lord 
 Hugh de Vere was a man of grave and conscientious 
 frame of mind ; rendered still graver by illness, still 
 sterner by seclusion, and painfully susceptible on the 
 score of family honour; and the mild benignity of the 
 Duke was probably disturbed by the remonstrances of 
 the valetudinarian against his culpable acquiescence in 
 the levities of the Duchess. 
 
 It happened that, as an accomplished musician and 
 devoted to the classical school of the art, the Duke was 
 selected as a director of the concerts about to be per- 
 formed in "Westminster Abbey, in commemoration of 
 Handel ; — an undertaking for which he condescended to 
 solicit the patronage of his wife. But Handel being an 
 object of favour at Windsor Castle, Carlton House had, 
 of course, declared itself in favour of the Italian school ; 
 and as loudly as the King and Queen applauded the 
 
 Messiah,” did the Prince of Wales applaud La 
 Molinara.” 
 
 “ I am come to ask you to oblige me by attending the 
 sacred concerts about to be given for the benefit of the 
 Musical Fund,” said the Duke, entering a morning-room 
 overlooking the old-fashioned Dutch garden of Bochester 
 House, in which my aunt was accustomed to receive her 
 privileged friends. 
 
 “Devote five days to psalm-singing?” cried she, 
 looking for support to Lord Pembury, Colonel St. Leger, 
 and Fitzirnham, wLo were her guests. “ What have I 
 done to deserve such a penance! — Your Abramses and 
 Knyvetts are my utter detestation.” 
 
 “I have therefore much pleasure in promising you 
 Mara and Pachierotti,” replied the Duke, “who have 
 been engaged at my suggestion.” 
 
 “ Poor dear Mara ! — An encore in the ^ Horse and his 
 Bider’ would be the ruin of her splendid voice,” observed 
 the Duchess, turning to St. Leger. 
 
64 
 
 MEMOmS OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 She has undertaken only ^ Pious Orgies,’— the song 
 so charmingly given by your friend Mrs. Sheridan. I 
 am sure you will feel pleasure in hearing her,” mildly 
 interposed the Duke. 
 
 ^‘Not at the risk of a rheumatic fever from the chill 
 and damp of the Abbey,” said the duchess coldly. 
 
 Which nothing, of course, but a coronation would 
 tempt your Grace to overlook,” observed Pitzirnham, in 
 a bantering tone. 
 
 In that case, proper precautions are taken.” 
 
 ^^Not more than in the present,” said the Duke. “I 
 promise you a seat secure from chill or damp.” 
 
 ‘^Exposed rather to the perils of suffocation,” observed 
 Colonel St. Leger in a low voice. “Por you will be 
 entitled to the honours of the Directors’ box, next to that 
 of the Poyal Pamily.” 
 
 To be shown up as a public mark for the ungracious- 
 ness of the King and Queen !” exclaimed the Duchess. 
 
 ‘‘ Their Majesties are too much interested in the success 
 of the Commemoration, to render it an occasion for 
 testifyign their political resentments,” observed the Duke, 
 gravely. 
 
 “ One of the objects, then, of my appearance in the 
 Abbey, is to pay my court to Windsor Castle ? — In that 
 case, I am doubly pledged to the Prince to absent 
 myself,” retorted the lady. 
 
 ^‘By this inference, you have placed me under the 
 necessity,” said the Duke, ^‘of exacting your attendance. 
 Do what you please about supporting the Pund, of 
 which I am patron. But one morning, at least, of the 
 Pestival, the Duchess of Kochester must appear with me 
 at the Abbey.” 
 
 As he slowly withdrew, the Duchess gazed after him 
 with an air of undisguised contempt. 
 
 Tell it not in Gath,” said Colonel St. Leger, rising 
 to take leave, “ that the Duchess of Eochester is recruited 
 into the ranks of the Philistines !” 
 
 “Tell it not at Devonshire House, where you are 
 probably going,” cried the Duchess, “ or you will here- 
 after stand convicted as a false prophet. Silence does not 
 always give consent ; and, in spite of Lizzy Mordaunt’s 
 
MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 C5 
 
 imploring looks, wko I know is dying to go to tlie Com- 
 memoration, no Handel for meV^ 
 
 “Better not provoke him,’* observed Lord Pembury, 
 approaching her work-table, and addressing her in a low 
 voice, after St. Leger and Eitzirnham had bowed and 
 taken leave, — “ better not irritate him for a trifle.” 
 
 “It is no trifle,” replied the Duchess in the same 
 confidential tone. “I look upon it as a trial of strength. 
 Besides, I considered those five days to be safe and 
 our own.” 
 
 I heard not Lord Pembury’ s rejoinder. The words 
 “ safe and our own,” startled me so completely, that I 
 rose and descended a flight of marble steps, leading from 
 the room in which we were sitting into the garden, where 
 vases and statues stood thicker than the dipt yew-trees 
 forming the foliage of the old-fashioned place. 
 
 “ Safe and our own !” — Already my attention had been 
 directed by the malicious comments of Lady Carleton 
 towards the intimacy between the Duchess and Lord 
 Pembury ; and though my Spetchingley experience afibrded 
 me no grounds for inferring the possible extent of the 
 mischief, I had heard enough, since my arrival in town, to 
 know that evil, disgrace, and shame were to be appre- 
 hended. My cheeks flushed crimson at the idea that 
 things might have been passing in my presence equally 
 objectionable with the expression which had shocked me, 
 observable to others, but hitherto unnoticed by myself. 
 What suspicions might I not have incurred ! — Might not 
 Eitzirnham himself suppose me cognizant of indiscretions 
 which had never even excited my notice ! — 
 
 I trembled, more from indignation than fear ; and on 
 re-entering the book-room a quarter of an hour afterwards, 
 and, finding her alone, I walked straight up to my aunt, 
 acquainted her with my surmises, and earnestly implored 
 her to prove them groundless, by acceding to the request 
 of the Duke of Eochester. 
 
 Eor some moments, she was silent from surprise. “If 
 it were not clear that you are set on by the impertinent 
 interference of others,” said she, throwing aside her 
 netting, and leaning back on the sofa, “ I should think it 
 necessary to resent the indelicacy of your conduct. As 
 r 
 
66 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 it is, I must be permitted to laugh at you, my poor Lizzy, 
 as the catspaw of a grimalkin, slyer than all her tribe. 
 But I may not always, child, be in so indulgent a mood ; 
 therefore, let me beg — ” 
 
 “Be assured,^’ said I, venturing to interrupt her 
 reprimand, “ that I am prompted on this occasion solely 
 by my own observations.” 
 
 “In that case,” she replied, ringing and ordering the 
 carriage, “ do me the favour to return to J ermyn Street. 
 I will have no spies under my roof. Make what explana- 
 tions you please to Lady Carleton. But if we meet less, 
 we may perhaps esteem each other more.” 
 
 My pride was now in arms. Though vexed to have 
 offended the Duchess, I felt persuaded that, in the course 
 of a day or two, her generous nature would suggest that 
 she alone was in fault. Many days ensued, however, 
 without a token of forgiveness. No visit — no note from 
 the Duchess, wdth whom for six previous weeks I had 
 scarcely passed six hours apart. Lady Carleton grew 
 inquisitive, and insisted on knowing what misunder- 
 standing had occurred between us. She began to fear 
 that Sir Claude Lovell had withdrawn his suit; while 
 Algernon not only resumed his visits, but a new offender 
 appeared in the shape of a certain Mr. De Vere Eitzirn- 
 ham, — one of the ragged regiment of younger brothers, — 
 the abhorrence of all prudent aunts and speculating 
 waiting-women ! 
 
 Already, Mrs. Phillis had received and issued orders 
 of exclusion against the intruder. But his card once 
 deposited upon my table, I was satisfied that he had 
 noticed my absence from my accustomed haunts, and 
 considered me worthy of remembrance. 
 
 Eifty Sir Claude Lovells might have made their way 
 to Jermyn Street, without affording me a fiftieth part of 
 the pleasure ! 
 
 But the day after Eitzirnham’s visit brought the Duke 
 of Eochester, with tickets for the Commemoration. 
 
 “ I will not embarrass you by inquiring the cause of 
 your sudden disappearance from Eochester House,” said 
 he, taking me aside after having presented them to his 
 sister-in-law, “ Let me simply assure you of the unfeigned 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 67 
 
 pleasure it would give me to see you tliere again. I had 
 hoped, indeed, my dear Miss Mor daunt, that when others 
 with heavier claims could spare you, you might have 
 been tempted to become the permanent inmate of the 
 Duchess. Will you permit me to offer myself as mediator 
 between you ?” — 
 
 “ If I am to infer the disposition of her G-race from 
 my own,” said I, trying to smile off my consternation, 
 “mediation might only widen the breach between us. 
 Eut I gratefully thank you, my lord, for your many 
 tokens of kindness.” 
 
 “ You would prove your gratitude better, by returning 
 to Eochester House,” said he, taking my offered hand, 
 “ than by formal compliments. Or if you must compli- 
 ment, may I not transfer your courtesies to the Duchess?” 
 
 “ Willingly, if your Grace will undertake the reponsi- 
 bilities of the .message,” I replied. And I soon found 
 that he had taken me at my word. 
 
 A few days afterwards occurred the first concert of the 
 Commemoration, which I attended with Lady Carleton ; 
 and never can I forget the almost superhuman solemnity 
 of those five hundred voices, echoing in harmonious 
 diapason through the aisles of the old abbey. My very 
 nature seemed subdued by the thrilling grandeur of the 
 opening chorus : but could anything at that moment 
 have increased my satisfaction, it would have been the 
 Duchess of Eochester seated opposite, in a prominent 
 position between her two eldest girls ; looking not only 
 handsomer than I had ever yet beheld her, but perhaps 
 the most beautiful woman present on the occasion. 
 
 “ Lizzy,” said she, approaching me in her usual 
 ingratiating manner, when, at the close of the oratorio, 
 we were making our way with the crowd towards the 
 sortie, — “let there be peace between us! I dare say I 
 was wrong to quarrel with you — you were wrong to 
 provoke it. I have missed you, my dear child, — I trust 
 you have missed me; and now let by-gones be by- 
 gones. — Lady Helena 1 go and pay your respects to Lady 
 Carleton, and try to persuade her to give us the pleasure 
 of her’s and your cousin’s company to-morroAV at dinner, 
 at Eochester House.” 
 
G8 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 TiiouaH umvilling to reject the offered olive-branch, I 
 had little inclination to become a permanent visitor to 
 the Duchess. I preferred the routine of Jermyn Street, 
 and the unaffectionate toleration of the Yiscountess, to 
 the hazard of witnessing follies, as impossible to approve 
 as dangerous to condemn. 
 
 But Lady Carleton had by this time discovered, that 
 an indigent niece, even though handsome and well-born, 
 is not readily disposed of ; and that her house had little 
 attraction for the class into which it was her interest to 
 introduce me. Sir Claude Lovell, in short, had not 
 made his appearance in Jermyn Street, while Algernon 
 Eawborne was a fixture in the house ; and in the interests 
 of her nephew, her niece, and her jointure, she decided 
 that the Duchess of Eochester’s invitation must be 
 accepted. 
 
 “It was too late,” she said, “to raise objections. — The 
 mischief was done. Eairly launched in the dissolute 
 coterie of Lady John, it was there only I should meet 
 Avith an establishment.” She gave me my choice, in 
 short, betwixt Spetchingley and Eochester House ! — But 
 how to augment the burthens of my father, when every 
 letter received from Jane and Helen, tended to prove 
 that our fears concerning the state of his affairs were 
 only too cogently grounded ! — 
 
 While we were discussing the question of, “to go, or 
 not to go,” previously to dressing for the dinner-party, 
 Algernon arrived to give me the full benefit of his 
 support. Without admitting my motives for declining 
 the visit, I expressed my disinclination ; and my cousin, 
 probably divining my objections, afiected to place them 
 to the account of Carlton House. 
 
 “ I admit the justice of your observations,” replied the 
 Viscountess, “ but Miss Mordaunt has advanced too far 
 to recede. In defiance of my counsels, she chose, in the 
 
MEMOIES OP A PEERESS. 
 
 69 
 
 first instance, to glitter her day among those whom the 
 vulgar call fashionable. Had she contented herself with 
 my humble sphere of society, this house would have 
 remained her home. But after having branded herself 
 in the public eye by association with all the notorieties 
 of the day, she must rely on her beauty and the Duchess 
 of Eochester to assist her in forming a marriage among 
 those to whom reputation is a matter of indifference.” 
 
 “ But you do not surely wish to drive my cousin into 
 the society of profligates and — ” 
 
 ^^You do not, I hope, stigmatise the society of your 
 favourite aunt by such a term ?” interrupted Lady 
 Carleton. 
 
 “Eather that of the Prince,” said I, ‘Ho which the 
 public is in the habit of attaching epithets equally 
 injurious.” 
 
 “All that is over!” replied Lady Carleton, shrugging 
 her shoulders. “The Prince is now pursuing an honourable 
 courtship. The Due de Chartres complains sadly of the 
 decorum of Carlton House. Our illustrious Benedick is, 
 or is to be, a married man. Do you suppose the Prince 
 has not sufficient influence in Parliament to legalise his 
 union with a well-born, well-bred Englishwoman, of 
 unblemished reputation ?” 
 
 “Meanwhile,” rejoined Algernon, “my cousin will still 
 be a guest at Eochester House, — a circumstance, I am 
 convinced, you will ultimately find cause to regret ; — 
 therefore ” 
 
 “We will discuss your profound convictions another 
 time,” observed my aunt, pettishly. “ It is time to dress 
 for dinner.” 
 
 An incident occurred in the course of that evening, 
 however, of which the poor Viscountess entertained little 
 apprehension. Approaching me, while my two aunts 
 were engaged in earnest conversation, Algernon made me 
 an offer of his hand 1 
 
 “ I am fully aware,” said he, “ of the inadequacy of my 
 position in life to your claims and desires. But in be- 
 coming mine, dearest Lizzy, you would at least be assured 
 of a tranquil and happy home, — of a heart devoted to you, 
 — of a hand prompt and strong in your defence. Even 
 
70 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 these, I should not presume to tender to your acceptance, 
 were I not aware that troubles you know not of await you 
 at Spetchingley, and perils which, alas ! you are beginning 
 to understand, under the protection of the Duchess. Mr. 
 Mordaunt’s affairs are, I fear, hopelessly involved.” 
 
 I trembled ! — His announcement of the fact I had so 
 long anticipated, drew my attention more perhaps than it 
 ought, from the generosity of his proceedings towards me. 
 Por poor Algernon immediately attributed my emotion 
 to a cause more flattering. 
 
 ‘‘ Speak !” he whispered, his eyes sparkling with 
 awakened hope. ‘‘ Am I so fortunate as to obtain your 
 assent ? — Dare I flatter myself ?” — 
 
 “ Alas ! my dear cousin, I am thinking only of my 
 father,” — said I, deeply affected, — “ my poor, poor father !” 
 
 “Porgivemy abrupt allusion to circumstances so pain- 
 ful,” pleaded Algernon, in an altered voice. Were not 
 your prospects so precarious, I should not have ventured 
 to ” 
 
 Away with such misplaced humility, my dear cousin,” 
 eried I. ‘‘ Nothing can increase, nothing will diminish, 
 the warm regard with which our first interview inspired 
 me. But, my affection for you is that of a sister. Nay, 
 to prevent the possibility of future misunderstanding 
 between us, I throw off all womanly reserv e, and frankly 
 tell you that — ” 
 
 No! do not tell it me!” interrupted Algernon, turning 
 deadly pale, and laying his hand imploringly on my arm. 
 ‘‘ If I am to learn that you love another, let it be from 
 other lips than yours. I have not courage to hear that 
 you are about to bestow yourself on one for whose sake 
 you will have more to renounce, than even as the wife of 
 your cousin.” 
 
 “ You mistake me,” said I. “ I was about to confide 
 to you that I had bestowed my afiections on another. 
 But I have not the slightest reason to suppose Mr. Pitz- 
 irnham otherwise than indifferent towards me.” 
 
 “ You are not sincere, now .'” said Algernon. You 
 cannot be so perversely blind as not to see that you are 
 dear to him as to myself.” 
 
 “ Then why not avow his affection ?” said I, faintly. 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 71 
 
 Because he is ignorant that the circumstances of your 
 family are such as to reconcile you to a home of moderate 
 brilliancy.” 
 
 A plausible explanation, — the only consolatory circum- 
 stance connected with my re-inauguration at Rochester 
 House. The following day, Titzirnham was one of a 
 large party of dinner guests. Notwithstanding the 
 animosity of the Duchess, he was established as one of 
 the habitues of the house ; for the result of the recent 
 elections seemed to necessitate zeal and concentration in 
 the Fox party. The popularity of Pitt, fostered by the 
 favour of the King, had been the origin of disturbances 
 in the metropolis ; and as an e-vddence that politics were 
 then in fashion , be it remembered that the hottest of 
 the war was waged in St. James’s Street, between the 
 chairmen of Brookes’s and the other clubs, who fought a 
 tilting-match with their chairpoles ! — 
 
 But, alas ! while all the other guests of Eochester House 
 marked that they had been aware of my absence by eager 
 compliments on my return, Pitzirnham saluted me with an 
 air of vague and unmeaning courtesy ; turning away to 
 enter into a lively colloquy with Mary Monckton, the 
 sprightly and fashionable sister of Lord Gralway. 
 
 Piqued by his indifference, I was delighted to find my- 
 self next to Sir Claude Lovell ; who, roused from his 
 usual torpor to a fit of sentiment by meeting me again, 
 enabled me to conceal my vexation. It was in vain, how- 
 ever, I played off my girlish airs of coquetry ; Pitzirnham 
 remained imperturbable ; and the witticisms of 
 
 “Little Monckton, the gay and genteel,’* 
 
 (as she was aptly qualified in the verses of Bishop 
 Marlay,) kept him and all around them in continued 
 laughter. 
 
 The tiresome dinner w^as over at last ; and the weather 
 being sultry, the Duchess established herself for the 
 evening in the book-room opening to the garden. 
 
 “ What have you been doing with yourself this age, 
 my dear ?” inquired Miss Monckton, drawing me to the 
 stone terrace fronting the house. “ I was in hopes the 
 dear Duchess had suppressed you altogether, to leave 
 
72 
 
 MEMOmS OF A PEEEESS, 
 
 some chance for mj heaiix yeux. But your absence 
 rendered the brilliant Bitzirnham dull as a rainy day, and 
 left Sir Claude most provokingly at liberty to bestow his 
 tediousness upon aU the world. So, when next you 
 eclipse yourself, take him with you into the shade, in 
 order to reconcile us to your absence.” 
 
 “ Surely you can afford dunce-room to a singe block- 
 head, in your gay coterie of wits ?” said I ; “ one penny- 
 worth of bread, to so monstrous a quantity of sack 1” 
 
 “ Very well — very well indeed !” said Miss Monckton 
 in a patronising tone. “ Duchess, you really must not 
 bestow this promising child upon so ‘capital a calf’ as 
 Lovell. To be sacrificed to such a minotaur, is hu- 
 miliating.” 
 
 “You underrate Sir Claude,” said I, piqued into taking 
 up his defence. “ Without pretensions to lel-esprit^ he 
 boasts that far more uncommon quality, common-sense ; 
 and has a great deal to say for himself.” 
 
 “Probably — for as yet, he has said none of it! — 
 To what account does your Grace intend to turn this 
 charming moonlight night ?” said she, interrupting herself 
 to address the Duchess. 
 
 “I have nothing in view,” replied my aunt. “My 
 ennui is quite at your disposal.” 
 
 “ Could we not sup at Vauxhall ?” 
 
 “ Too late ! — Had you sent me a little word this morn- 
 ing, we might have had boats and music.” 
 
 “ But can’t we make it a frisk, send some one down to 
 Westminster, and take what we find ?” 
 
 “ Some one is no one. My groom of the chambers is 
 a Swiss ; my footmen, Irish giants. I have scarcely a 
 soul in my establishment whom I can trust with a 
 message.” 
 
 “ The Duke is as good a manager as Garrick 1 — But 
 what has become of your nephew Algernon ?” 
 
 “ Lizzy sent him away last night with eyes as red as 
 poor Bentinck’s over-rouged cheeks. — I don’t expect to 
 see him for the next hundred years.” 
 
 “ And Eitzirnham ?” 
 
 “ Is a vast deal too consequential to be troubled with 
 commissions.” 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 73 
 
 “ Consequential? — Eidicnlous! — I concluded you had 
 him here for the express purpose of fetching and 
 carrying.’* 
 
 I am not in a position to give the law,” replied the 
 Duchess, with a heavy sigh. ‘‘Like His Majesty’s lieges, 
 I accept the burthens imposed upon me, and cry, God 
 save the King !” 
 
 “ Fitzirnham has great abilities,” rejoined her friend. 
 “ ’Tis a pity he was thrown out of parliament. All this, 
 however, does not help us towards Yauxhall ?” 
 
 “ Our men are going down to the House. AVe should 
 have no one but Lovell,” 
 
 “ Can’t you send to White’s ? — Lord Pembury is sure 
 to be there. Tell him to get us Fitz william and St. 
 Leger.” 
 
 “ As well try for the Prince, or Brook Boothby ! And 
 to tell you the truth,” added the Duchess, lowering her 
 voice, “I am under restrictions. Were I to send to 
 Pembury, it would be as the King did to the Duke of 
 Portland, to tell him not to come.” 
 
 By this admission my suspicions were verified. There 
 had been an explanation between the Duke and Duchess, 
 and the difficulties of my position seemed removed. But, 
 while the Duchess, who had taken Miss Monckton’s arm, 
 was sauntering round the garden to whisper further 
 secrets, Fitzirnham entered the room to look for his hat, 
 and seemed startled at finding me alone. 
 
 “ Miss Mordaunt has received so many compliments on 
 her return to this house,” said he, approaching the win- 
 dow where I was standing, “ that she will perhaps forgive 
 the one sincere well-wisher who dares express his regret 
 at seeing her here again. I was so happy to know you 
 safe in Jermyn Street ! Every day, as I looked up to- 
 wards your windows, I congratulated myself that dulness 
 was now the only evil impending, over you !” 
 
 “ And what have I to dread here,” said I, struck by his 
 earnestness, “ unless the caprices of a temper, which you 
 and all the world have conspired to spoil?” 
 
 Temper he retorted, with a contemptuous smile. 
 “ Faults of temper in a negligent mother, an unfaithful 
 wife ! But forgive me, I am trespassing too far on your 
 
74 
 
 MEMOIBS OF A PEEBESS. 
 
 forbearance. Still, when I see you involved in a web of 
 hypocrisy and deceit — ” 
 
 “The Duchess and her friend are yonder,” said I, 
 pointing to the garden where their white dresses gleamed 
 among the yew-trees. 
 
 “I know it. — I have but a moment for warning, not 
 one for apology. — Do not, I implore you, accompany the 
 Duchess to Brighthelmstone !” 
 
 “ Accompany her where — said I, fancying that he 
 alluded to some scheme of diversion for the night. 
 
 “ To Brighthelmstone, — where the Duchess means you 
 to be her companion. The Prince has hired a house for 
 the summer. The Due de Chartres will visit him. — The 
 Pemburys — the whole set are to be there. — Avoid it as 
 you would a pestilence !” 
 
 “ But will you not explain how those whom you call 
 your friends — ” 
 
 “ Hush !” interrupted Pitzirnham, pointing to the 
 door leading to the dining-room. “ They come ! Besent 
 my counsels if you will, but act upon them. I appear 
 officious, impertinent. — No matter, so I but prevail 
 with you.” 
 
 At that moment, the joyous laugh of Charles Pox 
 resounded in the gallery, and the Duke of Eochester 
 accompanied him into the room. 
 
 “ The hat not yet found ?” cried the former, who had 
 been waiting for Pitzirnham that they might go down 
 together to the House. “ I would discover the source of 
 the Niger in half the time ! — Dear Miss Mordaunt, take 
 pity on a silly youth who has lost his hat and his heart, 
 and let us go. — Not another blush, not another smile, I 
 entreat you ; or Eochester’s poor horses will be kept 
 waiting another hour.” 
 
 I would not have blushed could I have helped it ; more 
 especially as the Duke appeared displeased at finding me 
 tete-a-tete with Pitzirnham. 
 
 “ Duchess !” resumed my tormentor, addressing my 
 aunt, who just then re-entered the room, “ have you any 
 commands for Brighthelmstone ? — To-morrow being dies 
 non with the slaves of the nation, I have promised to drive 
 down with the Prince, and return the following morning.” 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEllESS. 75 
 
 “I have no commission with which I need trouble 
 you,” replied the Duchess, evidently embarrassed. 
 
 “ Commissions for Brighthelmstone, my dear Mr. Pox !” 
 cried Miss Monckton. “ I should as soon have expected 
 Lunardi, previously to his ascent, to ask one’s orders for 
 the moon.” 
 
 Her G-race perfectly — ” 
 
 My dear Pox, allow me to retort upon you,” cried 
 Pitzirnham, taking pity on the Duchess. The carriage 
 has been twice announced, and the Duke is waiting.” 
 
 And mingling apologies and adieus, the best-natured of 
 men accepted the hint, and led the way out of the 
 room. 
 
 “ What is all this ? — What mystery has Charlie blun- 
 dered out ?” — inquired Miss Monckton, the moment the 
 doors closed upon them. ‘^Have you committed a murder 
 at Brighthelmstone, — or have you some other crime in 
 contemplation, that you blush so heinously ?” 
 
 The crime of wishing to pass a few weeks there at the 
 time the Prince, the Due de Chartres, Mrs. Pitzherbert, 
 Mrs. St. John, and fifty other people will be enjoying sea- 
 bathing ; whereas the Duke insists on carrying me and 
 mine to Vere Court, where I insist on not being carried. 
 I am therefore keeping snug my Brighthelmstone project, 
 till it is convenient to me to be indisposed, and persuade 
 old Warren that I cannot be cured without the aid of sea- 
 breezes. — Of course, the Prince is in my secret ; and as 
 he tells everything to Charlie, who tells everything to 
 everybody, the poor dear Duke was very near being in- 
 troduced behind the scenes, instead of into a side-box.” 
 
 Apropos, to side-boxes,” said her friend, — are you 
 going to the theatricals at Eichmond House ? ^ The 
 
 Way to Keep him’ rendered The Way to Lose him, by 
 the vile acting of Mrs. Hobart, as the Widow Belmour ? 
 — She has been taking lessons of Abington and Miss 
 Parren. But yesterday, at rehearsal, all was so absurd, 
 that I w^as forced to bite my lips till I came out of the 
 House, pouting like one of Charles’s beauties !” 
 
 “ Or like one of Charlie’s ! And, by the way, if you 
 see him to-morrow, pray scold him to death’s door for 
 his indiscretion about my marine villa on the Steyne.” 
 
76 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 “He could as easily keep his money as a secret!” 
 replied Miss Monckton, yawning. And presently, finding 
 all hope of Vauxhall at an end, she rattled away the 
 Duchess to a brag-party at Mrs. Crewe’s, which served to 
 amuse them till sun-rise. In such diversions, my aunt 
 never wished me to join. I was, therefore, left at home 
 to ponder on Pitzirnham’s strange inconsistency and 
 alarming hints. 
 
 “After all,” was the conclusion of my cogitations, “if 
 I have ground to fear unpleasant results from this trip to 
 the coast, it is but to get myself recalled to Spetchingley. 
 Though I would fain relieve my father from an additional 
 burthen, it must not be at the expense of his daughter’s 
 reputation.” 
 
 These perplexities, like Jaffier’splagues,keptme all night 
 waking ; and, at an early hour, just as I had fallen into a 
 sleep so deep as to prevent my hearing the Duchess’s 
 carriage drive back into. the court-yard, I was awoke by 
 her Grace’s femme de chambre. Mademoiselle Aglae, 
 with the announcement that heau Monsieur, — un 
 jeune Jiomme tout-a-fait comme il faut,^^ was waiting for 
 me in the library. 
 
 “At this hour ?” said I, rubbing my eyes and starting 
 up ; and, convinced that either my cousin Algernon or 
 Lord Medway was the intruder, I dressed in haste, and 
 hurried down. But scarcely, had I reached the threshold 
 of the library, when I was encircled by two eager arms, 
 pressed to an affectionate heart, and saluted by the earnest 
 voice of my brother, Harry Mordaunt. 
 
 “ How came you in this house ?” was his first inquiry ; 
 readily answered by “ Against my will, and at that of my 
 two aunts.” To my own question of “ what are you 
 doing in town,” he replied that, the long vacation having 
 commenced, he was on his way to Spetchingley. 
 
 “ And Eichard ?” 
 
 “ Dick travels characteristically, by the day-coach. lie 
 takes too much care of himself to venture into the mail 
 and the night air. About the middle of to-morrow, you 
 will, perhaps, receive a visit from him.” 
 
 “ Poor Eichard !” 
 
 “ Foor Eichard, — who will end by being the rich man 
 
MEMOIES OP A PEERESS. 
 
 77 
 
 of the family ; for he receives little, but spends nothing. 
 You are happy here, my dear Lizzy interrupted my 
 brother. 
 
 “Very happy,” I replied, in an embarrassed tone. 
 
 “ How came Lady Carleton to make up her mind to 
 part with you ?” 
 
 “ My aunt is not rich — ” 
 
 That part of the obligation I settled beforehand. 
 IS^ot to leave my dear sister where she was ill at ease, I 
 bribed Lady Carleton with half my allowance to receive 
 you.” 
 
 “ Dear HaiTy !” cried I, throwing myself into his arms, 
 and more gratified by the discovery of his generosity than 
 disturbed by the meanness of my aunt. — “ How shall I 
 ever repay the kindness of so good a brother?” 
 
 “ By submitting to his guidance,” replied Harry, 
 gravely. “ Dor I must scold you, Lizzy — and express my 
 regret at the imprudence which rendered you a public 
 mark for the — ” 
 
 “Hush, hush,” — cried I, closing his lips with a kiss. — 
 “ Your warning came too late. But it was not given in 
 vain. For the future, rely on my discretion.” 
 
 “ And this Sir Claude Lovell, whom the world informs 
 me I am to have for a brother-in-law ?” — 
 
 “ Certainly not by an alliance with one .'” 
 
 “ Then why accept his attentions ? — Why not dismiss 
 him at once ?” 
 
 “ The Duchess will not hear of renouncing the alle- 
 giance of the proprietor of four boroughs.” 
 
 “ Precisely what I apprehended 1” 
 
 “ You have nothing to fear ; I am no longer the simple 
 girl I was at Spetchingley.” 
 
 “ Alas ! that you should say so, and that I should be 
 forced to believe you !” ejaculated my brother. 
 
 “ Do not put a harsh construction on my expressions. 
 I mean only that I am no longer misled by the arts of 
 the Duchess of Bochester.” 
 
 “ The arts of the Duchess ? — You alarm me more and 
 more !” cried my brother. “ Is it possible that a sister of 
 our excellent mother could — ” 
 
 “Hot so loud !” said I, dreading lest the explosion of 
 
78 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 his wrath might be overheard ; “ and not so violent. Mj 
 aunt is, as you know, a woman of the Avorld, who professes 
 a superficial morality, the hollowness and danger of which 
 I have been so fortunate as to discover.” 
 
 ‘‘Would you had never come here!” interrupted 
 Harry. “ I have half a mind to carry you off to Spetch- 
 ingley 1” 
 
 I trembled 1 After my recent conversation with Titz- 
 irnham, it would have been pain and grief to me to 
 abandon London. But Harry’s next sentence relieved 
 my fears. 
 
 “JS^or should I hesitate,” he continued, “but that I 
 have just received a letter from my father, bidding me 
 lose not a minute in joining him. In half an hour, I 
 shall be on my road. If, as I fear, his message regards 
 some unforeseen embarrassment, to free him from which 
 my co-operation is necessary, your arrival at home would 
 be ill-timed. All this I shall ascertain on reaching 
 Leicestershire, and nothing will be easier than to return 
 and fetch you. Bemember, therefore, my dear sister, 
 that I rely upon your prudence, your honour^ to apprise 
 me, should anything occur to render your residence 
 here — ” 
 
 “ Cousin Lizzy, — dear cousin Lizzy 1” — interrupted a 
 strange voice; and scarcely less to my surprise than 
 delig&. Lady Helena De Vere and her sister Isabella 
 came bounding into the room. 
 
 “ At what o’clock are we to be admitted to mamma ? 
 This, you know, is the day appointed for us to visit Sir 
 Ashton Lever’s museum. The carriage was sent early — 
 and here we are 1” said Lady Isabella, throwing her arms 
 round my neck. And thus I was relieved from embar- 
 rassing inquiries on the part of Henry, whom I presented 
 in form to his little cousins. 
 
 “Are cousin Lizzy’s brother Henry ?” inquired 
 Helena, frankly offering him her hand. “And are you 
 come to live with her at Bochester House ?” 
 
 “ No, — I am on my way to her home and mine, at 
 Spetchingley Park.” 
 
 ‘^llas cousin Lizzy a home ? — Then why don’t she live 
 at it?” inquired Isabella, in all the giddy joy of a day’s 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEBESS. 
 
 79 
 
 escape from three governesses. “ It’s so delightful to he 
 in one’s own home, with one’s own papa and mamma! 
 We do so hate Beaufort Lodge, where we are moped up, 
 away from every one. Lizzy, you promised to drive down 
 yesterday and see us ?” 
 
 “ It was not convenient to the Duchess to lend me the 
 carriage.” 
 
 “ If I were you, I would stay in my own home, and 
 have a carriage of my own 1” cried the light-hearted girl, 
 who was instructed in all possible branches of learning, 
 but left in utter ignorance of the usages of society. ‘‘ And 
 then, you would often come and see us, would you not ? 
 You are almost as kind and good as papa !” 
 
 “ Do you not see that Miss Mordaunt wishes to be 
 alone with her brother ?” said the sager Lady Helena. 
 “ Come away.” 
 
 But on this hint, my brother rose to take his departure ; 
 and right thankful was I to my little cousins for having 
 secured me from interrogations, which it would have been 
 painful to me to answer with the degree of sincerity due 
 to a brother. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 It is always suspicious when a wayward wilful woman 
 becomes suddenly amenable to the authority of her 
 husband. I own my surprise was excited when the 
 Duchess, whose engagements prevented her devoting the 
 day to the little girls, desired me to take them, after 
 viewing the museum, to visit their aunts Carleton and 
 Shanstone. 
 
 “ The Duke seems anxious,” said she, that they should 
 keep up the ceremonial of relationship. I fancy our 
 beloved brother. Lord Hugh, preaches family union as the 
 first of Christian virtues ; for Eochester would fain have 
 me live surrounded by my kindred, as if already installed 
 in a family vault. As regards the girls, however, it is 
 
80 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEERESS. 
 
 easy to oblige him. Take care only that Lady Carleton 
 does not stuff them with stale cake, or Lady Lavinia with 
 Whitfield’s staler catechisms.” 
 
 We obeyed her ; and if anything could surprise me 
 more than her G-race’s conjugal obedience, it would have 
 been to find established at Lady Lavinia’s that solemn 
 formal personage my brother Hichard. The Shanstones 
 offered for him, — what he seemed little inclined to offer 
 for himself, — an apology for his visit to his cousins, 
 previous to visiting his sister ; and I now discovered that 
 a sort of controversial correspondence was kept up be- 
 tween Lady Lavinia and her nephew, which included de- 
 nunciations against all the rest of the family ; nay, her 
 ladyship became, even in my presence, so personal in her 
 condemnations of the wicked ones of her tribe, that I 
 longed to inquire how Lord Medway chanced to escape 
 being included in the comminution. 
 
 A week after this day of surprises, the Duchess began 
 suddenly to complain of indisposition ; and when I heard 
 her at the close of supper, one Saturday night after the 
 opera, desire the groom of the chambers to take care that 
 Dr. Warren was sent for on the following day, I was for 
 a moment stupid enough to believe that the lady I had 
 seen a moment before laughing and chatting, all grace and 
 loveliness, with Colonel St. Leger and Mr. G-rey, was 
 attacked by serious illness. I offered to sit up with her ; 
 and instantly detected a playful smile of triumph in her 
 eyes, at the idea of having deceived me. 
 
 Next day, the Duchess was en ^petite sante ; — wore a 
 cap, — her hair unpowdered, — exchanged her hoop for a 
 neglige, and looked more charming than ever. Ditz- 
 patrick, who happened to drop in as Warren’s carriage 
 drove from the door, addressed her a few impromptu 
 verses on her indisposition, which, repeated that night 
 at White’s, sent all London with inquiries to the gates , 
 of Eochester House; and it excited no surprise when, 
 some days afterwards, the newspapers announced, with 
 their usual specious plausibility, that, ‘^as soon as her 
 convalescence permitted, the amiable and lovely Duchess 
 of Eochester would remove to Brighthelm stone, for the 
 benefit of sea-air.” The stage-trick of this little drama 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 81 
 
 was SO admirably got up, as to have deceived any one not 
 admitted, like myself, to the rehearsal. 
 
 The Duchess, meanwhile, was kind enough to spare me 
 the penance of seclusion which she thought proper to 
 impose upon herself. She sent me under Lady Carleton’s 
 chaperonage to her box at the opera, and insisted on my 
 accompanying Mrs. Sheridan to a ball at Devonshire 
 House ; and there, for the first time since our explanation, 
 I met Ditzirnham. He was not what is termed a dancing- 
 man ; and when he asked the honour of my hand, I saw 
 that it was merely to insure unobserved conversation. 
 
 “ Tour brothers have been in town said he, as we 
 moved together towards the set that was forming. 
 
 “ Only for a few hours, on their way from college to 
 Leicestershire.” 
 
 “ Too short a time, I fear, to admit of mixing in the 
 mobs of the gay world, or hearing the gossip of the 
 West End?” 
 
 “ My second brother is a saint ; my eldest a philo- 
 sopher,” I replied. “ They might listen for ever to your 
 scandal of St. James’s Street, without understanding one 
 half, or believing the other.” 
 
 Lucky they 1” — ejaculated Eitzirnham, with a sigh. 
 
 Half my life is squandered in clubs.” 
 
 “ I^olitical clubs — ” 
 
 ‘‘ All clubs assume the mask of politics, — as one does 
 a domino during the Carnival, to be at liberty to play the 
 fool without loss of character. But we were talking of 
 Mr. Henry Mordaunt. Did he see Lord Medway during 
 his stay in town ?” 
 
 “ There is no intimacy between them. Lord Medway 
 looks down on my brothers, as country cousins. Algernon 
 was at Brighthelmstone when they were here, engaging 
 a house for his father.” 
 
 “ Lord Bawborne going down to meet his sister ?” cried 
 Eitzirnham with a clouded brow. ‘‘ An excellent arrange- 
 ment of his son ! — You have a happy summer before you 1” 
 
 “ I hope so,” said I, affecting not to understand him. 
 
 I have never even seen the sea, and look forward to a 
 thousand pleasures.” 
 
 ‘‘ Better thus, after all ; far better thus !” muttered my 
 
 a 
 
82 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 partner, replying to liis own reflections rather than to my 
 observation. “ Better, safe under the guardianship of an 
 honourable man, than left at the mercy of the world — ’’ 
 
 “ Of only half the world, if you allude to Brighthelm- 
 stone,” said I, unwilling to treat his remark seriously. 
 “We are not sure of the Prince and Carlton House.” 
 
 “ You are sure of the Pemburys and Rochester House,” 
 retorted Pitzirnham, with bitterness, “as well as of the Duke 
 of Queensbury — Barrymore — G-eorge Hanger — Lade, — 
 all the shreds and patches of tarnished lace t^at hang upon 
 the tattered mantle of Boyalty ! Already, the Prince, 
 finding his party out of public favour, is growing out of 
 sorts with politics ; and finds the claret drunk with the 
 asses of the Jockey Club as inspiriting as that he used to 
 quaff with the brightest spirits of the age. He accepts 
 excess for conviviality, — he mistakes ” 
 
 “ Hush !” said I, — “ yonder comes his Eoyal Highness, 
 with a fair apology for his follies hanging on his arm. 
 Bail as much as you please at me and mine. But stop 
 short of high treason, and lead me to my place.” 
 
 While we danced, the eyes of Pitzirnham were fixed 
 upon me with melancholy earnestness. But my attention 
 was soon claimed by the arrival of Sir Claude Lovell; 
 who, having accompanied the Prince to the ball, thought 
 proper to station himself behind me in the country- dance. 
 
 “ So, Miss Mordaunt ! — We are to have you at Bright- 
 helmstone, I find,” said he, after one or more audible 
 yawns. “ Don’t you think it will be deuced good fun ?” 
 
 “ To what do you allude ?” 
 
 “ To Brighton, — bathing, — driving on the downs, — and 
 all that sort of thing. I have built a phaeton not much 
 higher than a wheelbarrow, end my ponies are a hand 
 lower than Lady Lade’s. Pray remind me that you are 
 engaged to me for Lewes races !” 
 
 An angry glance from Pitzirnham, as he took my hand 
 for our turn in the dance, seemed to reproach me with 
 giving attention to a man whom nothing but an extra 
 bottle of claret could have enlivened into uttering so 
 many consecutive phrases. 
 
 “ I say, Miss Mordaunt, you know I shan’t stand your 
 civility to that chap you’re dancing with, if he follows the 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEllESS. 
 
 83 
 
 Dake down to Brighthelmstone,” said Lovell, wlien I 
 resumed my place. “ It vron’t do, you know, when we’re 
 once engaged.” 
 
 “ I do not understand you, Sir Claude,” said I, anxious 
 to get rid of him. 
 
 “ Oh ! yes, yoxo understand me well enough. The 
 Duchess has been trying her hand to make up a match 
 between you and me. But it will be no go, unless the 
 course is duly cleared.” 
 
 The variation of my complexion probably indicated to 
 my partner the annoyance from which I was suffering : 
 for, instantly crossing the dance, he was beginning to 
 address Sir Claude in no measured language, when, 
 seizing his arm, I declared myself indisposed, and begged 
 him to conduct me to Mrs. Sheridan. As we quitted 
 the ball-room, I heard the voice of Lovell vociferating 
 after me with the familiarity of intoxication — “I say. 
 Miss Mordaunt, I’m in earnest. I say it will be no go !” 
 and as plainly discerned, from the half-repressed ejacula- 
 tions of Bitzirnham, that a quarrel between them was 
 inevitable. 
 
 “ Insolent coxcomb 1” muttered he. “ What en- 
 couragement can you have given him, to w^arrant such 
 presumption 1” 
 
 “ None, on my honour 1” said I, scarcely able to 
 restrain my tears ; and, as my agitation visibly increased, 
 I felt my arm fondly pressed under that of my com- 
 panion. 
 
 “ Dearly shall he atone for every word and look that 
 has distressed you !” whispered Bitzirnham, drawing me 
 further from observation into a corridor decorated with 
 flowers, that led towards the supper-room. 
 
 ‘‘Anything but that!” cried I. — “No quarrel, I be- 
 seech you 1” 
 
 “ His safety, then, is dear to you ?” interrupted Bitz- 
 irnham, with quivering lips, casting an inquiring look 
 upon my pale face and trembling lips. “But whatever 
 insults Miss Mordaunt may choose to support, none at 
 least must be offered to a partner of mine. Pardon me 
 for leaving you.” 
 
 “ No, no 1” cried I, clinging to his arm to detain him. 
 
8i 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 Eor my sake, dear Mr. Eitzirnham, let the matter he 
 forgotten.” 
 
 “ AEill you permit me to go in search of Mrs. Sheridan?” 
 cried he, pressing my hand in his. 
 
 Pray do not leave me — you must not leave me !” — 
 said I, sinking into a chair, but in my agitation half re- 
 taining his hand so as to prevent his departure. And 
 Eitzirnham, becoming clearer-sighted to the origin of my 
 emotion, no longer attempted to quit the gallery. 
 
 If I might presume to believe you interested in the 
 safety of one so little worthy your consideration as my- 
 self,” said he, with an inquiring look 
 
 Believe what you will. Only promise me that there 
 shall be no renewal of the altercation ?” 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 “To what am I not exposed!” cried I, bursting into 
 tears. — “ Surrounded by dangers, which I do not under- 
 stand, — appalled by mysterious warnings, — without a 
 friend to guide me — ” 
 
 “ But with a most devoted heart at your disposal 1” 
 
 ; said he soothingly. “ Grive me but the valued right to 
 take up your defence, — tell me only that no other man 
 has a claim upon your affections — ” 
 
 “ I heard you were indisposed, my dear Miss Mor- 
 daunt,” interrupted Mrs. Sheridan, approaching us, having 
 been directed towards the gallery by the rumours of the 
 .ball-room. “ Perhaps you wish to return home ?” 
 
 Indeed I do 1” 
 
 Ask, then, for the Duchess of Eochester’s carriage,” 
 
 ■ said she, addressing Eitzirnham ; “ and let us know when 
 it arrives.” 
 
 And no sooner had he quitted us, than a fresh burst of 
 tears convinced her something serious had occurred. 
 
 “ What can I do to assist you ?” she inquired, in her 
 usual sweet and gentle voice. “ I fear you have had some 
 quarrel with that odious Sir Claude. So much the better I 
 He was every way unworthy of you. Such a marriage 
 would be a miserable sacrifice 1” 
 
 “ It will never take place, dear Mrs. Sheridan !” said I. 
 “ But a quarrel has occurred between him and Mr. Eitz- 
 irnham. When I am gone, try to prevent their meeting.” 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 85 
 
 “ Do not be uneasy. My husband bas great influence 
 over both. AVhen I have seen you safe into the carriage, 
 I will go in search of Dick, and see what is to be done. 
 They shall not fight, if Tie can prevent it.” 
 
 Eight ! — Do you suppose they entertain such an 
 idea ?” 
 
 “ Lord Edward Eitzgerald, who sent me in search of 
 you, said something of an insult — an affront — a challenge. 
 At this hour of the night, Lovell is always primed for a 
 quarrel. However, here comes Eitzirnham with your 
 mantle. Come quietly home with me, and — ” 
 
 ‘‘Ho, no! — Eemain, I entreat you,” said I. — “I am 
 quite able to take care of myself. You will show me 
 tmce as much kindness by staying to confer with Mr. 
 Sheridan.” 
 
 And at my renewed entreaty, she allowed me to 
 accompany Eitzirnham to the carriage, which he announced 
 to be in waiting. As we traversed the vestibule leading 
 to the stairs, I overheard the angry voice of Sir Claude 
 Lovell in vehement conversation with several gentlemen ; 
 and, without daring to turn my eyes in their direction, 
 felt persuaded that they were only waiting the return of 
 Eitzirnham to come to some serious explanation. 
 
 I had scarcely strength to descend the stairs — scarcely 
 breath to reply to his reiterated inquiries. I felt on the 
 point of fainting. Should Lovell and Eitzirnham meet 
 again while the former remained in his present state of 
 drunken excitement, and the latter in his mood of indig- 
 nation, insults must ensue only to be effaced with blood 1 
 
 When I reached the carriage and saw the Duchess’s 
 footman holding open the door, a rash thought flashed 
 into my mind which I did not pause to re-consider. 
 
 “ Come with me to Rochester House,” said I, address- 
 ing Eitzirnham. “ I feel too ill to trust myself alone. 
 I implore you to accompany me home.” 
 
 Could he refuse such an invitation ? In a moment, 
 we were in the carriage together ; rolling towards the 
 distant wilds of “ the fieldes by Pancrace 1” — 
 
86 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 It was not till we were on the point of reaching home 
 that a consciousness of embarrassment apprised me of 
 the indiscretion of my proceedings. In the course of our 
 drive, after much solicitation from Eitzirnham, I had 
 admitted so much of my feelings towards him as to con- 
 vert his anxieties into perfect happiness. But as he 
 seemed desirous that, for a time, our mutual engagement 
 should remain a secret, it was impossible to propose our 
 appearing together, at that late hour, in presence of the 
 Duchess. 
 
 I have little hope of obtaining the approval of the 
 Eochesters,” said he. “ But a few weeks may enable me 
 to place my prospects in a point of view more worthy 
 their indulgence. Till then, I must deprive myself of 
 the triumph of proclaiming our troth -plight.” And 
 feeling that a little preparation might be necessary 
 to reconcile my own friends to the match, I readily 
 acquiesced. 
 
 It was some relief, after parting from my now affianced 
 lover, — from the friend — the husband of my choice, — to 
 be secure that night from an encounter with the Duke or 
 Duchess. But, alas! the following day, about noon, I was 
 startled from my reveries by receiving the following billet 
 from Eitzirnham : — 
 
 “ Be not uneasy, my dearest and most amiable friend, 
 
 whatever you may hear concerning my meeting with L . 
 
 A slight scratch, to which the surgeons give twice the 
 importance that is necessary, prevents my flying to in- 
 form you that our quarrel is luckily attributed to political 
 causes ; and that the world which talks loudest where it 
 is least informed, gives a verdict wholly in my favour. 
 In a day or two, I shall be at Eochester House. Mean- 
 while, all peace and happiness be with you. 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 87 
 
 Neither peace nor happiness, however, obeyed his in- 
 junction. I felt convinced that, to spare my feelings, he 
 was making light of his danger ; and still more certain 
 that enough must have transpired in the ball-room at 
 Devonshire House, to involve my name in the affair. The 
 Duchess having now reached the third or fourth act of 
 her comedy of the ‘Valetudinarian,’ confined herself 
 wholly to the house ; and by the few familiar friends who 
 had the entree of the boudoir, though all described the 
 duel of the day as arising from a political squabble, I 
 saw in a moment that my share in the dispute was 
 suspected. 
 
 Among the rest, came Mrs. Sheridan ; who had pro- 
 bably been warned by Ditzirnham in what tone to refer 
 to the scene of the previous night ; for she merely whis- 
 pered, “ Things had gone too far, my dear. Dick pro- 
 nounced the meeting to be inevitable. But the wound is 
 slight, and our hero going on as well as possible.” 
 
 Eortunately, the Duke dined at the Club ; and the 
 Duchess was at all times too much occupied with herself 
 to take heed of the pre-occupation of others. But as we 
 were drinking coffee together, a note was brought in 
 which she perused with such evident marks of emotion, 
 that I doubted not it contained the whole history of my 
 folly and its results ! In this instance, my self-engross- 
 ment equalled the egotism of the Duchess. A moment 
 after she had despatched her answer, her friend Mary 
 
 M ran into the room, and after exchanging a few 
 
 words with my aunt concerning the disordered state of 
 her health, commenced an attack upon me on the subject 
 of the duel. 
 
 “ So demure as the child sits there over her knotting- 
 shuttle,” cried she, drawing upon me the attention of the 
 Duchess, “ after setting all Brookes’ s in an uproar !” 
 
 “ And pray, how has poor Lizzy managed to influence 
 the wiseacres at Brookes’ s ?” 
 
 “ By a faint, — which was, perhaps, a feint, — last night 
 at Devonshire House.” 
 
 “ You never told me, child, that you had been ill r” 
 said the Duchess, turning towards me. 
 
 “ She thought, perhaps, you might be incredulous, just 
 
88 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEBESS, 
 
 BOW, on the score of illnesses,” said her friend, with a 
 significant glance at her Grace’s demi-toilette, 
 
 “Jesting apart, Lizzy, what is the meaning of this ?” 
 demanded the Duchess. 
 
 “ Jesting apart,” interrupted our visitor, determined to 
 take the narrative into her own hands, “ there has been a 
 duel bet ween that good-lookingadventurer, Ditzirnham, and 
 that ill-looking numskull. Sir Claude Lovell, for the love 
 of Miss Mordaunt’s bright eyes. Sir Claude was not so 
 sober or so civil as he might have been, last night at the 
 ball; and Lady Pembury’s quondam Sir Lancelot, was 
 less forbearing. In short, they met this morning on 
 Wormwood Scrubs, with Colonel Stanhope and Antony 
 St. Leger, for their seconds. Le beau, Pitz. has, at pre- 
 sent, his arm in a sling ; and if Warren and common fame 
 say true, may chance to have his neck in a noose, after 
 the Quarter Sessions.” 
 
 “ Do you mean that Sir Claude Lovell is dangerously 
 wounded ?” said I, throwing down my work, and starting 
 
 “ As if you did not know it !” 
 
 Luckily, Pitzirnham’s letter of warning occurred to my 
 mind, to prevent my giving too hasty credence to her 
 assertions. 
 
 “This is a most mysterious affair,” observed the 
 Duchess gravely. 
 
 “ And wheyeas, the next heir of the house of Lovell 
 happens to be a rank Pittite,” resumed our guest, “who 
 would immediately lay his vote and boroughs at the feet 
 of the Treasury Bench, Brookes’s has passed a vote 
 of censure on the conduct of Elizabeth Mordaunt, 
 spinster, of Spetchingley Park, as provocatress of a 
 quarrel, likely to lay the doughty Sir Claude with his 
 forefathers.” 
 
 “ And without explaining more distinctly the motive of 
 the duel ?” added my aunt, with her eyes fixed on my 
 blushing face. 
 
 “ A smile more or less, bestowed on one or other of 
 her swains,” answered her giddy friend. 
 
 “The ‘one’ or ‘other’ makes a material difference in 
 my estimate of her culpability,” observed the Duchess. 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 89 
 
 ‘‘Miss Mordaunt is aware of my desire to promote her 
 marriage with Sir Claude Lovell ” 
 
 “ It was precisely to such an intention, madam,” inter- 
 rupted I, “ that he alluded, publicly, in terms at once so 
 coarse and humiliating, as to draw down my tears and 
 the chastisement of Mr. Fitzirnham.” 
 
 “ I wish to heaven you had found some other champion! 
 But, in all honesty, Lizzy, did Sir Claude presume to 
 attach disparaging terms to your name or mine ?” 
 
 “ On my word of honour, madam, he did ; and Mr. 
 Fitzirnham, who was dancing with me at the time, 
 resented the insult, as he doubtless would had it been 
 olfered to any other partner.” 
 
 “I do not admit your ‘ doubtless,’ or much admire 
 your want of ingenuousness in not mentioning the sub- 
 ject to me this morning,” said the Duchess, coldly. 
 
 “ I was unwilling to occasion you any additional anxiety 
 during your illness,” I replied, provoked into offering 
 provocation. And the hit told, for I saw an accusing 
 smile reach the Duchess from the expressive lips of her 
 friend. 
 
 “ Next winter,” was her angry rejoinder, “ I shall take 
 care to purify my society from the presence of adventurers 
 like Mr. Fitzirnham.” 
 
 “ He was admitted into it, I believe, madam, as godson 
 to the Duke of Eochester,” said I, with a degree of warmth, 
 which I repented the next moment, on hearing the 
 Duchess remark to her friend, — “ a notable breach of the 
 third commandment ! — But henceforward, the Duke’s 
 son, or god-mn, sets foot in this house no more.” 
 
 The clandestine engagement in which I had involved 
 myself, now began to weigh heavily on my spirits. Littlo 
 as the Duchess had done to engage my confidence, I had 
 no right to deceive her ; still less to deceive the Duke of 
 Eochester, who often expressed in my presence a vdsh 
 that his daughters might resemble their cousin Lizzy. 
 But though towards him I entertained unfeigned and 
 undeviating respect, his virtues overawed me. From the 
 moment of becoming his inmate, I had tried to conquer 
 my girlish timidity in his presence ; and now, more than 
 ever, saw the desirableness of making him my friend. 
 
90 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEBESS. 
 
 But, alas ! I was no longer worthy to approach him with 
 the same open smile and frank cheerfulness as before* I 
 had a secret weighing on my conscience ! 
 
 Could anything have consoled me for the painful pre- 
 dicament in which I was placed, it would have been the 
 sympathy testified in Eitzirnham’s ]30sition, by the most 
 eminent men of the day. Charles Eox was a daily visitor 
 to his sick-room ; and nothing but the political deference 
 due from the Prince to a borough-holding adherent, pre- 
 vented the demonstrations of his Boyal Highness from 
 being equally forcible. 
 
 Our correspondence, meanwhile, was uninterrupted; 
 and Pitzirnham had already acceded to my entreaty, that 
 his explanations with my family should take place on oc- 
 casion of his first visit to Rochester House. 
 
 Grreat, therefore, was my mortification, when, on re- 
 turning one night from a party at the Duchess of North- 
 umberland’s, to which, at the Duchess’s desire, I had ac- 
 companied her friend Mrs. St. John, I found Mademoiselle 
 Aglae completing the packing of my dresses, and learned 
 that we were to leave town for Brighthelmstone at eight 
 o’clock the following morning. Sleepless was that night 
 — sad the journey of that morrow ! It appeared as if no 
 other sixty measured miles of his Majesty’s three kingdoms, 
 could comprehend half the distance included between 
 Bury Street and the Steyne ; and not even my first view 
 of the ocean served to divert my anxieties. 
 
 Brighthelmstone, in the month of June 1784, was 
 nearly as much the fashion as Brighton in the J anuary of 
 1830. Though a hot dirty fishing town, without shade or 
 shelter, it was the new place, the Prince’s whim, the spot 
 to be visited. Little did I imagine, as we took possession 
 of a wretched house on the Steyne, opposite to one 
 scarcely less miserable about to be occupied by the 
 Prince, the site of his future Pavilion, what terraces, what 
 parades, what squares, what circuses, were in the following 
 century to grow out of those chalky cliffs, superseding in 
 the annals of fashion and luxury the Bath of our grand- 
 sires. Three machines and Martha Gunn at that time 
 completed the appliances and means of Brighton bathing ; 
 and in place of the new world of flys, libraries, baths, and 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 91 
 
 frippery, wMcli, if there were justice in man, ought as 
 much to he called Georgeville, as America America, or 
 AAashington Washington, we found only shingles, broken 
 boats, torn fishing-nets, and whitings’ heads. 
 
 Eut the Duchess, a dear lover of excitement, was 
 delighted with the novelty of the scene, and sea-bathing 
 and sea-boating became her passion. Though Bright- 
 helmstone boasted even then its hundreds, where Brighton 
 numbers thousands, she insisted on calling it rural retire- 
 ment, “It was a place,” she said, “where people could 
 do exactly as they liked when, in fact, we could not put 
 on our bonnets for a walk, without every soul in the town 
 taking note of our proceedings. 
 
 As far as regarded myself, this commerage de petite 
 ville was insupportable. The circle of which, for some 
 time past, I had formed a part, was of so wide and dis- 
 tinguished a nature, comprehending celebrity, talent, 
 rank, and fashion, that I felt at Brighton as if replaced 
 in the narrow orbit of Lady Carleton’s dowagers. Between 
 the Duchess and myself, there was no longer genial 
 confidence. Though at times fascinated by her grace of 
 manner and sprightliness of wit, I could not love a 
 person whom I found professing a two-sided code of 
 morality. I saw that the best of husbands and loveliest 
 of children were not her first objects in life ; and was 
 sometimes puzzled to guess what could be the real motive 
 of her restlessness. It was scarcely possible, I thought, 
 for a woman to be so enamoured of the notoriety derived 
 from the homage of society — the newspapers — the mob, — 
 as to render it her first consideration. 
 
 Our attention, however, and that of all Brighthelm- 
 stone, was soon engrossed by a report of the alarming 
 illness of the Prince; attributed by the court-party to 
 dissoluteness of life, and by his own friends to the despair 
 arising from an unsuccessful attachment. The Duke of 
 Bochester, who remained in town till the close of the 
 session, wrote word that even he was now excluded 
 from Carlton House ; that his Boyal Highness was in 
 considerable danger; and that the gloom prevalent at 
 Brookes’s would probably deprive us of various promised 
 accessions to our society. 
 
92 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 I had hitherto supposed the Duchess to he actuated 
 in her vehement party-principles by personal attachment 
 to the Prince of Wales. But now, to my great surprise, 
 I saw her more vexed than afflicted. Instead of entering 
 into the disastrous prospect of losing a Prince from whose 
 liberalism so much good was anticipated, she exclaimed 
 that “it was very unlucky” — “very tiresome^ I had 
 seen her growing jealousy of the superior influence of 
 Devonshire House and its charming Duchess over the 
 mind of his Eoyal Highness. Still, there was something 
 unaccountable in her insensibility to the danger of one 
 so much an object of interest to all around us. 
 
 One evening, on our return from a drive on the sands, 
 we found Algernon Eawborne established in our little 
 drawing-room. 
 
 “ A most agreeable surprise, my dear boy,” cried the 
 Duchess, cordiaUy extending her hands. “ But your 
 face foretels the nature of a tragic volume. Do you bring 
 us bad news ? — Is the Prince worse ?” 
 
 “ My face wrongs the nature of my errand,” answered 
 he, trying to speak cheerfully ; “ which is simply to see 
 how you and Miss Mordaunt are going on.” 
 
 “ As well as can be expected,” she replied, “ considering 
 that we are two town-beauties wrecked on a desolate 
 strand. There is Lizzy, in honour of whose charms 
 lances have been so recently broken ; and here am I, a 
 breaker of hearts of some dozen years’ experience, and 
 not a compliment has reached us, (except by post,) since 
 we bad adieu to the blessed smoke of St. James’s !” 
 
 “Except by sounded in my ears so like an 
 
 accusation concerning Eitzirnham, that I blushed deeply 
 at the word. But her G-race’s thoughts were probably 
 elsewhere, for she shortly added — “ And what has become, 
 pray, of all our valiant knights, now that Carlton House 
 is turned infirmary? — Stanhope, St. Leger, Pox, — how 
 are they ? — Is Sir Claude Lovell heart-whole, and skin- 
 whole, — and has his impertinent antagonist found his 
 way back to Bochester House ?” 
 
 “ I have been there only twice since you left town,” 
 said Algernon, replying to her last inquiry. “Both 
 times, the Duke was absent.” 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 93 
 
 “ In the body or the spirit 
 
 “ Grone down to Penderels, to Lord Hugh de Vere.” 
 
 “ISTo wonder his letters are so short and sententious,” 
 cried the Duchess. “ Lord Hugh holds both me and 
 mine in antipathy ; for which misfortune I comfort 
 myself by the belief that, like all hunchbacks, he detests 
 everything good-looking.” 
 
 “ He dearly loves your children, who have certainly no 
 ugliness to recommend them,” observed my cousin, gravely. 
 “ I fear you underrate the character of Lord Hugh.” 
 
 “ 8amt Hugh, as Lady Lavinia calls him ; apropos to 
 whom, my dear Algernon, I hope Lizzy Mordaunt’s 
 report before we left town was not a true bill ? — You 
 surely have not been weak enough to abandon your cause 
 with Clara Shanstone, for that smiling nid-nodding 
 mandarin-like china figure. Lady Emily Beaulieu ?” 
 
 “Miss Shanstone tolerated me only as Medway’s 
 brother. Lady Emily Beaulieu has long been engaged 
 to my friend Luttrell.” 
 
 “And what is Medway about ?” 
 
 “Winning everybody’s money, and economising his 
 own. Charles Eox lost twelve hundred to him at hazard, 
 the other night.” 
 
 “After all, then, that frightful Lavinia Shanstone will 
 live to be Countess of Eawborne ! — A man so lucky at 
 cards is sure to have his good luck crossed in marriage 1” 
 
 “ May he do no worse !” said Algernon, with a sigh. 
 “The Shanstone girls are not attractive, but they are 
 well principled ; and good daughters make good wives.” 
 
 “ What on earth is the matter with the boy to-night ? 
 He is as peevish as a sick guinea-chick!” cried the 
 Duchess. “How long have you devoted your sighs to 
 homeliness and housewifery ?” 
 
 “ Ever since my fashionable friends fled to Brighthelm- 
 stone, and left the town to wretchedness and me!” said 
 my cousin, trying in vain to assume a livelier tone. 
 “ But as I have only a few hours to remain with you, and 
 have a thousand things to say ” 
 
 “ Say them, then ; for ’tis a thousand years since I’ve 
 heard anything amusing.” 
 
 “I have no news likely to be amusing observed 
 
94 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 Algernon, with a significant glance towards me, that 
 plainly had me begone, as he had something disagreeable 
 to say to the Duchess. On which I hastened to leave 
 the room, though unable to remove myself further than 
 my own adjacent bed-chamber. 
 
 What could be the matter ? I saw clearly that Algernon 
 had intelligence of moment to unfold! At first, I liad 
 attributed his embarrassment to the annoyance of a first 
 meeting with myself. But five minutes’ conversation 
 convinced me that my cousin’s distresses were not of a 
 selfish nature, but arising from the pain or peril of others. 
 Perhaps he had heard bad news from Spetchingley ? 
 Perhaps Pitzirnham — I sank trembling into a chair — I 
 knew not what to fear! — The murmur of my cousin’s 
 mild voice, in conversation with the Duchess, reached me 
 at intervals as I clasped my hands upon my bosom ; and 
 I could scarcely refrain from rushing back into the 
 drawing-room, and imploring him to tell me the worst. 
 
 But I soon discerned, from the tone of her Grace in 
 reply, that his communication, whatever it might be, 
 excited anger rather than sorrow. It was in vain that 
 the persuasive tones of Algernon attempted to sooth her 
 irritation. She was in a furious passion. At length, it 
 was impossible to avoid overhearing her exclamations. 
 
 “No, no!” she cried. “Excuse your interference as 
 you will, I look upon it as the height of impertinence. 
 Prom your childhood, Algernon, I have loved you ; and 
 you should be the last to turn upon me now.” 
 
 “ I will be the last ; — but it is my duty to save you from 
 the attacks of others. The world ” 
 
 “ I brave it, — I defy it!” — interrupted the Duchess, in 
 a still louder key. 
 
 “ If you braved it,” replied her nephew, with firmness, 
 “instead of being here, under the roof of tlie Duke of 
 Bochester, with an innocent girl for your companion, you 
 would be — ” 
 
 “Living in open shame with a paramour! Yes! — 
 complete your accusation. That is what you are desirous 
 of inferring!” 
 
 “ I Vv^ould infer nothing to hurt or ofiend you,” answered 
 Algernon, unsilenced. — “But I say again, in duty to 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 95 
 
 your husband, — your children, — yourself, — your God, — 
 renounce this fatal folly, or you are ruined for ever! — 
 The Duke’s suspicions are awakened. Whether Lord 
 Hugh or others have been the means of rousing them, is 
 unimportant. I protest to you, on my faith and honour, 
 that if Lord Pembury” 
 
 “Protest nothing, for I am not in the mood for 
 patience!” cried the Duchess, with much bitterness. 
 “ Algernon ! your young heart is no fit umpire for such 
 a matter. You know not what it is to have been 
 frustrated in your dearest affections, — to have been bora 
 a titled pauper, — your daily bread precarious, — compelled 
 to accept the means of subsistence by bartering your 
 bright youth and warm feelings for the cold calculating 
 prudence of a m.an wanting an heir to his decaying 
 family ! Even there, too, have I been thwarted. Those 
 lovely girls of mine, a blessing to any other mother, are 
 a curse to me. Vainly have I prayed Heaven for a son, 
 to maintain my cause against these detestable De Veres ; 
 to be my vindicator with the world, my prop, my stay, 
 my comforter. Every year has brought a poor weak 
 girl, to be the recompense of a mother’s sufferings ! 
 Without an heir to honour me, I am an object of 
 contempt to my husband’s family; and it is for this 
 they persecute me. Pembury — you know it — was the 
 lover of my youth ; — the lover to whom I should have 
 made a suitable and tender wife. But his father despised 
 my poverty, — forbad the marriage, — sent him abroad to 
 remain in exile so long as Lady Harriet Eawborne was 
 undisposed of. — I married ! — He was recalled to England ; 
 cajoled into an alliance with an heiress ; and because I 
 will not now reject his friendship, and drive him from 
 my house” 
 
 “ Hot his friendship, mildly interposed Algernon. 
 “ It is because you will not sacrifice his passion to the 
 peace of mind of the best of husbands” 
 
 “ Even for that, must I be branded as an adultress ? — 
 What right have you — what right has the world, — to 
 deal with me so uncharitably ?” 
 
 “ The world is a tribunal whose decrees are not to be 
 questioned. As regards myself, dear aunt, none can 
 
96 
 
 MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 dispute my right to watch over the credit and happiness 
 of one who was a mother to my childhood, and has been 
 a sister to my maturer years. Medway may limit his 
 zeal to a flippant retort, when he hears your fair fame 
 called in question at his club ; for such is his nature. 
 He would do no more for sister — mother — wife ! — Eut it 
 is not mine. And if again, after the warning I have 
 ventured to give, I find you exposed to the insolence of a 
 Lovell, or the sneers of a Eoothby, I will take care to 
 prove to the world, that one man of your blood can 
 resent the imputation on your honour, and that of his 
 family.” 
 
 The Duchess was silent, awed perhaps by his earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 “ I forbid you!” said she, at last. Tour life, Algernon^ 
 is worth more than my reputation, such as I have 
 made it.” 
 
 “Your interdiction is useless! If you would spare 
 your nephew, — your own remorse, — your misery here 
 and hereafter, — make me the bearer of a letter to Pem- 
 bury, terminating this unhappy connexion. One word 
 from you will prevent his coming hither.” 
 
 “But I am not so poor of spirit as to write it. No! 
 let the world which has talked so largely, talk on. 
 Let Lord Hugh de Vere, who hates and calumniates me, 
 pursue his vindictive triumphs. I am sick of society, 
 Algernon ; — sick of hypocrisy, — sick of myself.” 
 
 “ And your husband ?” 
 
 “ He has his children to console him.” 
 
 “ As being alsoyoz^r^, may they not forfeit his afiection ?” 
 
 “ Let him turn for comfort, then, to his precious son, — 
 the son of whom he is so proud, — the son who affords 
 him living proof of the immaculacy of his youth.” 
 
 “All this is recrimination, not reason,” said Algernon. 
 “ Let not my journey hither have been in vain. Send 
 me back happy in the belief that you will seek happiness 
 in the society of your noble-minded niece, rather than in 
 the endearments of a profligate.” 
 
 “ You are vastly complimentary to the woman from 
 whose feet you have been spurned !” cried the Duchess, 
 with resentful malice. “ Lizzy Mordaunt was more than 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 97 
 
 a match, Algernon, for your prudence, when she made 
 you her instrument for drawing on the attentions of — ” 
 
 “Not a word morel” interrupted my cousin. “Her 
 unspotted name must not be tarnished by contact with a 
 theme like this. Should you relent, write to me. One 
 word would set my anxieties at rest.” 
 
 “ Adieu !” was the sole reply vouchsafed by the 
 Duchess. 
 
 “We do not part in anger ?” demanded my cousin. 
 
 Adieu reiterated the Duchess. And I heard the 
 bell ring, — the door close, — and a deep groan burst from 
 the bosom of my imprudent relative. 
 
 But I was too much agitated, and, I confess, too 
 indignant to hasten to her consolation. Solitary medita- 
 tion was likely to be her best friend. 
 
 An hour afterwards, I re-entered the drawing-room, 
 and was shocked by the heartlessness of her smiling 
 exclamation of — “Yes! my dear Lizzy! Algernon is 
 gone. The boy was in so great a hurry to return to 
 town, that he could not be persuaded to stay and sup 
 with us. The Shanstones are gaining unlimited influence 
 over his mind; and he is beginning to preach and 
 prophesy with a degree of unction, that Praise- God- 
 Barebones might have been proud of.” 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 The following morning, I awoke from restless dreams to 
 receive a letter from Pitzirnham ; a happy letter, for it 
 not only announced his complete recovery, but the proba- 
 bility of his arrival at Brighthelmstone. 
 
 “You will soon be surprised,” he wrote, “by a visit 
 from the Duke of Eochester, who is about to escort his 
 two eldest girls to their mother. Shortly afterwards, 
 dearest, I shall make my appearance. My explanation 
 with the Duchess must take place in the presence of her 
 husband.” 
 
 n 
 
98 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 Exhilarated hj this welcome intelligence, I scarcely 
 Imew how to conceal from the Duchess the motive of my 
 gaiety. I wanted to sing — to dance ; yet it was neces- 
 sary to subdue my excitement. It was not for me to 
 announce the approach of her excellent husband, her 
 sweet children. It was not for me prematurely to disclose 
 the secret of my engagement to the man she detested. 
 When peevishly taxed with my unmeaning hilarity, I 
 was forced to attribute it to the tidings contained in the 
 papers of the day, of the Prince’s auspicious amendment. 
 
 “ Yes, our summer will pass less tediously than it pro- 
 mised,” she replied. “ His Eoyal Plighness will be here 
 at the close of the week. The Due de Chartres is ex- 
 pected for Lewes races ; and under such circumstances,” 
 she resumed, “ I mean to hasten my project for visiting 
 Worthing, Arundel Castle, — perhaps Eastbourne, and 
 Hastings. It will be as well to get over my little tour 
 before the Prince arrives, and our golden fetters are 
 fastened on.” 
 
 A tour ? — This was the first allusion I had heard to it ! 
 A tour, and on the eve of the Duke’s arrival, — of the 
 arrival of Eitzirnham ! — 
 
 “ To-morrow, at an early hour, Lizzy,” she resumed, 
 ‘^we will set off. I should have gone to-day, had not 
 Algernon’s arrival last night proved an obstruction to my 
 plans.” 
 
 Perplexed as I was, I found presence of mind to stam- 
 mer out an inquiry as to the probable duration of our 
 excursion ; and, on learning that it would extend only to 
 two or three days, consoled myself with the hope that 
 we should return in time to receive my little cousins and 
 their father, — the harbingers of a still dearer guest. ' 
 
 All that day, the Duchess continued fractious and un- 
 easy. She continually inquired of the servants for letters, 
 though the London post-time was past, and she had no 
 correspondents at Brighthelmstone. She even despatched 
 messengers to the various coach-offices to inquire for a 
 parcel, but in vain; and, on my venturing at last to 
 advert to the motive of her anxiety, she expressed a hope 
 that Algernon might have left or sent a letter from the 
 road. Aware that they had parted in anger, I could not 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 99 
 
 help fancying she had addressed to him penitent and pacific 
 overtures, to which she was eager for the reply. 
 
 It was now nearly Midsummer. The weather was 
 sultry ; and all that day, a storm had been gathering in 
 the atmosphere, which, towards evening, exploded. The 
 Duchess made it the apology for her flurried spirits ; con- 
 gratulating herself, as the peals of thunder burst over 
 the house and the lightning glared upon the sea, that our 
 tour was refreshed by so welcome an antecedent. At an 
 early hour of the evening, she proposed retiring, as we 
 were to be up at day-break; and gladly did I instal my- 
 self in my room, and seize the opportunity to indite a long 
 letter to Eitzirnham, explaining our projects, and my 
 exquisite delight in the prospect of a speedy re-union. 
 
 The storm having subsided, my windows were thrown open 
 for the enjoyment of the freshened breezes ; and Mademoi- 
 selle Aglae had taken her departure for the night, when 
 I was startled by the sound of an arrival at the house. 
 Eor a moment, the anxiety of the Duchess throughout the 
 day occurred disagreeably to my mind. But I soon dis- 
 covered that the visitor was no other than the Duke him- 
 self; who had made his appearance, unaccompanied by 
 the girls. I heard him traverse the adjacent drawing-room 
 with eager steps, like a person relieved from the restraint 
 of a summer journey. I heard him decline an ofler of 
 refreshment from the groom of the chambers. I heard 
 Mademoiselle Aglae acquaint him that the Duchess would 
 be happy to receive him in her dressing-room ; and 
 returned to the completion of my despatches, — adding 
 news of the sudden arrival of the Duke. 
 
 At midnight, I closed my letter and my windows, 
 retiring quietly to rest ; nor was it till two hours after- 
 wards, I was roused from my dreamy consciousness, half 
 asleep, half waking, by a low knocking at the door opening 
 from my chamber to the drawing-room. Supposing the 
 sound to be accidental, I merely turned on my pillow. 
 It was repeated ; and, quickly rising, I approached the 
 door and demanded who was there. — 
 
 “Hush! speak lower!” whispered a voice which I 
 knew to be that of my aunt. “ Unbolt the door, Lizzy, 
 and admit me.” 
 
100 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 I obeyed, and the Ducbess, who had no light, instantly 
 re-bolted the door, and taking my hand, drew me with her 
 in the dark towards the window. There were no shutters 
 to the room, and the straggling light of an overclouded 
 moon enabled me to discern that she was in her night- 
 dress, as if risen from bed. But when she began to 
 speak, her voice was so changed by struggling emotions, 
 that I felt compelled to take her hand in mine, to 
 ascertain that it was really the Duchess who addressed 
 me. 
 
 “Yes, Lizzy, — it is I!” she faltered; the most wretched, 
 the most undone of women, unless you interpose, to save 
 me from a fate that would render my children motherless, 
 and plunge my family into shame !” 
 
 ‘‘What, have you not a right to command at my 
 hands ?” I exclaimed. 
 
 “ Not t/iis she replied. “ The concession I ask, is 
 one only to be granted as the greatest of mercies.” 
 
 “ Ask it, then,” said I, “ that you may see how promptly 
 I can comply with a request of yours.” 
 
 “Alas, alas!” ejaculated the Duchess ; “this confidence 
 wounds me to the soul. I have not deserved it, Lizzy, — 
 I do not deserve it, — I cannot accept your rash generosity. 
 No 1 you must hear all — you must hear the wo?^s ^ — before 
 you undertake to be my preserver.” 
 
 And she fell, rather than sank, into the chair I drew 
 towards her. 
 
 “My dear Lizzy — Bochester is arrived from town!” 
 said she, after a heavy sigh, as if to relieve her oppressed 
 bosom. 
 
 “I know it. Madam. Perhaps I was wrong not to 
 apprise you, for I was aware of his coming.” 
 
 “ And such a warning would have saved me from 
 destruction !” — 
 
 “ But my little cousins have not accompanied him ; and 
 I understood — ” 
 
 “ He has left the girls at Crawley ; left them, and pro- 
 ceeded hither, to ascertain whether I am still worthy to 
 receive a visit from my daughters. Lizzy, it depends on 
 yourself whether they are brought hither to-morrow, or 
 deprived for ever of the protection of their mother. A 
 
MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 iOl 
 
 letter has fallen into the hands of the Duke, without sig- 
 nature or address, — but, I admit, intended for 
 
 “ And written by Lord Pembury !” I exclaimed in 
 despair. 
 
 “ Which, were it traced definitively to myself, would 
 determine the Duke to throw me off, — to expel me from his 
 house. He has told me so, Lizzy ! When he demanded 
 whether indeed those lines were addressed to his wife, he 
 bad me pause ere I replied — for that an affirmative would 
 be the last word he would hear uttered by my lips.” 
 
 ‘‘And you answered?” — 
 
 “ Had you seen him, pale with suppressed emotion, — 
 had you seen the anguish quivering in his lips — ” 
 
 “And you answered, Madam?” — I persisted, seeing 
 her careful to evade a direct reply. 
 
 “ In my place, Lizzy, you would have done as I did ! — 
 Were you the wife of such a man, the mother of such 
 children, the occupier of such a position in tlie world, you 
 would have hazarded everything for a chance of re- 
 demption.” 
 
 “ But you have not told me what answer you made to 
 the interrogation of the Duke ?” I faltered, scarcely able 
 to breathe. 
 
 “ I told him,” said she, in a faint voice, “ that I had 
 reason to believe the letter was addressed to my niece.” 
 
 “ You dared not !” cried I, unable to repress my indig- 
 nation. — “ You dared not so calumniate an innocent girl, 
 — the daughter of your departed sister ! — You dared not 
 brand me as a wanton!” 
 
 “ Forgive me 1” faltered the Duchess, throwing herself 
 at my feet. 
 
 “ This very moment, he must be undeceived,” I cried, 
 overmastered by passion. “Ho living being shall have a 
 right to think thus of me ! — I, great Heaven, — 7, the 
 paramour of a married man 1” — 
 
 I had risen from my chair, but trembled so violently 
 that I dropped into it again, while the Duchess abjectly 
 embraced my knees. 
 
 “ You are free,” she faltered, — you have none to 
 suffer by your disgrace — ” 
 
 “ My father, — brothers, — sisters, are as susceptible of 
 
102 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 honourable feelings as the Duke of Eochester,” cried I. 
 
 But I have more than even these to grieve over mj fall. 
 I have a lover, Madam, — yes ! an affianced lover — ” I 
 paused in time, — the remembrance of my promises to 
 Eitzirnham enabling me to preserve his secret. 
 
 “ You refuse me, then said she, with calmer gestures, 
 and slowly rising from her groveling position. 
 
 ^Mdor 
 
 “ It is well,” said she, preparing to quit the room. I 
 had counted too far on the goodness of your heart. But, 
 since you will not save me, promise me, when I am gone, 
 to be a mother to those children. — Promise me — ” 
 
 ‘‘ What — what is it you ask me !” I exclaimed, be- 
 wildered by agitation. “ This letter which you bid me 
 claim as mine, what do its contents imply ? — To what 
 degree does it implicate my conduct ?” — 
 
 I am myself uncertain,” said she, gaining courage 
 when she saw me moved in her favour. 
 
 How came it in the hands of the Duke ?” 
 
 “We were to have breakfasted at Crawley to-morrow 
 morning. Thither, Lord Pembury, whom I had appointed 
 to meet us on the road, despatched a few lines of excuse, 
 enclosing his letter to the landlady of the inn, with a 
 request that it might be given to the waiting-maid of the 
 Duchess of Eochester, the moment she arrived. Un- 
 luckily, the storm of this evening induced my husband to 
 alight with the girls at that very inn ; and the blundering 
 idiot of a woman, believing herself to be executing 
 her commission, gave the letter to the attendant of 
 Helena and Isabella, who placed it in the hands of 
 the Duke.” 
 
 “ Grracious heavens !” 
 
 “ Something must have previously occurred to excite 
 his suspicions ; for, without hesitation, he opened it, and 
 proceeded hither, resolved upon immediate explanation. 
 Hothing but the presence of mind with which I parried 
 his suspicions, prevented his instant departure preparatory 
 to discarding me from his house.” 
 
 “ The letter denotes, then, heinous culpability?” 
 
 “ Culpability, in the eyes of an offended husband. It 
 implies levity, folly, the crime of mutual attachment 
 
MEM0IE3 OF A PEEBESS. 103 
 
 between persons whom Law and Grospel ought to dis- 
 unite.” 
 
 And you call this all ^ — and would impose such oppro- 
 brium on me without scruple !” — 
 
 “ Not without scruple. — Think me not ignorant of the 
 extent of the sacrifice I implore! But it is only the 
 esteem of the Duke of Eochester you would forfeit. He 
 has no duty to perform in exposing you to disgrace. Nay! 
 he would doubtless use strenuous endeavours to prevent 
 the secret from transpiring.” 
 
 No, it is impossible 1” cried I, shrinking, the more I 
 considered the affair, from so odious an imputation. ‘‘ I 
 have no right thus to trifle with a name which I received 
 unblemished from an honourable race.” 
 
 “ Hush 1” murmured the Duchess, drawing closer to- 
 wards me. I have persuaded the Duke to retire to 
 rest. But he might overhear us.” — 
 
 ‘‘ Better that he should thus become acquainted with 
 the truth, than that you should have the task of de- 
 liberately undeceiving him.” 
 
 “ Do you suppose, Lizzy, I would live for the attempt ? 
 No ! oh no 1” — cried the Duchess. I have courage, — 
 but not for so terrible an ordeal. Dare well 1 when morn- 
 ing comes, I shall be beyond the reach of pity or condem- 
 nation. Darewell!” 
 
 “ Stay 1” said I, following and detaining her as she 
 reached the door. You say you have inspired the Duke 
 with an opinion that this letter was addressed to your 
 niece. In truth and honesty. Madam, how did he receive 
 the intimation ?” 
 
 “ With unconcealed delight 1 — To find me innocent — 
 me^ the mother of his girls, — was all he cared for. It 
 was only after the first moment of exultation, that he 
 exclaimed — ” She paused. 
 
 “ Say on 1” cried I, dropping her cold hand. — 
 
 “ That Lizzy Mordaunt was the last woman on earth 
 of whom he could have formed an injurious surmise,” 
 faltered the Duchess. 
 
 And you would have me confirm him in his evil 
 opinion ?” 
 
 “ The Duke will but inquire of you, with his charac- 
 
104 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 teristic mildness, whether there is a letter waiting for 
 you at Crawley. A sign, — a look, — an affirmative word, 
 will suffice. — Deny it, and I am lost for ever !” 
 
 “ On one more point, we must understand each other,” 
 said I. “ Should I consent to this humiliation, the man 
 to whom I have pledged my hand and heart must not 
 receive them as those of a guilty creature.” 
 
 “ Most just. — And this affianced lover of yours is — ” 
 
 ‘‘De Vere Ditzirnham!” 
 
 “As Avell reveal all to the Duke!” — cried my aunt, 
 retracing her steps. 
 
 “No, Madam — Eitzirnham may he trusted; — nay — he 
 must be trusted.” 
 
 Again she remonstrated. But on this point I was 
 firm ; and when, terrified at the possibility of being missed 
 by the Duke, she took leave of me for the night, I had 
 accepted the fatal stigma of her guilt, on condition that 
 she was herself to undertake an explanation of the truth 
 to him whose esteem was indispensable to my happiness. 
 
 I have no words to describe the raptures of her 
 gratitude. — I had scarcely patience to bear them. 
 
 CIIAPTEE XIV. 
 
 I QUITTED my room that morning so pale, so tremulous, 
 so guilty-looking, that my accusation seemed written in 
 my face. Already, I had ascertained that the Duke of 
 E/Ochester was still in the house ; and, on entering the 
 breakfast-room and confronting him, his benignant coun- 
 tenance armed for the first time with severity, and his 
 hand for the first time withheld, confirmed the reality of 
 all I had been tempted to hope might prove a cruel 
 vision of the night ! 
 
 But, alas 1 it was no dream. The Duke advancing to- 
 wards me, presented the fatal letter with a cold ex])ression 
 of apology, that a mistake on the part of the person com- 
 missioned to deliver it should have induced him to open 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 105 
 
 it ; and all that remained for me was to curtsey acquiesc- 
 ingly, as I received the paper into my trembling hands. 
 Por a single instant, I felt tempted to fall at his feet, and 
 implore him to suspend his judgment on my unworthiness. 
 But a glance from the Duchess, who sat near us — her 
 countenance almost convulsed with terror — served to re- 
 strain my impetuosity. 
 
 “ I have only further to inquire, at what period it will 
 be convenient to Miss IMordaunt to return to the pro- 
 tection of Lady Carleton demanded his Grace, with 
 stately formality. “ I have it at heart to bring my elder 
 daughters to Brighthelmstone ; and I am under the 
 necessity of conveying them back this morning to town, 
 till the Duchess is free to bestow upon them her un- 
 divided attention.” 
 
 “ All these arrangements I will settle with my niece,” 
 said the Duchess, in a deprecating tone — gasping for 
 breath, lest the insult of finding myself thus dismissed, 
 should prove too much for my proud spirit. 
 
 “ I have no wish, my lord, to remain here,” involuntarily 
 burst from my oppressed bosom. “A motherless girl, 
 without counsel or protection, has too much to dread 
 in ” 
 
 “ My dear Lizzy, compose yourself,” said the Duchess, 
 whose agitation, however, far exceeded my own. ‘‘ The 
 Duke has no accusation to form against you. All will be 
 explained hereafter. All will yet be well.” 
 
 “ All will be well when I am once more under the pro- 
 tection of my father ; which, would to Heaven I had never 
 quitted 1” cried I. And, while I covered my face with 
 my hands in an agony of tears, the Duchess hastened to 
 take leave of her husband, and persuaded him to enter 
 his travelling carriage, which was waiting at the door. 
 
 am saved!” she ejaculated, sinking into a seat be- 
 side me, as we heard the sound of departing wheels ; — 
 ‘‘ saved, thanks to your intrepid generosity 1” 
 
 “ Do not thank me 1” I exclaimed, putting aside her em- 
 braces. “ Never was service more unwdilingly rendered.” 
 
 “ The extent of the obligation ought to plead for me 1” 
 cried the Duchess. — “ Great as is the sacrifice you have 
 made, far greater, Lizzy, is the service you have done me.” 
 
106 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEESESS. 
 
 ‘‘You know not lialf ttie extent of tke sacrifice!” I 
 replied. “ Fitzirnham’s position does not admit of an 
 immediate fulfilment of liis engagement. Lady Carleton 
 apprised me, when I quitted her house to he your inmate, 
 that I must look for no further favour at her hands ; and 
 this morning’s post has brought me a letter from my 
 brother, acquainting me, (situated as we are, I can have 
 no concealments from your Grrace,) that my father’s 
 affairs are desperately involved, and that Spetchingley is 
 about to be shut up for a term of years, to enable my 
 father to economise in some obscure retreat. Such is the 
 moment at which I am thrown back, dishonoured on 
 his hands 1” 
 
 “ Lizzy, Lizzy 1 — with such prospects, what could tempt 
 you to reject the attentions of Sir Claude Lovell ?” cried 
 the Duchess. “ Is there no hope that he might be 
 recalled, and induced to renew his overtures ?” 
 
 “ This from you, who last night accused the disappoint- 
 ment of your early affections as sufficient apology for 
 criminality 1” I replied. 
 
 “But starvation, — ruinV — 
 
 “ Bather work for my livelihood as the wife of Bitz- 
 irnham, than degrade myself by a marriage with a vulgar- 
 minded clod like Lovell,” was my reply. 
 
 “ My poor Lizzy, you talk like other girls of your age, 
 ignorant of the sad realities of life, and credulous in the 
 existence of poetical cottages, and graceful destitution. 
 A woman in the station of Bitzirnham’s wife cannot work 
 for her livelihood. She has to bear privation — to struggle 
 with penurious gentility — to support the insolence of 
 inferiors — the taunts of creditors ; — and, above all, the 
 consciousness that she broke a noble spirit by with- 
 drawing her husband from an opening career into the 
 obscurity of household bfe. — This is what you would have 
 to endure.” 
 
 “ And yourself. Madam,” I could not forbear replying, 
 “ enjoying the highest triumphs of rank and opulence, the 
 homage of society, the friendship of princes, — are you 
 happier than the poor, needy, struggling wife you have 
 described?” 
 
 “ I have, alas ! no longer a right to offer myself as an 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 107 
 
 example,” said she, in a dispirited tone. “Yet, could I 
 place myself in your position, I should not have courage 
 to inflict sufiering and privation on one so dear to me.” 
 
 Such a sentiment seemed hollow from the lips of the 
 woman by whom I had been placed in my miserable 
 position. But at that moment, a note was placed in my 
 hands, acquainting me that Eitzirnham himself was waiting 
 at a neighbouring hotel for permission to make his appear- 
 ance, and tender his proposals for my hand to the Duke 
 and Duchess of Bochester. I gave her Grace the letter 
 for perusal ; when, pressing her hands upon her forehead, 
 she cried aloud, “Not yet! Let me have some respite! 
 
 « — I cannot see himyei^ .^” — and so great was her agitation, 
 that, instead of replying to Fitzirnham, I was forced to 
 devote my whole attention to herself. Her recollection 
 of the contemptuous treatment which Mr. Fitzirnham 
 had for some time received at her hands, conduced, I 
 verily believe, to restore her to self-possession. The 
 apprehension that one whom she had injured and insulted 
 would triumph over her, piqued her to exertion ; and, by 
 the time I had succeeded in persuading her to admit him 
 to a conference, the Duchess had assumed the semblance 
 of nearly her usual haughty recklessness. 
 
 And it was thus, then, I was to meet him again! — 
 Under what evil auspices, alas ! had our ill-starred en- 
 gagement commenced ! — His wound — my degradation ! 
 — Instead of the usual delicacies of feeling connected 
 with an interview between an innocent girl and the man 
 to whom she has pledged her faith, I was about to stand 
 before him under the heaviest of accusations, and to en- 
 treat his co-operation in a conspiracy against his father’s 
 friend. 
 
 The Duchess of Bochester was, in fact, the calmest of 
 the three, when I found myself standing beside Fitzirnham, 
 with my hands pressed in his, and his eyes fixed earnestly 
 on my face. The short moments we had passed together 
 after our engagement, made it almost an untasted pleasure 
 to gaze upon his affianced wife, — the wife whom he had 
 purchased with his blood, — whom he would have purchased 
 with his life ! — 
 
 “ I have just heard with regret, that the Duke of 
 
108 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 Rochester is already off to town,” said he, turning towards 
 my aunt. Is the Prince worse ? I had good news of 
 his Royal Highness last night, before I left London.” 
 
 ‘‘The motives of the Duke’s sudden departure were 
 of a private nature,” replied my aunt, carelessly. 
 
 “May I then inquire,” he resumed, “whether any 
 period is fixed for his Grace’s return ? I am most 
 anxious to address to him^ as to a person biassed in my 
 favour, a demand for the hand of Miss Mordaunt ; an 
 honour to which I have so little claim save that of devoted 
 attachment, that I wmuld wdllingly entrust my cause to 
 the partial judgment of a friend.” 
 
 “ You do not seem aware,” replied the Duchess, “that 
 my niece has a father living, whose authority on such a 
 point must supersede that of relations, however dearly 
 interested in her destiny.” 
 
 “Accustomed to see Miss Mordaunt installed under 
 your Grace’s protection, I fancied your authority all in 
 all,” replied Eitzirnham. 
 
 “So little so,” interrupted the Duchess, “that I anl 
 about to lose even the happiness of her society. Miss 
 Mordaunt is likely to return to the care of Lady Carleton.” 
 
 Eitzirnham turned towards me a countenance glowing 
 with satisfaction at the intelligence. 
 
 “ Meanwhile, lest you should at any time hear mis- 
 represented by others, or be inclined yourself to misin- 
 terpret the motives of her quitting my house,” resumed 
 my aunt, in a most inappropriate tone of levity, “ I have 
 undertaken, Mr. Eitzirnham, to inform you, that Lizzy’s 
 offence against the Duke of Rochester consists in having 
 kindly taken upon herself the proprietorship of a silly 
 letter addressed to her aunt.” 
 
 “ Offence against the Duke of Rochester?” said Eitz- 
 irnham, looking infinitely bewildered. “ Do you mean, 
 Madam, that Miss Mordaunt leaves his house by com- 
 pulsion ?” 
 
 The Duchess was expressively silent. 
 
 “ Or that the Duke of Rochester cherishes personal 
 resentment against her ?” 
 
 Not a syllalDle in reply. 
 
 “ Your Grace has alluded to a silly letter,” he con- 
 
MEMOIBS OP A PEERESS. 
 
 109 
 
 tinued. “May I presume to inquire, (since it is one 
 which Miss Mordaunt has not been afraid to avow,) the 
 motive inducing you to require her responsibility 
 
 “ The offence of the unlucky letter,” said the Duchess, 
 trying to disguise her embarrassment under her usual off- 
 hand manner, “consisted simply in containing terms of 
 admiration, which jealous husbands seldom care to find 
 addressed to their wives. In order, therefore, to pacify 
 the resentment of the Duke, Lizzy Mordaunt generously 
 accepted these civilities as offered to herself.” 
 
 “ Did you see the letter ?” inquired Eitzirnham, turning 
 towards me. “ Are you aware what imputations you may 
 have incurred by your concession ?” 
 
 “ No, indeed. — I simply acceded to the earnest entrea- 
 ties of my aunt.” 
 
 Eitzirnham’s countenance fell. “ But if you are uneasy 
 on that head,” I resumed, trembling at his gravity of 
 demeanour, “ the Duchess will satisfy you by a sight of 
 the letter, which, after accepting it from the Duke, I 
 hastened to replace in her hands.” 
 
 “ If Mr. Eitzirnham thinks it worth while to imply an 
 injurious impression, he must seek the fragments there 
 answered the Duchess, pointing disdainfully to the fire- 
 place, where lay a variety of torn and defaced papers, but 
 among them, certainly not the letter, — for I had never 
 lost sight of my aunt from the moment when, snatching 
 it from me, she placed it in the bosom of her dress. 
 
 “I will not presume to pry into your Grace’s cor- 
 respondence,” replied Eitzirnham. “My position with 
 regard to Miss Mordaunt, unprotected as she is, could 
 alone justify my expressing even an opinion on the 
 subject.” 
 
 “Which opinion, give me leave to preface by the 
 avowal of my surprise,” angrily interrupted the Duchess, 
 “ that a person so well trained in the usages of society as 
 Mr. De Vere Eitzirnham, should have formed a clandes- 
 tine engagement with — ” 
 
 “ That engagement. Madam, is not now the question!” 
 said Eitzirnham, sternly. “ I came hither prepared to 
 make overtures for the hand of your niece to the Duke 
 of Eochester ; — to him — because his friendship for my 
 
110 
 
 MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 family has induced him to pledge himself that, on my 
 forming a suitable connexion, he will push my fortunes 
 in the world.” 
 
 “ His friendship for your family !” murmured the 
 Duchess in a scornful but scarcely audible voice. 
 
 “ And what do I find here ?” continued Ditzirnham. 
 
 Instead of a cordial friend, anxious to establish the 
 happiness of two young people who are dear to him, I find 
 the object of my affections branded by the stain of 
 infamy, — yes, infamy ! — for the letter of Lord Pembury 
 cannot have implied less, or you would have been less 
 eager to transfer the accusation to another. — Is this the 
 protection due to the innocent child of a deceased 
 sister ?” — 
 
 “ To Mr. Pitzirnham, I feel myself in no way re- 
 sponsible,” said the Duchess, gradually excited by his 
 vehemence. 
 
 “ You are, Madam !” he replied. “ Tour Grace is 
 responsible to me, as the future husband of the virtuous 
 woman you have injured ; even as you are yourself re- 
 sponsible to God, for trifling with your duties as a mother 
 and a matfbn.” 
 
 “ This comes well from you. Sir,” cried the Duchess, 
 unable longer to restrain her irritation. “ If I did m}^- 
 self justice, I should command you to quit my presence 
 — my house ! But let me remember what is due to the 
 blood of De Vere, even though flowing through an un- 
 lawful channel. That your mother’s son should dare to 
 stand up before me, and upbraid me with a breach of con- 
 jugal duty, is a sufficient attestation of my forbearance !” — 
 I have not the honour of comprehending you !” said 
 Pitzirnham, every trace of colour deserting his cheek as, 
 by degrees, he began to attain her meaning. 
 
 “ But there may come a moment, when even my patience 
 will be exhausted,” she resumed ; “and in vindicating my 
 honour from your aspersions, I shall but do justice to 
 myself in closing my doors for the future against the 
 illegitimate son of the Duke of Eochester.” 
 
 “ ’Tis false !” cried Pitzirnham, starting to his feet; — 
 “ false as your own false heart !” 
 
 “ ’Tis true — retorted the Duchess, her countenance 
 
jMEMOIES of a peeress. 
 
 Ill 
 
 gleaming with fiendlike exultation. “The proof is in 
 my hands ; — ay ! Sir ; and supported by the ample confes- 
 sion of the Duke of Eochester.” 
 
 She could add no more. Eitzirnham, staggering to his 
 seat, fell back in a state of insensibility. 
 
 CIIAPTEE XY. 
 
 The Duchess of Eochester left the room before Eitzirn- 
 ham recovered his consciousness ; and after the confusion 
 and distress I had undergone, I felt that absolute soli- 
 tude was as indispensable to my restoration, as to his own. 
 Having persuaded Eitzirnham to return to his hotel, I 
 resisted all the blandishments of the Duchess, and re- 
 treated into my own room to seek composure. 
 
 Oh ! how I felt, at that moment, the need of comfort — 
 of counsel ! In such emergencies, how immeasurable 
 appears to the motherless, the benefit and happiness of 
 maternal protection. Wounded in my feelings — my 
 reputation — my pride, I wanted more than ordinary 
 soothing to restore my peace of mind ; and instead of this 
 blessed solace, was forced to immediate action. 
 
 There was but one among those on whom I had claims 
 of kindred, to whom I could turn for advice. My family 
 w^ere too deeply involved in their own distresses to admit 
 of my troubling them; but Algernon, my friend, my 
 cousin, — my noble-hearted cousin, — w^as so well versed 
 in the secrets of the Duchess, that I could inflict no 
 injury upon her by taking him into my confidence. In 
 spite of all that had passed between us, it was on him only 
 I could rely : and not daring to refer the subject to Eitz- 
 irnham, I sat down and communicated in all minuteness 
 to Mr. Eawborne the difficulties of my situation. The 
 letter might reach him on the following morning. The 
 day ensuing would, I felt convinced, bring an answer for 
 my guidance. 
 
 That day, on the plea of indisposition, I passed in my 
 own room. The next, by good or ill-luck, there arrived 
 
112 
 
 MEMOIKS OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 at Briglithelmstone from Prance the Marquis de Conflans 
 and Due de Lauzun, to announce the Due de Chartres ; 
 and to these gentlemen, the Duchess of Rochester was 
 under the necessity of doing the honours of the place. I 
 declined joining the dinner-party, for my pretext of illness 
 was now rendered valid by two days of intense agitation ; 
 and my aunt and her guests were still at table, when, 
 suddenly, I heard a new visitor ushered into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 The welcome voice of Algernon begging that he might 
 not be announced to her Grace, as his visit was expressly 
 to Miss Mordaunt, sounded in my ears like a signal of 
 release from a thousand evils ! — 
 
 “ Did I reckon too largely on the sincerity of your pro- 
 fessions I exclaimed, seizing his hand, and almost over- 
 come by the kindness of this prompt reply to my letter. 
 
 “You have done me justice, Lizzy,” he replied, “in 
 estimating my feelings by the generosity of your own. 
 You have asked my assistance in the only instance where 
 it could be painful to me to do you service. But that I am 
 here already, must convince you how eagerly I comply 
 with the slightest of your desires.” 
 
 “I called upon you, Algernon, as a sisterupon abrother,” 
 I replied. “ Had not mine been engrossed by more 
 serious duties, I should not have hazarded the chance of 
 giving you pain.” 
 
 “ Would that I alone had now to bear it!” said he 
 with a deep sigh, placing himself beside me on the sofa. 
 “ And, alas ! that my prophecies should have come to pass. 
 You well know, Lizzy, all I felt and feared regarding your 
 journey hither. But with an actual engagement entitling 
 him to control your movements, how, how could Pitzirn- 
 ham sanction such a measure ?” 
 
 I briefly explained the peculiar circumstances under 
 which our engagement had taken place. 
 
 “ And tell me,” said he, “ since Pitzirnham is prepared 
 to fulfil his pledge, what prospects can he share with you?” 
 
 “ I am still ignorant,” said I. “ He came hither to 
 submit them to the Duke ; but the altercation wdiich 
 occurred with the Duchess, rendered it impossible for him 
 to approach the subject.” 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 113 
 
 I then entered fully into the particulars of that un- 
 fortunate interview. 
 
 “I will see Eitzirnham the moment I leave you,” said 
 my cousin, in reply to my communication. I need not 
 assure you, Lizzy, that the man to whom you have 
 pledged your hand, is henceforward my friend. But you 
 must not remain here. Within an hour of perusing your 
 letter this morning, I arranged all with Lady Carleton. 
 Do not expect to find her good or generous. — But she 
 agrees to receive you into her house ; and I came hither 
 in my father’s travelling-chaise, that you might return in 
 it to-morrow. Eitzirnham and I will travel back together* 
 By to-morrow evening, you will be reinstalled in Jermyn 
 Street. You must settle with him at what epoch you 
 leave it again as his wife.” 
 
 I had no words to express my sense of Algernon’s 
 kindness in these arrangements. “ Shall you remain here 
 with the Duchess ?” was all I could say in reply. 
 
 “ IN’o, my patience with her was exhausted at our last 
 interview. What she has done since, is past forgiveness !” 
 he replied. “ The injury inflicted on her sister’s child, — 
 the aspersion cast on the fame of Mrs. Eitzirnham in 
 presence of her son, — oh ! Lizzy, Lizzy ! how does the 
 world warp and defile the noblest of natures, since my 
 warm-hearted aunt can have degraded herself by such 
 selfish cruelty ! — But farewell ! She must not find me 
 here,” he continued. “ To-morrow night, we shall meet 
 in Jermyn Street.” 
 
 He left me, — and in how changed a state of feeling ! 
 Half my griefs seemed removed by the certainty of imme- 
 diately quitting the roof of the Duchess, and securing free 
 communication with one who was to be henceforward my 
 all in all. Algernon had even persuaded Lady Carleton 
 to allow me the attendance of Phillis ; who, at an early 
 hour the following morning, was to escort me back to 
 town. 
 
 Any further interview with the Duchess seemed un- 
 necessary. I heard her throughout that evening rattling 
 and laughing with her foreign guests ; while I was occu- 
 pied in addressing her a few lines, to acquaint her with 
 my plans, and Algernon’s generosity. Next morning, at 
 
 I 
 
114f 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 tlie appointed hour, Lord Lawborne’s carriage appeared 
 at the door ; and thus, there was nothing ignominious in 
 my mode of quitting the house, from which I was virtually 
 expelled. 
 
 After a hurried journey, I arrived in Jermyn Street ; 
 and was accosted as I had anticipated by Lady Carieton, 
 with — ‘‘A¥ell, child, you have found out at last that all 
 is not gold that glitters ? However, I have consented to 
 take you back again. Henceforward, Lizzy, I hope we 
 shall understand each other.” 
 
 I found a note from Algernon, announcing that, at two 
 o’clock the following day, he should bring Mr. Fitzirnham 
 to be presented in form to Lady Carieton. But, alas ! 
 my joy at the prospect was damped by a letter, re-directed 
 from Brighthelmstone in the interim. Spetchingley, 
 dear venerable Spetchingley, the source of my 3^outhfui 
 pride, the cradle of my errors, was advertised to he let ; 
 and a small house at Aldborough, in Suffolk, to which 
 place my father had been accustomed to repair for 
 occasional sea-bathing, had been hired for a term of years 
 for the family. 
 
 There has been some difficulty,” wrote Harry Mor- 
 daunt, “ in saving my poor father from arrest, — a public 
 disgrace which, I am convinced, would have been the 
 death-warrant of the poor old man. We may, therefore, 
 consider his life as the gift of the generous friend who 
 came forward to his relief with the sacrifice of his little 
 fortune !” 
 
 I trembled to read on. My presentiments already 
 assured me, that this heavy obligation was owing to none 
 other than the kinsman against whom my prejudices were 
 so strong. And I was right. It icas Dick Mordaimt, 
 whose pittance of four thousand pounds had been forced 
 on the acceptance of the Squire ; to whom, as head of the 
 Mordaimt family, his sense of allegiance was as strong as 
 that of a Highlander to the chief of his clan. — And this 
 w^as the man I had despised as an interested hanger-on at 
 Spetchingley ! 
 
 “ I need not assure you, my dearest Lizzy,” continued 
 my brother, ‘^that had it been possible to relieve my 
 father from his difficulties by any sacrifice of family pro- 
 
me:moirs of a peeress. 
 
 115 
 
 perty on my part, the thing would have been instantly 
 accomplished. But the entail and the law were too 
 strong for us. A small farm, bequeathed to me specifically 
 by my grandfather, is put up to sale to satisfy the more 
 pressing creditors. The remainder of the estates are to 
 lie at nurse in the hands of trustees, that the strictest 
 economy may enable my father to lay aside the sum of 
 £15,000, intended as a settlement for younger children, 
 but never secured. Eichard will be ordained in a couple 
 of months, and take possession of the fine living of 
 Spetchingley, which has been held for him ; and Alfred 
 is safe under the protection of Lord Eawborne. But, 
 under these circumstances, my dear sister, judge how 
 great must be my gratification that I did not peevishly 
 remove you from the roof of the Eochesters! Yoii^ at 
 least, are spared from witnessing the humiliations of your 
 family. Heaven grant, my dear girl, tliat you may form 
 a prudent connexion, to enable you at some future time 
 to afford a home to Jane and Helen.” 
 
 Under such dispiriting auspices was I to present my- 
 self to Eitzirnham ; deprived of even the poor three thou- 
 sand pounds I had announced to him as my fortune ; the 
 daughter of a ruined man, just rescued from arrest, and 
 devoting his latter years to privation, in order to create a 
 provision for his numerous family. 
 
 How easy is all this to write of now ! — But how strange 
 and mysterious a lesson it afforded then to my inexperi- 
 ence, to learn that the brother-in-law of a Lady Lavinia 
 with half a million in possession, and of an Earl with a 
 rent-roll of twenty thousand per annum, could have been 
 on the brink of a gaol, from the trivial improvidence of 
 having, for twenty years, exceeded his income by about 
 five hundred a-year ; and spared his pride the mortification 
 of retrenchment, by raising money at high interest unsus- 
 pected by his family ! 
 
IG 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 At the period of which I write, there was unquestionably 
 more space than now in society for the expansion of the 
 passions. The excitements of social life have since been 
 doubled, and the interests of public life quadrupled. I re- 
 collect the eminent men among whom I lived, going down 
 daily to the House, less for the transaction of business, than 
 for a brilliant display of oratory, to which the world was at 
 leisure to listen. Eor, lo ! Congreve rockets w^ere not, — 
 nor steamers, — nor rail-roads. The art of war compre- 
 hended that of politeness, when the guards of King Louis 
 had time to salute with low bows those of King G-eorge. 
 Eamily-mournings extended our sorrows to a tedious 
 duration, and our courtships were dilatory in pro- 
 portion. 
 
 Nowadays, a thing is talked of one day, and done the 
 next, which used to be discussed one year, and attempted 
 the year ensuing. The common-places of conversation are 
 cut out. Hills are levelled, roads shortened, chancery suits 
 curtailed, even whist itself abbreviated. Everything is less 
 tedious than it used to be. But this increased velocity 
 has not been without its infiuence on our moral feeling. 
 The obligations of social life have lost their importance. 
 People feel sure that a public stigma will be effaced by 
 the mere throng of sensations, as a spot is trodden out 
 by ever-crowding feet. 
 
 I was not much sillier than my compeers of the court 
 of Queen Charlotte. Yet I remember having experienced 
 emotions such as do not disorder the complexions of my 
 grand-nieces ; and never more painfully than when I rose 
 to present to Lady Carleton the husband of my choice, 
 in presence of one who loved me far more than, according 
 to the vulgar phrase, to distraction,” for lie loved me 
 even to the self-command of sacrificing every feeling of 
 his own, in order to secure my happiness. 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 117 
 
 Lady Carleton received Fitzirnham with a degree ot 
 courtesy that convinced me she was imperfectly acquainted 
 with the slenderness of his fortunes. To have left me 
 tete-a-tHe with my lover, would have been contrary to 
 hienseance. But Algernon had the charity to engage her 
 in conversation, to afford to his rival the opportunity of 
 the explanations he so ardently desired. 
 
 “ You receive me as cordially as ever ?” whispered he, 
 on finding them thus engrossed. “ Your noble spirit is 
 prepared to overlook the dishonouring stigma affixed upon 
 my birth by the Duchess of Eochester 
 
 “ AVhy listen to the unsupported assertions of a vindic- 
 tive woman ?” said I, hoping to tranquillise his agitation. 
 
 “Would I could still withhold my belief!” ejaculated 
 Fitzirnham. “ Many concurrent circumstances have at 
 times awaked my suspicions. But the fact being thus 
 openly proclaimed, and from such a quarter, I had no 
 alternative but to address myself on the subject to the 
 Duke of Eochester.” 
 
 “ And he replied — ?” 
 
 “There has been no time fora reply; but my letter 
 has reached him. The Duke slept at Penderels, on a visit 
 to Lord Hugh de Vere, and is not expected home till to- 
 morrow. If in his power to render a satisfactory answer, 
 he will probably write.” 
 
 As simply as I could I now related to Fitzirnham the 
 family events which would render me a penniless bride. 
 
 “ I need not assure you,” said he, with a melancholy 
 smile, “ that this affects me only so far as regards your- 
 self. W ould to heaven I were rich enough to render you 
 indifferent to your want of fortune. But mine, alas 1 
 amounts only to six hundred a-year ; — my mother’s mar- 
 riage portion, Lizzy, — distinct from the entailed estates 
 of the family of Fitzirnham, and therefore honestly my 
 own.” 
 
 “ Can so limited an income inspire you with courage 
 to burthen yourself with a wife ?” said I, with a beating 
 heart ; — “ an expensive, because, I fear, a useless wife ?” 
 
 “ Has Miss Mordaunt courage to renounce the luxu- 
 ries of life, and share the attempt ?” 
 
 “ She has 1” was my unhesitating answer. “ Eely upon 
 
118 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 every effort of my lieart and mind to support whatever 
 trials may await us.” 
 
 “ Enough !” cried Eitzirnham, triumph beaming in 
 his eyes. In spite of the malice of the Duchess — the 
 enmity of the Duke — I am the happiest of the human 
 kind !” 
 
 It was settled between us that, under the disastrous 
 circumstances of my family, he should make no applica- 
 tion to my father or brother till after his interview with 
 the Duke of ^Rochester. But, at that moment. Lady 
 Carleton, rising and coming towards us, broke up the 
 conversation ; and as she had unluckily formed an engage- 
 ment for me to dine with her at Lady Lavinia Shanstone’s 
 villa at Petersham, our young visitors w^ere obliged to 
 take leave. Eitzirnham, meamvhile, wisely consulted 
 her Ladyship’s notions of etiquette by asking permission 
 to renew his visit on the morrow, wEich was graciously 
 accorded. 
 
 After their departure I entreated to be excused from 
 my dinner engagement ; pleading the agitation to wdiich 
 I had been exposed, as a reason for requiring rest and 
 tranquillity. 
 
 In my time. Miss Mordaunt,” replied Lady Carleton, 
 ‘‘ young ladies were less free in admitting their proneness 
 to tender emotions. You must, however, relieve me from 
 the responsibility of leaving you alone in Jermyn Street, 
 where I have had vexatious experience of your aptitude 
 to receive visitors during my absence.” 
 
 The visit was clearly inevitable. Lady Lavinia’s 
 carriage was sent for us ; and, as we drove down to 
 Petersham at the leisurely pace of a “serious” dowager’s 
 sober coachman and steady long -tailed horses. Lady 
 Carleton found ample time for ill-natured hits, such as 
 she had promised Algernon I should be spared. “ She 
 was not surprised,” she said, “ at my distaste for the 
 dull respectability of such people as the Slianstones. 
 After society so fashionable as that to which I was accus- 
 tomed, humdrum aunts had little chance of pleasing me.” 
 
 Little did she imagine how small my cause for predi- 
 lection for fashionable society ! JN^ot, I admit, tliat I saw 
 much inducement for preferring tlie narrow bigotry of 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 119 
 
 such a circle as that of poor Lady Lavinia ; a ready dupe 
 to designing persons, such as in all countries are apt to 
 assume the mask of religion as the most imposing garb 
 under which to prey upon the wealthy and wealc-minded. 
 
 It is the custom to apply the epithet “ priest-ridden” 
 solely to Papists; though “parson-ridden” might surely 
 be as fairly affixed to certain evangelical coteries; not 
 folloAvers of the gospel, but follo\vers of its misinterpreters. 
 
 Our Petersham party consisted of Mr. Bumptext, 
 Lady Lavinia’s Whitfieldian Pope, and Mrs. B. his wife; 
 Miss Glumm, a middle-aged spinster, half-toady half- 
 housekeeper, kept to hunt for my aunt’s mislaid specta- 
 cle-case, and see her daughters and tea-chest locked up ; 
 with a Mr. and Mrs. Quiesbury, a couple of croakers 
 residing in the neighbourhood. 
 
 TJnaccustomed to the jargon of people of their class, 
 I confess that their familiar adaptation of scriptural 
 language appeared to me little short of blasphemy ; nor 
 could I help admiring by what copious replenishments of 
 Sir Obadiah’s East India Madeira, Mr. Bumptext repaid 
 himself for the grace in many sections, wherein he diffused 
 the simple thanksgiving before meat, expressed m two 
 WORDS by wiser Christians. 
 
 “ May I inquire whether your Ladyship attended the 
 ‘ Conversion of the Kamschatkans’ Meeting on Thursday, 
 at Shoemakers’ Hall ?” he inquired of my aunt, mixing 
 three sorts of fish sauce with his masked lobster. 
 
 “ I did. Sir; and Mr. Wringthemout favoured us with 
 a discourse of so edifying a nature, that I doubled the 
 amount of my intended subscription,” replied Lady 
 Lavinia. 
 
 “ And did you do anything for the fancy sale, Miss, 
 for the benefit of the Baffin’s Bay Tract Society ?” in- 
 quired Mrs. Bumptext of my elder cousin. 
 
 “ Only a few dozen pen-wipers,” replied Miss Lavinia. 
 
 We had bestowed our pincushions on the sale in aid of 
 a silver coffee-pot testimonial to Doctor Humdrum, on 
 his retirement from his chapel; and my mother, with 
 the assistance of Miss Glumm, is flowering an apron for 
 the Auxiliary Autumn Sale for the Whitfield ISurying 
 Charity.” 
 
120 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 Such was the edifying tone of discourse among the 
 sober guests of my serious aunt. After dinner, released 
 from durance, I was permitted to accompany my tall 
 cousins round the grounds, like a prisoner marched 
 between grenadiers. But a dew having risen, Miss 
 Shanstone, who was suffering from a cold, returned to 
 the house ; and I found myself for the first time tHe-a- 
 t£te with my cousin Clara. 
 
 Thank goodness she is gone 1” cried Clara, taking my 
 arm under hers the moment her sister was out of sight. 
 “ I have a thousand things to say to you, and a thousand 
 questions to ask. Algernon Bawborne has often advised 
 me to make you my friend.” 
 
 With a sister of your own age, can you want a 
 friend ?” said I, startled by her abruptness. 
 
 “ You know how strictly we are brought up ; how 
 estranged from all the pleasures enjoyed by other young 
 people. Lavy, whose blood flows less freely in her veins 
 than mine, and who is content to sit contentedly stitch- 
 ing in the parlour here, with my mother and Miss Griumm, 
 from year’s end to year’s end, is shocked when I own 
 that our glimpses of Aunt Eochester’s finery, and our 
 reports of Miss Mordaunt’s conquests, fill my heart with 
 envy. In short, Lavy is so good, that I dare not tell her 
 half I feel or fancy. — Of you I am less afraid.” 
 
 “ You do not think me too good ?” 
 
 Too good-natured, perhaps, or I should not rattle on 
 so strangely. Tell me, then, dear cousin Lizzy, what is 
 your opinion of Lord Medway ?” 
 
 “ You have known him longer than I have,” I replied, 
 recollecting Lady Carleton’s frequent assertions that 
 Lady Lavinia was desirous of making him her son-in-law. 
 
 “ Longer, but, I suspect, not half so well. I see him 
 only here, where, for his own purposes, he is playing a 
 part. You meet him among those whom he has no motive 
 for deceiving.” 
 
 “ But why are you thus desirous of studying his cha- 
 racter ?” I inquired. 
 
 “ That I may understand the surest mode of disgust- 
 ing him !” replied Clara, with perfect openness. Shall 
 I begin at the beginning, and tell you my story ? — Know, 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 121 
 
 then, that Lavj and I are heiresses (but at mamma’s dis- 
 cretion) to six hundred thousand pounds. — Co-heiresses 
 justice would make us ; but my mother has so strong an 
 ambition to see one or other of us (what the prejudices 
 of her childhood induce her to consider the finest thing 
 in Europe next to Queen of Grreat Britain) Countess of 
 Eawborne, that I have reason to believe she has offered 
 my cousin Medway a bribe of half a million, to induce 
 him to overlook our other deficiencies, and accept one of 
 us as a wife. Lavinia, as the eldest, has certainly the 
 best claim. But unluckily, he has declared in favour of 
 Clara!” 
 
 “ I wish you joy 1” 
 
 “ Thank you 1 In case of such a marriage, I am sure 
 I should want it. But, between ourselves, poor dear 
 mamma is a bad calculator. She might have a lord 
 a-piece, for her girls, for the same money ; whereas, by 
 insisting on this specific earldom, she will be obliged to 
 put up with a country-clergyman for the Cinderella of 
 the family; which clergyman (begging my dear cousin 
 Lizzy’s pardon for the liberty) is no other than Eichard 
 Mor daunt.” 
 
 “My brother Eichard engaged to your sister?” I 
 exclaimed. 
 
 “ 'Not absolutely engaged. But I am convinced he is 
 waiting only to ascertain to which of us Medway’s hand- 
 kerchief is irrevocably thrown, before he puts in his claim 
 to the discarded one.” 
 
 “ You mean that you are required to wait the decision 
 of these gentlemen ; then passively become their wives ?” 
 
 “ Lavinia will I doubt not resign herself to my mother’s 
 will. But for my part, heiress, co-heiress, or no-heiress, 
 I intend to marry neither one nor the other. Algernon 
 Eawborne I could have loved ; Algernon I would have 
 married. But, soon after your arrival in town, I luckily 
 discovered his attachment to his cousin Lizzy, — cried a 
 few girlish tears, — and uttered a few girlish ejaculations ; 
 but I had not the heroism to break my heart. His 
 friendship and good opinion I prize more highly than 
 ever ; but he has no share in my determination to become 
 neither Yiscountess Medway nor Mrs. Eichard Mordaunt. 
 
122 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 And now I return to the spot I started from. In what 
 way am I most likely to frighten away Lord Medway ?” 
 
 Affect expensive tastes and habits, and a whole million 
 would not bribe him to your feet. If he thought yon 
 likely to spend more than you bring, his arithmetic would 
 reply, take thirty thousand a-year from twenty-five thou- 
 sand, I cannot ; ergo, I cannot marry Miss Clara Shan- 
 stone.” 
 
 The experiment is worth trying,” observed my gay- 
 hearted companion. ‘‘ Medway will be here soon. At 
 this season, we see him constantly. When the hunting 
 is over and there is nothing going on at Newmarket, he 
 takes up his filial position in St. James’s Square; and 
 fancies himself devoting his time to poor Lord E/awborne, 
 by passing his mornings at the Clubs and his evenings 
 here. He is fond of boating, and our house is as good a 
 half-way house as any other. Such is his ardent mode 
 of courtship.” 
 
 “ He is said to have lost several thousand pounds at 
 Epsom to the Prince of W ales,” said I. 
 
 ‘‘ I guessed as much,” replied Clara; “for within the 
 last two months his assiduities have redoubled. But I 
 see lights in the drawing-room, — I fear we must return. 
 Thank you a thousand times for your advice ; and let me 
 hope that some future occasion will present itself to 
 cement our friendship.” 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 The tide not serving for his return to town. Lord 
 Medway deigned to accompany us by land ; and, witli 
 my previous knowledge of Clara’s intentions, I was not 
 a little edified to hear him pishing and pshawing at the 
 Tartuffism of the “serious” world we had left at Peter- 
 sham. 
 
 “ That fellow Bumptext,” said he, “ is little better 
 than a thief who plunders in the name of the Lord. He 
 
MEMOmS OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 123 
 
 and his tribe batten on the venison and pine-apple of the 
 rich dowagers, their dupes. The tents of Aaron are 
 invariably pitched in the pleasant places, hard by the 
 running waters.” 
 
 “ It is perhaps as well that Lady Lavinia’s money 
 should go to charitable institutions, as to Brag or Pha- 
 raoh,” said I ; perceiving that, thanks to the old Madeira, 
 Lady Carleton was already dozing in her corner of the 
 carriage. 
 
 ‘^Tou are nearly as absurd as that silly girl, Clara 
 Shanstone,” cried Lord Medv/ay, “ who accidentally 
 admitted to me to-night, that her mother spends five 
 thousand a-year in charity; and that when her own 
 fortune falls to her control she intends to double the 
 amount.” 
 
 ‘‘An excellent resolution!” 
 
 “ Comm.end me to the imbecility of these missionary- 
 meeting, — slave-abolishing, — Jew- converting ladies 1 — If 
 a wife is prodigal of her husband’s money in diamonds 
 and equipages, there is at least something to show for it, 
 and she does one credit in the eyes of the world. But a 
 ninny who ruins her family to maintain a legion of 
 greasy-haired hypocrites, crawling their sluggish way to 
 the loaves and fishes, eats like a locust into one’s sub- 
 stance, to no possible purpose. I^o 1 no pious prodigality 
 for me 1” 
 
 The confidences made me by Clara had already received 
 confirmation in the minuteness with which Lady Lavinia, 
 having taken me aside in the course of the evening, 
 inquired the value of the Spetchingley living, — the nature 
 of the parish, — the condition of the parsonage. I saw 
 she was determined that no portion of her property 
 should go out of the family; and that Lavinia was as 
 much foredoomed to become Mrs. Bichard Mordaunt, as 
 Clara, Lady|Medway. A few days afterwards, I received 
 a letter from my worldly-wise brother, entreating me not 
 to let the state of my father’s affairs transpire among 
 the Shan stones. As if I were likely to proclaim the 
 downfall of Mordaunt of Spetchingley ! — 
 
 The momentous morning arrived. But the hour 
 appointed by Pitzirnham for his visit came and passed ; 
 
124 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 and no tidings of our expected guest ! — Towards evening, 
 my aunt grew jocose concerning “ the desertion of my 
 swain.” But so sure was I that nothing hut illness 
 could detain Bitzirnham at such a time, that I should 
 have sent a note of inquiry to his lodgings, could I have 
 done so without exciting the pleasantries of Lady Carle- 
 ton. I retired to rest, satisfied that, early next morning, 
 some satisfactory explanation would reach me. 
 
 Next morning brought, however, only the letter from 
 Bichard to which I have alluded ; and the monotonous 
 business of the day proceeded without interruption. N ever 
 had time appeared so tedious ! I had no watch ; but I 
 sat counting the chimes of St. James’s, and the minutes 
 between, till my head seemed distracted. The newspaper 
 arrived — what cared I for the newspaper ! — Yet my aunt, 
 leisurely putting on her spectacles, began to rehearse aloud 
 an account of a riot in Dublin, in which a respectable 
 shopkeeper had been tarred and feathered ; interrupting 
 herself every moment to ejaculate, “ What a terrible thing 
 for the poor dear Duchess of Butland !” — 
 
 She was still reading the paper, when a message-card 
 was brought in, and, all impatient to learn its contents, 
 I could not forgive the deliberation with which Lady 
 Carleton proceeded to maunder over the wounds of Sheriff 
 Kirkpatrick and the violence of the Dublin mob, while I 
 sat trembling with agitation. At length, after completing 
 her newspaper, she read aloud — 
 
 Lady Algernon Percy’s compliments to Lady Carleton, 
 and begs to offer condolence to her Ladyship and Miss 
 Mordaunt, on the sad event in their family.” 
 
 The card dropped from her hands as she looked inquir- 
 ingly into my face. What could this mean ? Lady Al- 
 gernon’s servant was interrogated, and could reply only 
 that he had been desired to deliver the message and wait 
 for an answer. 
 
 “ Bely upon it, all is over with my poor brother !” cried 
 Lady Carleton. “ But how strange that Medway did not 
 send for me, and that others should hear it sooner than 
 myself! — I will set off instantly to St. James’s Square.” 
 
 I suggested that her footman would bring back intelli- 
 gence before she could be half-way there. The answer 
 
MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 125 
 
 came, that ‘‘Lord Medway had been out all day, — that 
 IVIr. Eawborne was in the country.” 
 
 “ And my brother — my brother !” 
 
 “ The Earl has passed a good night, my lady, and is 
 much as usual.” 
 
 Eresh perplexity, but, alas ! new apprehensions. My 
 name being especially included in Lady Algernon’s inquiry, 
 I began to fear that my own branch of the family must 
 be the object of sympathy. My poor father might have 
 sunk under the pressure of his misfortunes. 
 
 “ This is the strangest affair!” exclaimed Lady Carleton. 
 “ Here we are, with the certainty that some calamity has 
 occurred among those nearest and dearest to us, but 
 without means of clearing up our doubts 1” 
 
 On despatching a messenger to Lady Algernon’s, we had 
 the mortification of learning that she had driven down to 
 dine at Sion House. But, while mutually engaged in con- 
 jecture and alarm, a newsman’s horn suddenly interrupted 
 our colloquy, — and amid the uproar of the vociferous an- 
 nouncement that followed, we could distinguish the name 
 of the Duke of Eochester. 
 
 I had scarcely courage to ring the bell and desire the 
 servant to buy an evening paper ; — still less, to read on, 
 when I saw the first column headed with “ Melancholy 
 Suicide oe his Grace the Duke oe Eochester 1” 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 The Duke of Eochester, — the virtuous, pious, benevolent 
 Duke of Eochester, a self-murderer 1 — The father of those 
 
 helpless girls, — the husband of . I dared not reflect 
 
 upon it 1 Eitzirnham’s absence, — the interview between 
 them, — a thousand frightful surmises distracted my mind ! 
 
 “ Most inexplicable 1” ejaculated Lady Carleton, who 
 had been calmly perusing the statement in the news- 
 paper. 
 
 I raised my pale face inquiringly towards her — 
 
126 
 
 MEMOIRS OP A PEERESS. 
 
 “ That no one sliould Iiave considered it necessary to 
 communicate these melanclioly facts to one so nearly con- 
 nected with the poor dear Duke as myself! — I, whose 
 presence of mind might have been so useful had they 
 thought proper to send for me 1” 
 
 “ But the Duchess, Madam I at length was able to 
 falter. 
 
 “According to the account in this paper, Medway 
 started immediately for Brighton to apprise her. The 
 Duke, it seems, committed the rash act in the course of 
 the night. He was always a late riser. But his bell not 
 ringing as usual, the servants broke open the door of his 
 room, to find him lifeless, — weltering in his blood, — shot 
 through the heart with a duelling pistol.” 
 
 “And is no motive assigned?” 
 
 “Bead it yourself,” replied Lady Carleton, placing the 
 paper in my hand. But I could not read. My sight was 
 indistinct with horror, and the paper, escaping my hands, 
 fell upon the fioor. 
 
 “ It would be, perhaps, but proper,” said Lady Carleton, 
 after a pause, “ if I went to Eochester House, to see what 
 assistance I can render ? — Lord Hugh is so miserable an 
 invalid — the Duchess absent — the poor children — Yes ! 
 put on your hat, m}^ dear, and let a coach be called. It 
 will be the shortest way.” 
 
 “ Indeed, Madam, you must excuse me,” said I. “ I 
 am completely overcome, and should beamere incumbrance 
 in such a scene.” 
 
 “ This is no time for fine feelings. Miss Mordaunt,” 
 cried my aunt. “ The obligations you owe the Duke and 
 Duchess, mal^e it incumbent on you to exert yourself. I 
 am under the necessity of requiring you to accompany 
 me.” 
 
 At the mere menace of such a visit, afiood of hysterical 
 tears came to my relief ; leaving me in so complete a 
 state of exhaustion, that Lady Carleton was compelled to 
 admit the necessity of my lying down, while she proceeded 
 to Eochester House. She was, however, sufficiently her- 
 self to issue orders before she quitted home, that the 
 servants should undertake no message or letter for me 
 during her absence. 
 
MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 127 
 
 It was almost evening when Lady Carleton departed, 
 — it was no more than midnight when she returned ; and 
 who can express what those intervening hours were to 
 me ! — Such cruel incidents had lately crowded into my 
 young existence, that I began to expect every moment 
 would bring forth some new horror. My nerves were 
 seriously affected. I trembled at a sound. Every trifling 
 incident was fraught with evil portents ! 
 
 At length, after a period that appeared endless, I heard 
 the step of Lady Carleton ascending the stairs ; and the 
 awful nature of the scene she had been witnessing needed 
 no stronger demonstration than the total change in her 
 demeanour. She, usually so selfish, so trivial, seemed to 
 have acquired sense and feeling in the presence of death ! 
 
 “Is the Duchess arrived in town?” was my first 
 inquiry. 
 
 “No, my dear. Medway is returned. But my sister 
 was in such a state that he did not think it prudent to 
 move her ; particularly to Bochester House, where so 
 much that is afflicting awaits her.” 
 
 “Has anything transpired concerning the motives of 
 the act ?” said I, taking Lady Carleton’s hand, as if to 
 entreat her to deal mercifully with me in the dis- 
 closure. 
 
 “ The inquest will not take place till to-morrow at day- 
 break. The coroner was engaged elsewhere, in an im- 
 portant case involving a charge of murder.” 
 
 “Did the Duke leave no paper — no letter ?” 
 
 “ That part of the affair is still involved in mystery. 
 One servant declares that on entering the room and dis- 
 covering the body, he saw a letter lying on the table, 
 which in the confusion seems to have disappeared ; for the 
 Duke’s confidential valet, who followed the man on his 
 giving the alarm, protests that no letter was there. Lord 
 Hugh — for I cannot yet learn to call him the Duke — has 
 cross-examined these people, minutely. Ill and broken- 
 hearted as he is, nothing can exceed the good sense of his 
 proceedings. He, whom we have always considered in 
 the family a discontented, ailing, hypochondriac, turns 
 out to be a man of stronger mind than his brother, and 
 with a heart equally tender.” 
 
128 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 ^^And does lie form no conclusion respecting the 
 origin of this dreadful act 
 
 “ He will express no opinion till after the inquest. It 
 seems that the Duke, who passed the preceding day with 
 him at Penderels, was in a state of deep despondency. 
 On arriving in town yesterday morning, he was seen at 
 Brookes’s, where nothing unusual was remarked in his 
 conduct. But he is stated to have previously had a long 
 interview in his library with Mr. Eitzirnham ; in the course 
 of which, their voices ran so high as to reach the servants.” 
 
 ‘‘ It is, then, as I feared !” 
 
 “The Duke dressed for dinner, dined with Lord John 
 Cavendish, was observed to be dull and absent ; and when 
 the rest of the party repaired to Carlton House in the 
 evening, excused himself on the score of indisposition, 
 and returned home.” 
 
 “Alone ?” 
 
 “His own carriage not being in waiting. Lord St. 
 Asaph set him down. On arriving at home, several notes, 
 cards, and letters were given him by his own man ; all of 
 which have been found, with the exception of one ; — a 
 letter brought by a servant in a plain livery, which it is 
 supposed he must have destroyed.” 
 
 “And the Duke was not seen afterwards ?” — 
 
 “ Only by his valet- de-chambre. He desired the man 
 not to sit up, as he had letters to write ; and the servants 
 went quietly to bed. Not the slightest suspicion, in 
 short, was excited till this morning, when the body was 
 discovered exactly according to the statement you saw in 
 the newspapers. The medical men called in have decided, 
 from appearances, that he must have committed the rash 
 act at about two o’clock in the morning.” 
 
 “ What tortures of mind must he have undergone in 
 the interim !” said I, unguardedly^ 
 
 “ What reason have you for supposing so ?” retorted 
 my aunt, sharply. 
 
 “ What other cause can be assigned for the fatal catas- 
 trophe ?” I replied, more cautiously. 
 
 “ Aberration of intellect !” replied my aunt in a decided 
 tone. 
 
 “ Is there insanity, then, in the De Vere family ?” 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 129 
 
 matter ! Insanity is often known to pass over a 
 generation or two. Some ancestor of the Duke’s was 
 probably afBiicted, of whom we have never happened to 
 hear. At all events, my dear Lizzy,” continued my aunt, 
 lowering her voice, such is the opinion I advise you to 
 express, if interrogated on the subject. Such is the cue 
 of the Dawborne family. People will be on the watch to 
 catch up every syllable that falls from 
 
 “No syllable could ever fall from my lips injurious to 
 the Duke of Eochester,” said I, mournfully. 
 
 “ But the Duchess ?” significantly demanded my aunt. 
 “ Already, child, the newspapers are at work. I need not 
 remind you how dearly, in these times, they delight in 
 everything attributing misconduct to the nol3ility ! Old 
 Muffle the apothecary, who dropped in at Eochester 
 House, on pretence of visiting a sick housemaid, but in 
 reality to find out wdiat w^as going on, for the amusement 
 of his patients to-morrow, wdiispered to me that there was 
 an attack upon the Duchess and Lord Pembury, in a 
 government evening paper ; charging them in express 
 terms with the death of the poor dear Duke, and ending 
 with a furious attack upon the society and satellites of 
 the Prince of Wales.” 
 
 “ Everything in England is made a matter of politics !” 
 said I, scarce knowing what to answer. 
 
 “ Any imputation upon the Duchess at such a time, 
 however, might be productive of serious results.” 
 
 “ She will surely not be in a state of mind to read a 
 newspaper?” 
 
 “ I do not refer to her feelings, but to her fortunes. 
 The will cannot be opened till after the inquest ; as in 
 case of a verdict oifelo de se, (a thing, certainly, unpre- 
 cedented in the Duke’s rank of life, — such things are 
 never brought in suicide, except for the lowest rabble,) it 
 would become inoperative ; and, till the will is opened, it 
 is impossible to say how far my poor dear sister may have 
 been left dependent on the present Duke. Her settle- 
 ments were made without contemplating Lord John’s 
 accession to the title ; and she may possibly have to con- 
 tent herself with the jointure of a younger brother’s wife. 
 No woman can better sympathise than I, in the misery of 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEBESS. 
 
 having a rank in life to support out of a beggarly j ointure ! 
 
 No wonder the poor Duchess has been so anxious for a 
 son ! As mother of the heir, she would have been execu- 
 trix, guardian, trustee, or something of that sort, and 
 taken care of herself. I fear she has little to expect from 
 the present Duke.” 
 
 “ He is said to be a just and conscientious man.” 
 
 “And is it your candid opinion, Lizzy, that the 
 Duchess would profit on this occasion by having iustice 
 dealt her ?” 
 
 Not daring to reply, I eluded the question by entreat- 
 ing my aunt’s permission to address a note of inquiry to 
 Ditzirnham. 
 
 “ Certainly not at present,” she replied. “ Mr. Ditzirn- 
 ham will have to appear as a witness at the inquest ; and 
 I must see Medway or Algernon, before I decide what 
 line of conduct we are for the future to observe towards i 
 him.” i 
 
 Such were my incentives to sleep ! — Yet, wearied out by i 
 prolonged agitation, I did fall into a state of unnatural 
 torpor. I had even some difficulty in rousing myself to 
 listen to Lady Carleton, when she arrived at my bedside 
 the following morning, with half a dozen newspapers, 
 forwarded by the officiousness of old Muffie, each contain- 
 ing a different version of the catastrophe at Eochester 
 House. I 
 
 “ And thus,” observed one of the Whig oracles, after a | 
 
 tolerably correct recapitulation of particulars, “ the country 
 is deprived of an upright and intelligent legislator, at a 
 period when, alas ! such characters are becoming rare, 
 and at a crisis when they are becoming invaluable. The 
 Duke of Eochester was a nobleman of liberal views and 
 opinions, an influential adviser of the Prince of Wales ; 
 nay, he may perhaps be regarded as the key-stone of that 
 splendid arch, connecting the aristocracy of the country 
 with the community of sages, philosophers, and sects, 
 now labouring for its advancement in the history of 
 nations. To such a man, we cannot bid adieu without a 
 twofold sorrow; first, that we should have lost such a 
 coadjutor in our efforts in the good cause; — secondly, 
 that a man of such high intelligence should have sufiered 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERES 
 
 131 
 
 Ills mind to be overpowered by the gloom pervading at 
 the present moment the prospects of public life. Unable 
 to repress the disgust produced by the hideous attempt of 
 the Tories to invade the Constitution, and involve this 
 unhappy island in anarchy and confusion, the excellent 
 and honourable Duke of Eochester put an end to his days!” 
 
 “We approach the death of the Duke of Eochester,” — 
 held forth, on the other hand, the Tory print, — “ with 
 becoming feelings of sympathy in the affliction of an 
 honourable family, suffering under a melancholy bereave- 
 ment. Nevertheless, we should but ill discharge our 
 duty, did we not congratulate the country upon the 
 extinction of one of those dangerous torches which, on 
 pretence of enlightening, have created incendiarism and 
 conflagration throughout Grreat Britain. The Duke of 
 Eochester was a member of that revolutionary association, 
 the nest of baleful scorpions engendered by the genial 
 atmosphere of Carlton House ! — We do not expressly 
 accuse the deceased nobleman of having wilfully widened 
 the breach between the most illustrious parents in these 
 realms, and their rebellious heir apparent; but we do 
 assert that his Grace has been systematically included in 
 the group of Ealstaffs, Poinses, and Pistols, misleading and 
 disgracing the Harry Monmouth of our times. He is 
 gone to his account, and peace be with his manes! But, 
 we admonish the survivors of that wanton crew, that a day 
 of reckoning is at hand ; and that though one among 
 them, on discerning the approaching downfall of his party, 
 was unable to bear up against the oppression of mortifi- 
 cation and remorse, they have years in store, in which to 
 recant their errors, and disavow a political creed, the in- 
 famy of which has recently demonstrated itself to even 
 the least observant of the human kind.” 
 
 By wordy plausibility like this, how unfailingly is the 
 world deceived ! Whereas those newspapers winch boldly 
 arraigned the proceedings of the Duchess and Lord Pem- 
 bury, and designated the suicide of his Grace as a social 
 murder, were reviled as barbarians and libellers ! — 
 
132 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 Eaelt the following day, Algernon, who had been sum- 
 moned to town, arrived in Jermyn Street. 
 
 “ My dear Lizzy !” said he, taking me aside, “ have you 
 the least idea what has become of Eitzirnham ?” 
 
 Xot the slightest. I have seen and heard nothing of 
 him since you left us.” 
 
 “ How unfortunate ! The inquest is taking a most un- 
 expected turn ; and, unless we can procure his attendance 
 by to-morrow, the most injurious suspicions will be ex- 
 cited.” 
 
 “ Against him ? — Impossible !” 
 
 “ The jury, whose business it is to view every case with 
 suspicion, have so severely cross-examined the servants 
 concerning Mr. Eitzirnham’s causes of provocation, — his 
 mode of quitting the house, — and the possibility of any 
 person having entered the court-yard unobserved, and 
 secreted himself in the Duke’s apartments, that on the 
 publication of the proceedings in to-morrow’s paper, a 
 strong implication of murder will go forth to the public.” 
 
 Of murder ! — And against Eitzirnham !” cried I, — 
 gasping for breath. 
 
 “ All wmuld be cleared up by his appearance,” replied 
 Algernon. “ If indeed he left town, as it is stated, imme- 
 diately after his interview with the Duke, he may not yet 
 be aware of the sad catastrophe. Could you give me the 
 slightest indication of his movements, I would follow him 
 till I brought him back. If within distance, I might per- 
 haps be yet in time.” 
 
 ‘‘I have, alas! no information to give. Have you 
 applied to his friends the Sheridans, — to the Pemburys — 
 to 
 
 “AVell suggested!” cried Algernon. “I felt so sure 
 that would be aufait to his haunts, that I gave no 
 thought to any other person. Dick Sheridan is certain 
 to know. I will go to him directly.” 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS, 1B3 
 
 And away he flew, in spite of Lady Carleton’s eflbrts 
 to detain him. 
 
 Thus forewarned by my cousin, the proceedings of the 
 inquest, as detailed in the papers, gave no shock to my 
 feelings. As is usual in such cases, the persons last in 
 communication with the deceased, consisting in this 
 instance of his upper-servants, were closely examined. 
 The reports flying in various directions were apparently 
 known to the jury; for one of the jurymen — a staunch 
 Pittite, a tradesman of the neighbourhood, — was most 
 unsilenceable in his questions to the valet-de-cTiambre as 
 to “his Grrace’s state of feeling towards the Duchess, — 
 why he was not with her at Brighton, — and whether the 
 Mr. Pitzirnham to whom allusion had been made was a 
 relative of the Pembury family ?” 
 
 The man was not aware that such relationship existed. 
 
 “ Was he young and handsome ?’’ 
 
 “He was.” 
 
 “ A frequent visitor at Rochester House 
 
 “ Very frequent.” 
 
 “ A friend of the Duke, or of her Grace ?” 
 
 “Chiefly of the Duke, whom he often accompanied 
 home from Brookes’ s.” 
 
 “ You say,” persisted the pertinacious juryman, “ that 
 in the interview between the deceased nobleman and this 
 young gentleman, the dispute ran so high, that their voices 
 reached the hall. Did the subject of their conference 
 transpire ?” 
 
 The Coroner objected to this question, as irregular. 
 
 “ When Mr. Pitzirnham quitted the house, who opened 
 the door and let him out ?” 
 
 A butler and footman presented themselves as having 
 answered a loud ring in the library, and found the Duke 
 and his guest in a state of excitement. The Duke’s last 
 words, as they appeared, were — “ Let me hear no more of 
 it. Good morning.” They could not say to what those 
 words bore reference, but received the summons as an 
 order to escort Mr. Pitzirnham to the hall. 
 
 “You saw him, then, quit the house ?” 
 
 “ Ho. It was the business of the hall-porter to open 
 the door.” 
 
MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 lS4i 
 
 The man being summoned, stated that he had opened 
 the door for Mr. Fitzirnham; that he saw him get into a 
 carriage waiting in the court-yard, and drive through the 
 great gates. He was certain that he had not opened the 
 hall door afterwards for the young gentleman. He was 
 certain that no other person had opened it, and that it 
 was impossible for any one to penetrate into the house 
 through the hall, without his knowledge. He had not been 
 intoxicated. He had not been asleep in his chair. He 
 declared upon oath that it was impossible Mr. Fitzirnham 
 could have re-entered the house, after dark, through the 
 offices. 
 
 “ Was it easy to enter the house through the offices r” 
 He could not say. It formed no part of his duty to 
 attend to the comings and goings of the offices. There 
 was a wicket gate connected with this department, which, 
 for the safety of the house, was always kept shut.” 
 
 In the over-elaborate deposition of the medical men, lay 
 the source of all this perplexity. A young surgeon of the 
 neighbourhood, accidentally called in as nearest at hand, 
 who evidently considered it a good opportunity to attract 
 public notice, stated his opinion that the pistol was as 
 likely to have been discharged by a second person, as by 
 the Duke’s own hand ; persisting in calling the attention 
 of the jury to the remoteness of the spot, where, on his 
 arrival, he had found the discharged pistol ; though it was 
 stated by half-a-dozen servants that each of them had 
 examined and removed the implement of destruction pre- 
 viously to the attendance of the surgeon. 
 
 Again, the Duke was not known to have had the pistol 
 in question in his possession, and neither the fellow-pistol, 
 nor powder, nor ball, could be discovered in his apartments. 
 It was admitted that he had two private bureaux, on 
 which seals had been affixed by order of Lord Hugh, as 
 containing family papers of importance, and one or two 
 of the jury expressed a desire to return to the library, and 
 examine the bureaux. But this proposal was overruled by 
 the rest, tradesmen of the family, who knew better than 
 to press their investigation in a mode likely to be offensive 
 to the present Duke. At length, however, the remon- 
 strances of the Tory biitterman grew so clamorous that 
 
MEMOIES or A PEERESS. 
 
 135 
 
 the proceedings were adjourned till the following day, 
 when Mr. ritzirnham was subpoenaed to attend. 
 
 This unexpected delay was naturally the cause of great 
 confusion in the family. No measures could be taken — 
 no will opened — no obsequies prepared. 
 
 “I scarcely know what to do about returning to 
 Eochester House,” said Lady Carleton, after having 
 read and re-read the proceedings of the inquest. “ The 
 Duke gave me very little encouragement to renew my 
 visit. But, interested as I am in this grievous affair, I 
 feel it is there only I am likely to gain intelligence. I 
 want to know whether anything further has been heard 
 of the Duchess, and what has been done about the girls. 
 The Duke was to go down to Beaufort House to-day. 
 Their father’s death, but not his mode of death, was to 
 be formally announced to them ; and fortunately, they live 
 in such perfect seclusion, that no vulgar rumours are 
 likely to reach their ears.” 
 
 “ Poor girls ! — To them how irreparable such a loss !” — 
 
 “ Irreparable indeed, — as they have no brother. ' After 
 the decease of the present Duke, the title goes to a colla- 
 teral heir. As Lady Lavinia says, in the letter I received 
 from her this morning, (begging me to order her’s and 
 the girls’ mourning,) what a blessing if the Duchess should 
 prove enceinte 
 
 Unable sincerely to echo this sentiment, I remained 
 silent. 
 
 “I confess,” resumed Lady Cp-rleton, I see no cause for 
 the slightest surmise that the poor dear Duke fell by any 
 other hand than his own ; nor for inferring that, because 
 Mr. Pitzirnham and he talked loud together, Mr. Pitz- 
 irnham is an assassin. Still it wears a very awkward ap- 
 pearance for your friend that he left town so precipitately, 
 and without leaving his address. Between ourselves, as 
 we are secure, Lizzy, from being overheard, I may venture 
 to tell you that, thirty years ago, soon after the poor dear 
 Duke returned from the grand tour, he formed a prodi- 
 gious intimacy with this young man’s family. Pitzirnham, 
 the father, had a beautiful place near Sevenoaks, where he 
 used to receive the eminent public characters and wits of 
 the day — George Selwyn, Walpole, Sir Horace Mann, 
 
136 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 Conway, — and all that set ; and a very lovely wife, who 
 formed, perhaps, the chief attraction to the society. AVhen 
 
 Lord H went to Ireland, he took his brother-in-law, 
 
 Litzirnham, as his secretary, leaving the beauty, (who 
 was not fond of sea-voyages,) alone at his country seat. 
 Soon after this blunder, De Yere Fitzirnham was born; 
 and I remember at the time, which was nearly that of my 
 introduction into society, many people were scrupulous 
 about visiting pretty Mrs. Litzirnham, on account of her 
 intimacy with Lord John de Vere, whom I little expected 
 would, twenty years afterwards, become my brother-in-law. 
 Still less, poor man, — But Grod’s will be done 1” 
 
 “ Was the Duchess aware of the connexion between her 
 husband and Mrs. Bitzirnham?” 
 
 At the time it was going on, she must have been an 
 infant in arms ; for the lady died soon after the return of 
 her husband from Ireland. Some one, however, may have 
 been at the trouble of giving my sister information on the 
 subject, — most likely Lord Pembury. For more than 
 once, within the last three months, when I alluded to 
 Lord Hugh’s resentment of the levity of her conduct, she 
 defended herself by reference to his brother’s former liaison 
 with Mrs. Fitzirnham.” 
 
 “You conclude, then, that De Yere is son of the late 
 Duke of Eoch ester ?” 
 
 “ I have given over forming conclusions, my dear, about 
 anything or anybody. He is the son of Mr. Fitzirnham, 
 in a legal point of view, fo;" he was unquestionably born 
 in wedlock ; and that is enough for society to know or 
 inquire.” 
 
 “But it is not enough for him, I can imagine his 
 solicitude on such a point!” 
 
 “ The less we any of us busy ourselves with raking up 
 the frailties of our ancestors or ancestresses, the better. 
 The famous Abbe Prevost asserts that not one man in ten 
 arrives at the age of thirty without having done something 
 to merit the hulks. I am of opinion that, in our rank of 
 life, not one man in ten is his reputed father’s son. We 
 cannot ask too few questions on such points.” 
 
 You are reducing the morality of the age and coun- 
 try to a low standard, Madam,” said I. “ May the last 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 137 
 
 knowledge I acquire be that knowledge of the world, 
 which induces mistrust and contempt of my fellow- 
 creatures.” 
 
 Still, no news of Fitzirnham ! The day passed slowly 
 and heavily away. I would have given worlds for a visit 
 from Lord Medway, to acquire some idea of the opinions 
 floating in the world, and the judgment formed by the 
 present Duke of Eochester. Yet not a soul of the family 
 came near us! In the dusk of the evening, to avoid being 
 recognised. Lady Carleton made her way out to purchase 
 mourning ; intending : to call in St. J ames’s Square, on 
 Lord Eawborne, previous to her return. 
 
 Scarcely had she been gone ten minutes, when I heard 
 a sedan-chair admitted into the hall ; and, rushing to the 
 head of the stairs to warn the servants that I was not in 
 a state to receive visitors, I saw the mufiled flgure of a 
 lady, mysteriously ushered up by Phillis. And, lo! having 
 retreated into the drawing-room, I found myself suddenly 
 accosted by the Duchess of Eochester! Overwhelmed 
 with emotion, she fell upon my neck. Having placed her 
 on the sofa, I perceived by the imperfect evening light the 
 wreck her countenance presented. Pale as death, not a 
 tear was falling, — not a muscle in movement. — She seemed 
 transfixed with horror. — 
 
 ‘‘ I am sorry to say Lady Carleton has just left the 
 house — ” I began. 
 
 “ I have been waiting for her departure,” answered the 
 unhappy woman, in a hollow tone of voice. “ My business, 
 Lizzy, is with yow. You can save me — youQWOi preserve me!” 
 
 I had not inhumanity to express what I truly felt, that 
 her ruin was already consummated in the death of her 
 excellent husband. 
 
 ‘‘Secure Pitzirnham’s silence for me,” she resumed. 
 ‘‘ Induce him to keep my secret in his examination at the 
 inquest, and I am safe.” 
 
 “ I know not that Mr. Pitzirnham will be forthcoming. 
 Algernon assures me that his absence would expose him 
 to injurious suspicions. Yet I have not the means of 
 warning him to come forward.” 
 
 “ Not forthcoming ? — Has he not yet reached town ?” 
 eagerly inquired the Duchess. 
 
138 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 “ Three days have elapsed since we met. — A thousand 
 horrors have intervened. He has even incurred the op- 
 probrium of an assassin.” 
 
 One word will sufBce to exculpate him^ and criminate 
 me r replied the Duchess. “ He knows too well that the 
 fatal letter — but of what am I talking! — I came hither, 
 Lizzj, only to entreat you to procure me an interview 
 with Eitzirnham.” 
 
 “ Would, Madam, that it were in my power!” 
 
 “ My fate and the fate of many hangs on his discretion. 
 Should the inquest people persist in knowing the subject 
 of dispute between him and that unhappy man, it would 
 be easy to assign a political motive — ” 
 
 Be assured,” I interrupted, “ that worlds would not 
 induce him to assert anything but the truth. The quarrel 
 between them doubtless originated in Eitzirnham’s deter- 
 mination to elucidate your declaration, that he was the 
 son of the Duke of Bochester.” 
 
 ‘Wes, at their morning interview,” cried the Duchess 
 impatiently. “ It was but natural the young man should 
 exhibit irritation on learning the infamy of his mother, 
 and receiving the Duke’s interdiction of his marriage with 
 yourself. But how far he can excuse to his conscience 
 the letter he afterwards wrote, disclosing to my unfortu- 
 nate husband the truth of that fatal affair at Brighthelm- 
 stone, I leave it to you and him to decide.” 
 
 “But why should you imagine he ever wrote , such a 
 letter?” cried I. “What evidence is there that the Duke 
 ever became aware that — ” 
 
 “No matter !” interrupted the Duchess. “ That he did 
 write it, is known to me — known to himself; — and should 
 he admit the fact on his examination, I am lost ! — The 
 world — my family — my own children — will be entitled to 
 brand me as not only infamous, but the murderess of my 
 husband !” 
 
 She uttered these dreadful words with a horror-struck 
 impassibility of demeanour, more awful than the most 
 impassioned vehemence ; and so thoroughly did her 
 deportment impose upon my feelings, that I had not 
 courage to appeal to her conscience, against herself. 
 
 “ I know,” pursued the Duchess, finding me silent, 
 
MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 139 
 
 “ that I am fallen to the lowest pitch of shame, — that I 
 am a degraded, miserable being — reduced to supplicate 
 where once I could command. No one can be more 
 humiliated, — more wretched, — more debased ! But I 
 must not shrink from all this. I have still duties to 
 perform. — I cling to life, Lizzy. — I dare not die ! I 
 have again to become a mother. — Should Bitzirnham’s 
 depositions tend to inculpate me and this unborn child, 
 I will retire to some lonely retreat, that our days may 
 end together. But, should no accusation reach me, I 
 may yet live to be a protectress to those unoffending 
 girls, who have not yet heard a vilifying word applied to 
 their unhappy mother !” 
 
 I listened, and trembled at my own responsibility. 
 
 “ I cannot weep !” she resumed, after a pause. — “ My 
 eyes, my heart, are seared as with burning iron. I can 
 but appeal to you, Lizzy Mordaunt, as the sister of your 
 dead mother. I will not anticipate the results of Bitz- 
 irnham’s enmity. But you and he will deeply, deeply 
 answer for it. One victim has fallen already. Does not 
 that suffice to appease you ?” 
 
 She was in no state of mind to be reasoned with. I 
 could only reply as I had replied before, that I knew 
 nothing of Bitzirnham’s movements, and could therefore 
 exercise no control over his proceedings. 
 
 “And you sit there, unmoved,” cried she, “without 
 attempting to seek him out, and force him to redeem 
 himself from the obloquy that has fallen on him ? — Tame, 
 spiritless heart ! — I, a new-made widow, — a suffering, 
 shrinking, stigmatised woman, — have come forth from 
 my home at all risks of exposure. The world believes 
 me shut up at Brighthelmstone ; and thither, without 
 rest or food, I shall this night return, if so fortunate as 
 to have obtained an interview with Bitzirnham.” 
 
 “ Had I a messenger to despatch to St. James’s Square 
 and Bochester House,” said I, “ I might obtain news of 
 Algernon, and through him of Bitzirnham, of whom he 
 left me to go in search.” 
 
 “ At neither of those places have they received tidings 
 of either of them,” answered the Duchess. “ I have a 
 confidential agent on the watch.” 
 
140 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEBESS. 
 
 And should Fitzirnham be still absent when the jurj 
 resumes its investigation to-morrow, what would be the 
 result ?” — 
 
 ‘‘ To me or to him P” — 
 
 “ To both.” 
 
 “Who, who can say!” faltered the Duchess. “Who 
 can calculate upon the turn the opinion of these officious 
 fools may take, excited as they are by the accusations of 
 a party-press, which has no other object in view but to 
 render a paper profitable. They may perhaps bring in a 
 verdict of ‘ Wilful Murder by persons unknown.’ A 
 criminal trial may be the result; though,, alas! it is as 
 well known to Fitzirnham, myself, and others, that the 
 Duke died by his own hand, as if we had been spectators 
 of the deed.” She started up. — A sound on the stairs 
 induced her to fear that Lady Carleton might be returning. 
 
 “ She must not find me here. — Yet, by coming I have 
 effected nothing!” cried the Duchess, pressing her hand 
 to her forehead. 
 
 “ If you were to go at once to Fitzirnham’s residence, 
 and wait for further intelligence ?” 
 
 “ His lodgings are closely watched by the police,” she 
 replied. “ I should be recognised by these people, who 
 are accustomed to see me at public places. And judge 
 what conclusions might be drawn, were it known that 
 the widowed Duchess of Eochester, — widowed, alas ! by 
 such means, — had paid a furtive visit to a man lying 
 under suspicion as his murderer? — Ho! Lizzy, I must 
 back to Brighthelmstone, to support once more the 
 horrors of suspense. Will you not comfort me before I 
 go, by the assurance that should Fitzirnham return, you 
 will intercede with him in my favour ?” 
 
 “ Fitzirnham, Madam, is my future husband. His 
 safety is my first object ; his renown, my glory,” said I. 
 “ All, however, that can be said or done, consistently with 
 honour, in your defence, rely upon my persuasions to 
 effect.” 
 
 “ Thanks, thanks ! — And now, Lizzy Mordaunt, one 
 word more. You must go down to-morrow to Beaufort 
 Lodge. — You must see those girls, and comfort them 
 more tenderly than they will be comforted by hirelings. 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 141 
 
 I dread lest old nurse Feltham, who loves them and 
 venerates the Duke as much as she despises me^ should 
 let fall words in their presence calculated to enlighten 
 them. It will be long, very long, before I gain courage 
 to see them again. — Will you go down to them, Lizzy ?” 
 
 ‘‘ Alas ! Madam, you well know how little I am mistress 
 of my own movements !” said I. “ And labouring, as I 
 latterly did, under the ill opinion of the Duke, I hardly 
 know in what light he may have represented me to his 
 brother, or his daughters.” 
 
 “ Objections, — always objections against obliging me !” 
 — exclaimed the Duchess, petulantly drawing down her 
 veil. “ But, fallen as I am, I can no longer hope for 
 friends. Farewell, Lizzy, — farewell, my sister’s daugh- 
 ter. — We may never meet again in this world.” 
 
 ‘‘Heaven support you, my poor dear aunt,” said I, — 
 overcome by the sight of her humiliation. — “Address 
 yourself to the Almighty for comfort and counsel; for 
 vain is the help of man !” 
 
 She withdrew. I heard her enter the chair ; and ere 
 she could have reached the end of the street, the shrill 
 voice of Lady Carleton was once more scolding in the 
 hall. 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 Still, not a word of intelligence! Neither Algernon 
 nor Fitzirnham had been heard of. The adjourned 
 inquest was to resume its investigation at noon the 
 following day ; and all remained in disorder at Eochester 
 House. Lady Carleton having made up her mind to 
 pass the morrow at Petersham for the discussion of these 
 family afflictions, retired at an early hour to rest ; and 
 all that night I passed in bitter tears, — in agonising 
 terrors. 
 
 At length, morning dawned, and with morning, Hope, 
 that flies the darkness of the night. Yet unequal as I 
 
142 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 was to support the presence of new sorrow, a letter of 
 inquiry and condolence from my brother Henry arrived 
 to aggravate my distress. Though he wrote ostensibly 
 to express his sympathy in the fate of the Duke of 
 Rochester, it was the fate of our father on which his 
 letter chiefly enlarged. 
 
 “We have been settled this fortnight past at Aid- 
 borough,” said he ; “ and I can scarcely describe to you, 
 my dear Lizzy, the effect produced on the gentlemanly- 
 minded old man, by this compulsory cession of his habits 
 and pleasures. His hair, which you remember gray, is 
 now white as snow; and his fine upright figure has 
 become suddenly bowed. My father scarcely raises his 
 eyes from the ground. He does not eat, — he does not 
 sleep. Much of this I attribute to the want of his usual 
 exercise. Accustomed for so many years to pass many 
 hours a day on horseback, he feels the loss of these bracing 
 habits. That excellent creature, Dick Mordaunt, who 
 has quitted his own comfortable cottage in the village of 
 Spetchingley, for the purpose of enlivening and waiting 
 upon the caprices of the Squire, does his best to draw 
 him out by a nightly game at backgammon, and a morn- 
 ing saunter along the shore. But his favourite game 
 seems less to excite him, now that it is no longer played 
 in the drawing-room at Spetchingley ; and, instead of 
 enjoying the frolics of Chinks, the old terrier, the only 
 thing he brought away, my father and Dick are constantly 
 breaking into discussions concerning their old favourites 
 in Leicestershire. ‘ I hope the people are kind to poor 
 Ponto ! ’ says Dick, with a sigh. ‘ Ladybird’s puppies 
 must be almost fit for breaking. — But, I forget. — There 
 is no head-keeper at Spetchingley now !’ — observes my 
 father. And thus they go on, irritating each other’s 
 regrets. I sometimes think it would be as well for the 
 Squire if he had no one with whom he could indulge in 
 reminiscences of Spetchingley. 
 
 “ Mrs. Mordaunt’s conduct throughout these trials is 
 truly praiseworthy. I have heard neither murmur nor 
 reproach from her lips. She continues to perfect with 
 unceasing attention the education of J ane and Helen ; 
 and when, in the course of the investigations that have 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 143 
 
 taken place, any instance of improvidence on the part of 
 our poor mother becomes apparent, (as I must admit was 
 frequently the case,) she is the first to assign good 
 motives or sufficient excuse. In short, dear Lizzy, this 
 woman is truly excellent ; and, in spite of our first 
 erroneous judgment, we are under serious obligations to 
 her for the manner in which she lightens the afflictions 
 of my father. If, however, the old man should continue 
 to sink under them, as he has from the moment the writ 
 was taken out against him, her task will not be of long 
 continuance. I seldom lose sight of him for more than 
 a few hours together. Yet every time we meet, I seem 
 to discern a change for the worse. Any new shock 
 would prove fatal to him. He has taken the Duke of 
 Rochester’s sad end grievously to heart, and bad me 
 instantly write and ascertain that you at least were well. 
 He called you ^ Betty,’ dearest sister, as in former days. 
 — He often calls you so now. His memory seems to be 
 failing.” 
 
 I said not a word to Lady Carleton of this afflicting 
 letter, when she bad me a careless good-bye, expressing 
 a hope that before she returned from Petersham, ‘‘ every- 
 thing would be satisfactorily settled at the inquest.” 
 
 “ I am most anxious to get the funeral over,” she 
 observed, for I want to arrange something about going 
 out of town. I am sadly in want of country air.” How 
 cruel a moment to give me to understand that my visit 
 was becoming an incumbrance ! — 
 
 When the fatal hour of twelve was struck by St. 
 James’s, my trepidation increased to so unbearable a 
 degree, that I resolved to profit at all hazards by Lady 
 Carleton’s absence ; and, having induced Phillis by a 
 liberal bribe to bear me company, I got into a hackney 
 coach and bad them drive to the end of the street in 
 which stood Rochester House ; from whence I despatched 
 my companion to inquire whether Mr. Rawborne and 
 another gentleman had made their appearance. Aware 
 that the inquest was sitting within, a crowd of people 
 had collected round the gates — some crying out against 
 the Duchess, some lamenting for the Duke ; and Phillis 
 had considerable difficulty in penetrating through the 
 
144 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 mob SO far as the porter’s lodge, where, being personally 
 known, she readily obtained an answer that nothing had 
 been heard of Mr. Fitzirnham or Mr. Algernon Fawborne. 
 
 I thought the poor woman long in obtaining a reply 
 to my inquiry. Yet when she rejoined me with such 
 unsatisfactory tidings, I wished she had been longer. 
 
 ‘‘ Why not order the coachman to remain here ?” she 
 suggested, after I had expressed my horror of returning 
 to Jermyn Street without having learned the verdict. 
 “It is surely as easy. Miss, to sit crying in the coach, 
 as at home.” 
 
 Phillis accordingly took herself off to gossip with the 
 servants at Rochester House, while I remained in the 
 coach ; from whence I commanded a view of the gates, 
 and the populace gathered round them. 
 
 The mob was becoming violent. Pretexts for popular 
 excitement had been latterly wanting ; and the mysterious 
 suicide of a peer of the realm was a sufficient motive for 
 a disturbance. Some of the people bestowed their plau- 
 dits on the late Duke, as the friend of Fox, and civil and 
 religious liberty ; some reviled him as the enemy of Pitt 
 and the throne. Next to the assemblages I had witnessed 
 on the hustings, I never saw so intemperate a one as 
 that which waited the announcement -of that fatal verdict ! 
 
 At length, a plainly dressed man issued from the gates, 
 who seemed well known to the people ; for they pressed 
 vehemently round him with inquiries. His reply elicited 
 an universal groan. In a few moments, he passed the 
 coach where I was sitting, nor could I resist the impulse 
 to call aloud and ask what turn the proceedings were 
 taking. The stranger, who was probably connected with 
 the press, stopped mechanically to reply — “A strong 
 suspicion of murder against one Fitzirnham, who has 
 absconded. 
 
 ‘‘Absconded — What a word to hear applied to the 
 noble, generous Fitzirnham! — The jury might possibly 
 extend their incriminations so far as to record a verdict 
 of “ Wilful Murder 1” Unversed in the legal forms of 
 an inquest, such a verdict seemed to imply condemnation 
 to death. My fears were roused to frenzy. — I deter- 
 mined to present myself for examination. I could bear 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 145 
 
 testimony to the state of the Duke’s mind. — I could 
 explain — but no! what could I explain? — Would not a 
 garbled statement such as my solemn promise to the 
 Duchess alone enabled me to afford, involve the facts in 
 still deeper mystery ? 
 
 But life and death! — Ditzirnham branded with an 
 accusation of murder, and no one to put forth one sylla- 
 ble in his vindication ! — Dreadful thoughts came throng- 
 ing into my mind ; and, almost before I understood my 
 own intentions, I had left the coach and was hurrying 
 towards the gates which I had so often traversed in 
 splendour, so often in triumph. 
 
 The people crowded upon me. — The press was dread- 
 ful. At that moment I heard an increased tumult ; a 
 chaise and four, the horses covered with foam, galloped 
 past. • The gates of Bochester House instantly unclosed 
 to admit it. The truth rushed into my mind. It con- 
 tained Algernon and Bitzirnham. 
 
 I remember nothing further, till, on waking with a 
 painful sensation, I found myself stretched on a bed in a 
 well-known chamber, surrounded with familiar faces. . I 
 had been rescued in a state of insensibility from the tram- 
 pling of the crowd, and conveyed into the porter’s lodge 
 of Bochester House ; where, being personally recognised, 
 I was removed with all respect into the house, and the 
 attendance of Phillis and the medical men in waiting at the 
 inquest, procured. The contusions I had received rendered 
 bleeding necessary. I was still suffering severely. My head 
 was all confusion, — my heart seemed turned to stone. 
 
 At length, the voice of Algernon met my ear, and I 
 found it was my cousin’s arm by which I was supported. 
 
 “ Is he safe ?” I murmured, clasping his hand in mine ; 
 and finding from this question that my consciousness was 
 fully restored, he beckoned forward Fitzirnham, who had 
 been standing concealed behind the rest. 
 
 “Is the inquest over?” I faltered, bending towards 
 him as he knelt by the bedside. 
 
 “ Many hours ago ; a verdict of ^ Temporary Derange- 
 ment.’ Hothing, dearest, has detained me in this house 
 but the sense of your danger. You are recovering. I 
 must leave it, Lizzy ! This is no time for explanations.” 
 
 E 
 
146 
 
 HEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 “ One word !” I whispered. “ Has anything transpired 
 to criminate that unhappy woman 
 
 “Not a syllable. But dismiss these fearful things 
 from your mind. Compose yourself, that you may be 
 as soon as possible removed. We can meet again in 
 Jermyn Street. Meanwhile,” he added, kissing my 
 burning hand, and placing it in that of Algernon, “ I 
 entrust you to the care of this truest and best of friends.” 
 
 Another glance, and he was gone. 
 
 “ It was impossible for him to remain here,” whispered 
 my cousin, while Phillis- withdrew to accompany Pitzirn- 
 ham to the door. “ The Duke must ever regard him as 
 the unintentional murderer of his brother. For though 
 he brought evidence that he was fifty miles on the north 
 road in the York mail, at the period the act was com- 
 mitted, the letter in which the excitement of the Duke 
 unquestionably originated, was from Fitzirnham. The 
 contents of that letter are known only to the dead and 
 to our friend. — With them let the secret rest.” 
 
 “ May I not now return home ?” said I. “To me this 
 house is almost as much forbidden ground as to himP 
 
 “ The physicians insist on your sleeping here to-night.” 
 
 “ Impossible ! — Impossible .'” 
 
 “ It must be so, dear Lizzy. Tour safety demands it.” 
 
 “ But Lady Carleton will be alarmed at not finding 
 me on her return from Petersham ?” 
 
 “ She has been apprised, and permits Phillis to remain 
 here in attendance upon you. In fact, my dear cousin, 
 were you to make the attempt, you would find it impos- 
 sible to move.” 
 
 He was right. Severe contusions and bruises ren- 
 dered me unable to stand. And when Algernon took 
 leave for the night, and I found myself alone with Phillis 
 in that vast gloomy chamber, beneath which was the fatal 
 library containing the body of the victim and the watchers 
 over his remains, my heart sank within me. 
 
 When midnight sounded from the harsh turret-clock 
 of the offices, a hollow sound arose from the apartment 
 below. 
 
 “ Don’t be alarmed. Miss Mordaunt,” whispered my 
 attendant, creeping to my bedside to conceal her own 
 
HEMOIES or A PEERESS. 
 
 147 
 
 terrors. “ It is only the undertakers soldering down 
 the coffin. The inquest prevented things being done as 
 they ought ; and his Grrace has desired that no further 
 time may be lost. People suppose he was afraid the 
 Duchess might appear in the morning, and insist upon 
 seeing the corpse.” 
 
 I lay trembling with fever and terror. — Before morn- 
 ing, my illness had increased to delirium ! 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 What strange, dreary impressions do we entertain of 
 events occurring around us during feverish excitement ; 
 impressions analogous to the illusions of clairvoyance. 
 I remember, as in a dream, the death-like tranquillity of 
 Eochester House ; and, after many days, a loud trampling 
 in the court-yard, announcing the funeral. It was scarcely 
 day-break. The Duke was desirous that the procession, 
 which was destined to Vere Court, in Lancashire, should 
 pass through London while the streets were unfrequented. 
 
 Phillis, who was standing at the window of my room 
 watching the departure of the hearse, uttered an exclama- 
 tion of dismay, as the last mourning-coach quitted the 
 court-yard. But I was too weak for questions. It was 
 not till the close of the week, when I was well enough to 
 have my curtains drawn aside, that the first object which 
 presented itself to my eyes was a death’s head, surrounded 
 with appalling emblems. My chamber happening to 
 occupy the centre of the house, the achievement of the 
 late Duke projected over one of the windows ! 
 
 The details of a convalescence are tedious to all but 
 the sufferer. Mine was alleviated by visits from Algernon, 
 from Lady Carleton, and, above all, from my dear brother 
 Henry. Prom the latter, I learnt that Lord Hugh de 
 Vere had returned to Penderels ; for the Duchess, whose 
 pregnancy had been legally signified, was shortly expected 
 at Eochester House. 
 
148 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 ‘‘ Exhibit no anxiety to quit the house previous to her 
 arrival,” said Harry ; if you are in a state to he moved, 
 it shall he done. The Duchess has expressed her desire 
 that your marriage should he solemnised under her 
 auspices ; hut — ” 
 
 “ My marriage — 
 
 “ Yes, dear Lizzy. — Every arrangement is completed. 
 Already, I know and esteem your Eitzirnham as a brother. 
 The good offices of our mutual friend, Eawhorne, have 
 placed us on the happiest footing : and your illness alone 
 retards an event which I trust will secure your happi- 
 ness. You will he poor, Lizzy. But you must make up 
 in prudence what you want in fortune. Your husband 
 promises to apply himself to the study of the law. He 
 has great abilities, and may achieve great triumphs.” 
 
 Encouraged by such hopes, my recovery was rapid. It 
 was not till the middle of September that the Duchess 
 was expected in town, to administer to the will of her 
 late husband: and one week earlier, my hand was bestowed 
 by my brother on Eitzirnham. Our marriage, under the 
 melancholy circumstances of the family, was strictly 
 private. Lady Carleton and the Shanstones alone attended 
 me to the altar ; and, when I found myself once more 
 beyond the boundaries of London, once more in sight of 
 green trees and fields, commencing a bridal excursion 
 with the husband of my choice, it seemed as if all the 
 events of the last five months had been a hideous delusion. 
 
 I had still indeed some drawbacks upon my happiness ; 
 the reduced circumstances of my family, the conviction 
 recently forced on me of Algernon’s despair at my 
 marriage with another, and, above all, the painful con- 
 straint which still, on certain points, produced reserve 
 between me and my husband. With him I never dared 
 recur to the past. To him I had not addressed a single 
 observation concerning the Duchess, or a question touching 
 the Duke. Time would probably bring to light all that 
 it was desirable for me to know ; meanwhile, I consulted 
 my own principles in re-enclosing, to the Duchess, a 
 bank note of one thousand pounds forwarded to me by her 
 banker the day preceding iny marriage with Eitzirnham. 
 
 A gift from another member of my mother’s family 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 149 
 
 excited in my mind even more surprise and self-accusal, 
 than gratitude. Lady Carleton, whom I had so often 
 reviled as disgracefully penurious, bestowed upon me on 
 my wedding-day a purse containing two hundred guineas ; 
 an amount enormous to her, whose resources were not 
 overflowing. My uncle Eawborne had already given us 
 a carriage. But Bitzirnham, with intuitive delicacy, 
 declined the sum which my father had raised as my 
 marriage portion. 
 
 From all my family, I received gratifying tokens of 
 interest and regard. From his, not even a token of 
 existence. I knew from others that the eldest son of 
 the late IVIr. Fitzirnham resided at the family-seat near 
 Sevenoaks. There was a married daughter, too, on the 
 Continent for the benefit of her health. But neither 
 brother nor sister was ever mentioned to me by Fitzirn- 
 ham ; nor did I know whether the estrangement between 
 them proceeded from his part or theirs. In spite of the 
 unaffected joy he experienced in calling me his, I could 
 discern that a cloud hung heavily on his spirits. He 
 mourned for the Duke not only as for a father, but a 
 father whom he had hurried to the grave. 
 
 I have dwelt long enough on gloomy subjects. A 
 honeymoon — the honeymoon of a pair devoted heart and 
 soul to each other — demands a lighter strain. I was not 
 yet twenty. In spite of the sorrows that had fallen on 
 me, I was still vain, — vain of myself, vainer of Fitzirnham ; 
 while the pride he took in me amounted almost to idolatry. 
 On a hint given by the Prince of Wales at one of the 
 Carlton House suppers, that “ Miss Mordaunt ought to 
 stand to Boubilliac for a statue of Diana Huntress,” 
 Sherwin had insisted on making a sketch of me in that 
 character, aquatints of which may still be found in the 
 collection at Colnaghi’s. From this sketch, Cosway had 
 contrived to complete a miniature, which, for months 
 past, — months during which I believed him indifierent, — 
 Fitzirnham had worn about his person. 
 
 ‘‘If I have thus worshipped a picture,” said he, in 
 confiding the secret to me after our marriage, “judge 
 what homage I shall pay to the original !” 
 
 It was, indeed, homage, — the homage of passionate 
 
150 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 affection. We devoted a portion of Lady Carleton’s gift 
 to a tour in the lake-country. But anxious to instal 
 ourselves in our London abode previous to my husband’s 
 initiation into the weighty business of the law, only a 
 few days remained to be devoted to a visit to Aldborough. 
 I felt persuaded my father would willingly avoid an 
 exposure of his reduced circumstances to the eye of a 
 stranger. But it was right Bitzirnham should not remain 
 a stranger to him. Mine for life and eternity, he ought 
 not to be an object of indifference to my father. 
 
 As the moment approached for meeting again, under 
 such altered auspices, those whom I had quitted in 
 haughty dauntlessness of spirit, fancying myself prepared 
 to buffet with the world and triumph over its opposition, 
 I own I trembled. A twelvemonth had not yet expired 
 since I left home, — ignorant, arrogant, presumptuous, — 
 discontented with the prosperity I enjoyed, and confidently 
 aspiring to rank and opulence. I was now returning, 
 wiser in my generation, experienced in the hollowness of 
 human greatness, pining for my father’s sake after the 
 once-despised comforts of Spetchingley, but limited by my 
 own choice, to a narrow income and obscure station; 
 having refused rank and riches for Bitzirnham, yet 
 grateful to him for having permitted me to share his 
 poverty. — It never occurred to me to feel mortified at 
 the idea of appearing before my stepmother and Dick 
 Mordaunt as the wife of a briefless barrister with six hun- 
 dred a-year. All I remembered was the duty of claiming 
 my father’s blessing on our marriage, and the delight of 
 finding myself once more embraced by Jane and Helen. 
 
 But as the time approached for meeting them, and we 
 drove up to the small house assigned to the reduced 
 family, my heart grew sick at the idea of beholding my 
 father exposed to such humiliations. I entreated Bitzirn- 
 ham to allow me to quit the carriage and meet my family 
 alone. But his good sense prevailed against me. 
 
 “ Excitement would be injurious to both of you,” said 
 he. ‘‘The restraint of my presence will divert Mr. 
 Mordaunt’s attention. Better he should learn, from the 
 first, to treat me as a son.” 
 
 Our anxieties were superfluous. Dick Mordaunt was 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 151 
 
 there, fussy and tiresome as ever, to prevent all effusion 
 of sentiment; interrupting my father’s embraces and 
 the tears of my sisters, to inquire again and again, whe- 
 ther the carriage were to be sent to the Swan or the 
 King’s Head, and whether he should settle with the 
 post-boys. 
 
 I seized the first occasion afforded by my father’s 
 absence to offer a sincere apology to Mrs. Mordaunt for 
 my former petulance. 
 
 “ Say not a word on the subject, my dear Mrs. Mtzirn- 
 ham,” she replied, with a cordial pressure of the hand. 
 “I regarded your little vagaries as the frowardness of 
 a child whom I had not spirit or ability to manage. 
 Trouble, that powerful teacher, has done what my feeble 
 powers failed to effect ; and it is indeed a matter of pride 
 and pleasure that I am henceforward to have three affec- 
 tionate step-daughters. — How do you find your father ?” 
 
 I dared not answer her with sincerity. To my eye the 
 old man presented a most afl9.icting spectacle. There was 
 a degree of childishness mingling in his sorrows, that 
 
 n ^ed how severely they had influenced his mind. I 
 left him a hale, hearty, happy ’squire ; I found him a 
 bent, gray-headed, broken-voiced old man, desultory in his 
 ideas, and bevdldered in his memory. He seemed to 
 take pride, indeed, in seeing me ; made me sit by him, 
 and held my hand in his, while he gave utterance to his 
 incoherent ramblings. 
 
 “ Your dear mother would have gloried in seeing you 
 married, Betty,” said he. “You have just the age and 
 look she had, when I brought her down a bride to 
 Spetchingley. Yes ! She would have been proud to see 
 you married ; you and Alfred were always her favourites. 
 But it would have been a trying thing to Lady Betty, 
 poor dear woman, to have welcomed you to such a home 
 as this. Ay, my child, and it is a sore thing to me , — 
 sorer far than people know of. Lady Betty was very 
 fond of Spetchingley, — her children were all born there ; — 
 and now she lies there in the quiet old church, where, 
 with God’s will, I shall soon rest by her side. That 
 woman was the best of mothers, — the best of wives ; — 
 never gave me a harsh word or an angry look. There was 
 
152 
 
 3MEM0IES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 not a dry eye in the parish when your mother died. 
 Mrs. Mordaunt and I often talk of it. Mrs. Mordaunt 
 knew her excellence, and has taken a mother’s place 
 towards the girls. Jane is growing very handsome, 
 almost as handsome as yourself. You must do your 
 best for your sisters, Lizzy, when the poor old man is 
 gone. He ought to have laid something aside for you all 
 when the sun was shining !” And tears rolled down his 
 cheeks as he spoke. 
 
 I implored him not to recur to topics so painful and 
 unavailing. 
 
 “By the way, my dear,” he continued, “you must 
 apologise to your husband that I am able to afford him 
 only so poor a welcome. Things would have been dif- 
 ferent had we been still at Spetchingley. I like the 
 young fellow’s looks, — a fine open manly countenance. 
 Is he a sportsman, Lizzy ?” 
 
 I was almost ashamed, as a Leicestershire squire‘’s 
 daughter, to admit that I had never inquired. 
 
 “ Not inquired ? — See what comes of living in Lon’on ! 
 Well, I shall mount him some of these days, and give you 
 my notion of him ; — that is, when we get back to Spetch- 
 ingley. My son Harry (a dutiful son he is) and Dick 
 Mordaunt and the rest, want to persuade me, that in five 
 years or so, I shall be able to return to the old place. 
 As if I could live five years away from Spetchingley; 
 where I was born and bred, and the happiest of husbands 
 and fathers ! — Lizzy, my girl ! it is only the poor old 
 man’s bones they will carry back to Spetchingley I” — 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 The home of our own to which we repaired on quitting 
 Aldborough, though even smaller than the abode of my 
 poor father, was at least bright and cheerful. The 
 furniture was new ; and, ornamented by numberless little 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 158 
 
 gifts of my friends and family, our house wore a certain 
 aspect of elegant mediocrity, which I have since discovered 
 to be the most dangerous of pretensions. Like most 
 newly m^arried couples, we were, and were to remain, 
 all-in-all to each other. We knew the world, — despised 
 it, — and were unanimous in our resolve to shun the giddy 
 follies of the heartless multitude. — 
 
 Alas ! 
 
 Such a determination was, in fact, indispensable to the 
 projects of Eitzirnham. He was applying himself dili- 
 gently to the law, — a study equally available should any 
 unexpected change in the fortunes of his party, throw 
 him into the vortex of political life. Under his direc- 
 tions, I, too, devoted my time to the improvement of my 
 mind; and we passed our first prudent winter in the 
 wisest retirement. We saw little of my own family. 
 Lady Carleton found no loo or tredrille to attract her to 
 our house. The Earl of Eawborne had dropped from his 
 arm-chair into the grave ; and his successor was involved 
 in the grand annual duty of fox-hunting. The house in 
 St. James’s Square was, in fact, shut up ; for Algernon, 
 who, much to his surprise, found himself endowed by the 
 unsuspected economy of his father with a provision of 
 twenty thousand pounds, had accompanied my brother to 
 Turin, where Henry now occupied a diplomatic appoint- 
 ment. Eichard was installed in his rectory, — Alfred 
 still in the Mediterranean ; — and the Shanstones awaited 
 at Petersham the close of the hunting-season, as a signal 
 for their return to town for the purpose of running down 
 the Earl. By this dispersion of the family, we were 
 secure from those family intrusions we should have found 
 insupportable. 
 
 One morning, however, on entering the breakfast-room, 
 a month or two after the meeting of parliament, I was 
 saluted by the joyous tones of a well-known voice, and 
 the gladdening sight of our friend, Charles Eox, established 
 at our table ! — 
 
 “ My dear Mrs. Eitzirnham,” cried he, cordially shaking 
 my hand, “ your very looks offer a reply to the question 
 which my friend here has found it difficult to answer, — 
 of why he has thought fit to desert his friends ? — Not 
 
154 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 meeting him as usual at Brookes’s, we concluded lie was 
 spending a Lapland six month’s honeymoon, in the 
 country. But, my dear Bitz., we want you everywhere, — 
 we want you more than ever. — The Prince has repeatedly 
 asked for you.” 
 
 “I fancied His Eoyal Highness’s honeymoon as en- 
 grossing as my own ?” insinuated Pitzirnham. 
 
 “No,” — replied our guest. “He is wise or kind 
 enough to conciliate the claims of love and friendship. 
 The Prince has taken the greatest interest in the event 
 of the Westminster scrutiny ; and, though the Windsor 
 people have been at work, with messages and negotiations, 
 to detach him from us, we find a warmer friend in him 
 than ever.” 
 
 “ Negotiations ?” — 
 
 “ The carriages in weekly attendance at Carlton House 
 on levee-days, seem to have extended as far as Whitehall; 
 and taught the Treasury that such an opposition may 
 become alarming. His Eoyal Highness is given to 
 understand that if he will put up with a Dutch wife, and 
 a Tory minister, his debts shall be paid, and his income 
 increased. They have ofiered him two hundred thousand 
 pounds in hand, and one hundred thousand per annum.” 
 
 “How agreeable a compliment to Mr. Pitt, to be 
 scorned with such bribes in his hand !” said I. 
 
 “And what sort of a compliment to the Princess of 
 Orange ?” added Pitzirnham. 
 
 “ The Queen, (who, by the way, seems to have trans- 
 ferred her early affection for the Prince and the Duke of 
 York to the ever-increasing covey of the royal nursery,) 
 has repeatedly spoken to her son in favour of one of her 
 nieces of Mecklenburg ; perhaps, to ascertain the truth of 
 public report touching his secret marriage. But, alas! 
 as long as we remain in favour at Carlton House, Carlton 
 House will remain in disgrace at Windsor, and in debt in 
 town. We are forced, therefore, to drown our sorrows 
 in much claret. Come among us again, my dear Pitz., 
 and teach us some wiser method for the re-edification of 
 our philosophy and finances 1 Por your own sake, too, do 
 not abandon a road which leads safely, though circuitously, 
 to distinction.” 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 155 
 
 ‘‘I am bent on trying a more beaten way,” replied 
 Fitzirnbam, with a smile. “Promise me, my dear Fox, 
 your custom for your first chancery suit!” 
 
 “Even as a professional man,” interrupted Fox, “con- 
 nection is of first-rate importance. I will not hear of this 
 hang-dog living in corners. You have no right to rob 
 society of either yourself or Mrs. Fitzirnbam ; and, if 
 jrou expect the Prince to remember you when he cometh 
 into his kingdom, prove that you have not forgotten him 
 on so slight a temptation as the enjoyment of a happy 
 fireside with the most charming wife in Grreat Britain 1 — 
 If you have any regard for yourself, in short, show your- 
 self as soon as possible at Carlton House.” 
 
 A few days afterwards, Mrs. Sheridan, apprised by 
 Charles Fox of my residence in town, came to echo these 
 counsels and reproaches. She assured me it was madness 
 to estrange my husband from his former associates ; and 
 ended by peremptorily engaging us to a dinner at her 
 house, where, in the society of the Grrevilles, Townshends, 
 Sir Joshua Beynolds, Jekyll, and Tickell, Fitzirnham’s 
 conversational talents were drawn out in a manner only 
 too flattering to my pride. In the evening, we had 
 music ; and Mrs. Sheridan, who, the preceding year, had 
 induced the Duchess of Bochester to give me lessons of 
 Arne, took the kindest pains to exhibit me to advantage, 
 by joining me in a duet. There was a charm in the 
 coterie of the Sheridans exactly calculated to captivate 
 the fancy of a young person not yet at ease in society. 
 We escaped, too, at the rational hour consistent with 
 professional pursuits ; and the same remark attested my 
 husband’s satisfaction and my own, that “ occasional 
 indulgence in such recreations would add new enjoyment 
 to the pleasures of home.” 
 
 Mrs. Grreville, Mrs. Vesey, Mrs. St. John, Miss 
 Monckton, the Hothams, Ogles, and various other lumi- 
 naries of the fashionable world, with whom my husband 
 had long been an established favourite, now hastened to 
 honour me with their acquaintance ; and the Duchesses 
 of Devonshire and Portland, Lady D uncannon. Lady 
 Melbourne, and Lady Jersey, distinguished me by their 
 attentions. 
 
156 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 My Lizzy,” Litzirnliam used to say, when on returning 
 home from his chambers he found the names of such ’ 
 visitors on my table, or their opera-boxes courting my 
 acceptance, ‘‘you are becoming sadly the fashion! — Take 
 care that these triumphs do not turn your little head.” — ‘ 
 But there was no risk of my head being turned a second 
 time by the bewilderments of fashionable life. The 
 achievement of the Duke of Eochester still hung — a power- 
 ful ensign of warning — over the gateway of Eochester 
 House I — 
 
 Prom my brother Henry’s letters, meanwhile, I learned 
 that the Pemburys were spending the winter in Italy ; 
 and, from the newspapers, gathered frequent tidings of 
 the movements of the Duchess. Prom the period of the 
 inquest, the press seemed to have taken her Grrace under 
 its special protection. She was now “the amiable and 
 interesting widow of the late Duke of Eochester — or, 
 
 “ the young and lovely Duchess of Eochester and the 
 papers were unanimous in their admiration that “this 
 afflicted lady, anxious that the heir of the house of 
 Eochester should be born on the family estates, had 
 determined to await her confinement at Vere Court, in 
 Lancashire.” 
 
 In the month of Pebruary, these laudations vrere fol- 
 lowed by an announcement which caused the blood to rise 
 to Pitzirnham’s temples, and to retreat from my own 
 cheeks, that “ Her Grace the Duchess of Eochester had 
 given birth to a son, (now Duke of Eochester ;) who was 
 immediately baptised by the family chaplain with the 
 august names of his royal sponsor, ‘ George Augustus 
 Prederick.’ ” Then followed a flourish about the ringing 
 of church-bells, and the kindling of bonfires. 
 
 “And thus ends the reign of Lord Hugh de Vere!” 
 ejaculated Pitzirnham, after a pause. 
 
 “ Mrs. Sheridan informed me, the other night,” said I, 
 
 “ that Lord Hugh is on the best terms with my aunt, 
 Mrs. Sheridan, who used formerly to meet him at Lady 
 John’s, at Vere Lodge, assures me he is the very man to 
 be won over by the respect shown by the Duchess to the 
 memory of her husband, and the affection she exhibits 
 towards the girls.” 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 157 
 
 “ He may have motives for choosing to appear deceived,” 
 replied Fitzirnham, with a look of incredulity. 
 
 ‘‘ Mrs. Grreville, too, informs me that Lord Hugh and the 
 Duchess are left joint guardians of the children, and — ” 
 
 * ‘‘I trust, dear Lizzy,” interrupted Fitzirnham, “ that 
 
 you have not allowed these friends of yours to extract 
 from your ingenuous soul any opinion respecting the 
 conduct of the Duchess ? Little as you and I have per- 
 mitted ourselves to converse on this accursed topic, be 
 assured that it has been most severely discussed ; and, 
 were those giddy companions of hers, who are jealous of 
 her beauty without being her superiors in purity, able 
 to extract from you any fact sufficiently strong to exclude 
 her from society, they would glory in mixing up our names 
 in the scandals and cabals of Rochester House.” 
 
 “ Can you imagine,” I remonstrated, “ that I would 
 utter a word likely to injure the reputation of my mother’s 
 sister ?” 
 
 In a year or two,” resumed my husband, “this woman 
 will emerge into society more brilliant than ever, to win 
 back her way to popularity. She must be received at 
 Court, — she will be received elsewhere. I know of no 
 house but my own, whose doors will remain closed against 
 her. — But into this, even on her knees, the Duchess of 
 Rochester shall never enter !” 
 
 “ It is a concession I shall never ask.” 
 
 “ She will ask it herself, my dear Lizzy. We know too 
 much of her not to possess value in her eyes. On return- 
 ing to the great world, the Duchess will see you admired 
 and courted by those whose suffrage she appreciates, and 
 make any sacrifice rather than suffer the world to guess 
 the cause of our alienation.” 
 
 I seized this opportunity to mention the marriage-gift 
 I had refused from her. But while my husband com- 
 mended what he was pleased to term my rightness of 
 mind, he added, “ Grive no praise to the Duchess’s gene- 
 rosity. ^^]le well knows that her machinations induced 
 the Duke of Bochester to cancel the legacy of thirty 
 thousand pounds he had bequeathed me.” 
 
 “ A cancelled legacy of thirty thousand pounds ?” cried 
 I* — “ And you never mentioned it to me before !” 
 
158 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 It has unwittingly escaped me, now. Ask no questions 
 on the subject, dear Lizzy. For a thousand reasons which 
 you may conjecture, the most distant allusion to this 
 subject is torture to my feelings.” 
 
 Need I say how implicitly I obeyed? — 
 
 Those among my readers who are so happy as to have 
 known Charles Fox, will admit, that, like other men of 
 genius of a too sanguine temperament, he saw and heard 
 with his warm heart, rather than with his sober reason. 
 Master of the affections of the populace, he could not 
 fancy himself wanting in the confidence of the people ; 
 and, while others of the opposition who had adopted their 
 political principles as a step to power, beheld in the in- 
 creasing strength of Pitt and the inertness of the Heir 
 Apparent, a downfall of their hopes, he^ who regarded 
 power only as the means of giving action to his political 
 principles, confidently expected a favourable turn of the 
 wheel. He dealt with public life as with the hazards 
 of the gambling-table ; and fancied that something would 
 turn up ” in favour of the Whigs. 
 
 With these hopes, unfortunately, he now infected 
 Fitzirnham and myself. Accustomed to regard him as the 
 greatest of politicians as well as the most delightful of 
 men, I yielded implicit faith to his declarations ; cordially 
 echoing his opinion when, (after a homely dinner at our 
 house, preferred to the costly feasts of the great for the 
 enjoyment of my husband’s society,) he exclaimed — 
 “Come, come, Fitz. — Lay aside your musty law-books for 
 a single evening, and accompany me to the House. — Par- 
 liament is your destined place, — Parliament should be 
 your school, — Parliament your study. What will the 
 law ever yield you, compared with the distinctions and 
 preferments of public life ; and how can you excuse the 
 waste of talents such as yours ?” 
 
 “ It is written, I see, that I must go down with you 
 to the House,” replied my husband, cutting short his 
 flatteries with a smile ; and, soon afterwards, the sudden 
 death of one of the Ponsonby family having occasioned 
 a vacancy for a northern borough. Lord Fitz william, at 
 the solicitation of Fox and Burke, brought him into 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 159 
 
 Parliament, and effectually blighted the happiness of our 
 little household. 
 
 Prom that fatal epoch, the world resumed its influence 
 over me ! At first, I continued to beguile the long even- 
 ings of Pitzirnham’s absence with books and music. But 
 I soon began to miss the stimulus of his approving smile ; 
 to languish after the sound of human voices. My house- 
 hold was too circumscribed to occupy my attention ; and 
 a flattering billet from Lady D uncannon, or an afiection- 
 ate invitation from Lady Melbourne to accompany her 
 to some opera, ball, or concert, sufficed to draw me from 
 my solitude. 
 
 Pitzirnham, who took pleasure in seeing me admired, 
 triumphed in my triumphs. When he beheld the young 
 
 Lady M glittering at the head of a magnificent 
 
 establishment in all the array of wealth and fashion, and 
 remembered that, but for my preference of himself, such 
 would have been my position in society, he seemed to 
 think he could not too warmly forward my participation 
 in the pleasures within my reach. 
 
 There was, in fact, nothing at variance with our system 
 of economy in sharing the fetes of those to whom it 
 would have been only irksome to accept hospitality in 
 return ; and at the close of the season, we found our- 
 selves engaged to pass the summer and autumn in visits 
 to Brocket, — Crewe Hall, — Chatsworth, — and Welbeck. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 The return of winter was cheered by a family event, in 
 every rank of society the most important of a woman’s 
 life, — the advent of a first-born child. It was a girl, — a 
 fair delicate lovely little creature , — too fair, too delicate 
 to reader permanent the moment of inexpressible delight 
 occasioned by its arrival. My ill-fated babe scarcely 
 survived three months; and the most poignant pang I 
 
160 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 ever experienced was that with which I saw it consigned 
 to its little coffin. 
 
 Brief as was the existence of this pledge of affection, 
 it afforded a pretext for overtures of peace from the 
 Duchess of Bochester. 
 
 On learning from the newspapers that I was a mother, 
 she despatched an affectionate letter of entreaty to be 
 permitted to give her name to her grand-niece. Eitzirn- 
 ham undertook to answer her. He did not explain to 
 me in what terms he conveyed his refusal. 
 
 Unsuspicious of the frailty of our tenure of this little 
 treasure, Eitzirnham and myself were enlightened by its 
 birth to the inadequacy of our means to the support of a 
 family. His parliamentary duties were now distracting 
 his attention from the study of the law. The prospects 
 of his party were sinking, in proportion to the estrange- 
 ment of the Prince from political life ; and we had no 
 expectations beyond the twelve thousand pounds forming 
 the inheritance of Eitzirnham, one-half of which was 
 assured by a deed of settlement to myself. 
 
 Under these circumstances, we resolved to limit, with 
 still closer economy, our habits of life. The brilliant 
 society we frequented presented, even in its most gratui- 
 tous form, a source of expense ; and dress, job-horses, and 
 gifts to servants, absorbed the sum-total of an income 
 which would scarcely have afforded pocket-money to one 
 of our gay associates. The cost of a single night’s parti- 
 cipation in their pleasures, was ruin to such a fortune 
 as ours. 
 
 These resolutions, however, were too sage to last. It 
 was only so momentous an occasion as the appearance of 
 our first-born that inspired Eitzirnham with courage to 
 preach economy. Soon came the heavy affliction occa- 
 sioned by the loss of my child ; and when, after the 
 lapse of months, my husband found me, every night on 
 his return from the House, still bathed in tears, he 
 began to fancy that other sorrows or discontents must 
 mingle with my regret. To a man, — however tender 
 his nature, — an infant is never more than an infant; 
 while to a woman the infant that is her own, is more 
 important than all the great or wise ones of the earth. 
 
MEMiOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 161 
 
 Fitzirnljam had watched beside me over the cradle of 
 the babe, — had supported me as I hung over the bed 
 where its little form lay extended in death, — had followed 
 me as I stole through the twilight to fill with flowers the 
 coffin they were about to close without my knowledge. 
 But he had grieved icith me, not for the child ! It was 
 for his wife, not his infant, that his tears were shed. 
 
 At last, when the prolonged depression of my spirits 
 began to produce an evil influence on my health, he 
 consulted my female friends ; who, mere women of the 
 world, — instead of suggesting a visit to Aldborough, 
 where the gentle wisdom of Mrs. Mordaunt and the 
 afiection of my sisters would have poured balm into my 
 wounds, — insisted that I must be amused; and I was 
 accordingly given over to the golden rule of gay duchesses 
 and giddy countesses, who fancied that a life of hurry, 
 banquets, and music would soothe the sorrow of one who 
 had seen her husband’s smile brighten the soft counte- 
 nance of a babe, his treasure and her own, only to fade 
 into the darkness of the grave. 
 
 There was no longer a wise brother, an anxious cousin 
 at hand, to whisper “Eesist.” My husband, who was 
 gradually subjecting himself to the ascendancy of ambi- 
 tion as I to that of vanity, saw me excited by the society 
 of those with whom we were hereafter to be launched in 
 the career of public distinction, and regarded the whole 
 as a move on the chess-board of preferment. 
 
 Though his affections were wholly devoted to me, the 
 faculties of his mind were now otherwise engrossed. At 
 the suggestion of Mr. Pox, he had thrown on paper the 
 result of considerable research into the state of affairs in 
 India ; and his pamphlet, warmly commended by Burke, 
 was, by the advice of the party, given to' the press. A 
 second edition was called for on the day following its 
 publication, — a third, — a fourth. India was just then 
 the prevailing topic of the day. Warren blastings had 
 been recalled, — his impeachment was meditated. Every 
 one felt or affected interest in the question ; and Who 
 has written this admirable expose of the Indian busi- 
 ness ?” was demanded from one end of London to the 
 other. . But flattering as was the reply — “ I don’t know. 
 
162 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 But now that Johnson is gone and Burke going, there is 
 some satisfaction in hailing a writer of so much promise” 
 — Bitzirnham was stedfast in his determination that the 
 work should remain anonymous. He was content with 
 the laurels bestowed on him by his friends. 
 
 Having lived for many years of my life in the society 
 of men now immortalised by eminence in statesmanship, 
 literature, science, art, — I have often endeavoured to 
 decide which of these illustrations affords the strongest 
 impetus to the mind. It had produced a feeling 
 almost amounting to jealousy in my bosom, to see with 
 what facility Bitzirnham burst the silken bonds of 
 domestic life, to rush into the jarring field of politics. 
 I now saw him estranged even from politics by the 
 anxieties of authorship. This first and unprecedentedly 
 brilliant success touched an unsuspected chord in his 
 bosom. His ambition was taking a new or rather a two- 
 fold direction. But it brought with it twofold labour, 
 which deprived me of the society of my husband. 
 
 Often, on his return at three in the morning from the 
 House, I have known him fling himself exhausted on the 
 sofa; and, after an hour’s repose and copious draughts 
 of tea, apply himself to the decipherment of tedious 
 documents, or the study of foreign works connected with 
 the business to which his thoughts were directed. He 
 was preparing for fresh efforts, — for new public exertions. 
 But he was also preparing for the grave ! — 
 
 It is difficult for a woman, even of the sternest order 
 of mind, to enter into the self-denial connected with 
 barren laurels. We sympathise in the love of power, — 
 the love of pelf. But we do not forgive the absorbing 
 love of fame which throws our very selves into the shade. 
 I saw Bitzirnham renounce rest, — food, — recreation, to 
 devote himself to studies productive only of the praises 
 of reviewers or plaudits of the House. But I could not 
 understand that my interruptions should become importu- 
 nate ; and, at length, resented as an injury the intense 
 application consuming his nights and days. I owm it 
 with shame and grief, but it was so ! — While still un- 
 certain of his regard, I had fancied that to share with a 
 man so highly endowed the cares and triumphs of his 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEBESS. 
 
 163 
 
 public career, would be sufficient for my happiness. But 
 already I experienced the want of more trivial com- 
 panionship. — Young, trifling, vain, the burning plough- 
 share had as yet passed but lightly over my heart. The 
 deep, searing, scathing wounds that bring wisdom, repent- 
 ance, and humility, were yet to come. 
 
 Bitzirnham occasionally looked cold and absent, when 
 I was relating some flippant anecdote connected with the 
 gay resorts to which, at his suggestion, I repaired, as a 
 refuge against solitude; — the fall of some bright parti- 
 cular star from our glittering sphere, or the detection of 
 some cowled hypocrisy among the prudish with whom we 
 were at war. Impatient or angry, he never was ; but I 
 fancied I should prefer petulance to the indifference of 
 his mild abstraction. That this depression of spirit was 
 the result of an insidious disease, never entered into my 
 mind. 
 
 How glad I shall be when the session is over !” cried 
 I, one day, when he was proceeding at an early hour to 
 a parliamentary committee. 
 
 “ Thank you !” he replied, with affectionate good faith. 
 “ I am indeed more harassed than I have strength to 
 bear. It will be a welcome relief to get into the coun- 
 try. When parliament is up, I am to pass a month at 
 Beaconsfield with Burke.” 
 
 Unluckily, I had promised to enjoy my first month’s 
 relaxation at Brocket ; nor had I courage to avow that 
 my ejaculation had borne reference solely to my own 
 inclinations. 
 
 I had many motives for wishing the session and season 
 at an end. Without having been guilty of culpable 
 extravagance, expenses had been forced upon my incur- 
 rence which I could not meet without having recourse to 
 Bitzirnham. The sum given me at my marriage by Lady 
 Carleton, had hitherto sufficed for my personal expendi- 
 ture ; and I often laughingly assured my husband, that I 
 would not accept the hateful pittance called pin-money, 
 till after my second year of married life. Three months of 
 the stated period were yet to elapse, — and Iwasabankrupt! 
 
 The impulse of my heart was to tell him so, and claim 
 his indulgence. But I had noticed that bills were 
 
164f 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 occasionally presented wliicli he found it impossible to 
 pay ; and that we had greatly exceeded our income ! 
 
 Under such circumstances I would sooner have asked 
 him for the blood in his veins, than for pecuniary assist- 
 ance; and I resolved to apply to Lady Carleton for a 
 trifling loan. — The Viscountess was in the habit of dining 
 with us. I had constant occasions of doing her service, 
 which my sense of obligation forbad me ever to neglect ; 
 and I thought myself in some degree justified in seeking 
 so small a favour from the sister of my mother. 
 
 Oblige you with the loan of twenty pounds for three 
 months cried she, lifting up her hands with amazement, 
 when with fear and trembling I hazarded my request. 
 
 Why, child, I have not fifty pounds I can call my own. 
 My jointure of eight hundred a-year, scarcely enables me 
 to live like a gentlewoman ; and, but for the assistance of 
 your brother Harry, I could not have afibrded to keep 
 you in'my house before your marriage.” 
 
 You make me blush, my dear aunt, when I remember 
 your splendid wedding-present !” said I, shocked at these 
 admissions. 
 
 Why, you surely were never childish enough to suppose 
 I could afford that sum of money out of my own pocket?” 
 
 Hot out of your own pocket ?” cried I, now blushing 
 in earnest. 
 
 ‘•The two hundred guineas came from my nephew 
 Algernon, who knew you would be in want of pocket- 
 money. You could not have accepted the sum, if offered 
 by himself. Sorely against my will, therefore, (for one 
 hates to have the undue credit of a generous action,) I 
 consented to pass for the donor. I declare I never felt 
 so uncomfortable in my life as when you thanked me for 
 my liberality; for the Slianstone girls were present, and 
 I feared I miglit be expected at some future time to do as 
 much for them. Eut, my dear, how is it that you are 
 already in difficulties ?” 
 
 “ I am not in difficulties. Eut, when engaged in parties 
 of pleasure, it is necessary to have a guinea or two in my 
 purse, or I must be obliged to some one to pay for me, at 
 Eanelagh or Vauxhall.” 
 
 “ A very foolish practice !” observed Lady Carleton, 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 165 
 
 That you have not your purse with you, is a sufficient 
 excuse for getting franked ; and that you have, often leads 
 to the annoyance of having to frank other people. I had 
 no idea you dreamt of paying, when you were with such 
 people as the Devonshires and Melhournes.” 
 
 ‘‘ I should be ashamed to he with them on other than 
 equal terms,” I replied, proudly. 
 
 ‘‘ Ah ! Lizzy, — that is just the tone you used to talk in 
 when you first came up to me from Spetchingley ; and see 
 what it has all come to ! If you had chosen to m.arry Sir 
 Robert Warley or Sir Claude Lovell, instead of the 
 younger son of nobody knows who, or rather, of everybody 
 knows who, — you might have had some grounds for giving 
 yourself airs.” 
 
 “ I am far more inclined to give myself airs as the wife 
 of a man so distinguished by his talents and friendships 
 as Fitzirnham, than if married to a boor, like Warley, or 
 a sot, like Lovell.” 
 
 “ Mr. Fitzirnham’s renunciation of the Duke of Roches- 
 ter’s legacy, in order to make you his wife, was no great 
 proof of his wisdom.” 
 
 The legacy. Madam, was cancelled by the Duke.” 
 
 “ Only in the event of his marriage with Miss Mordamit. 
 On the day preceding his melancholy end, he had an in- 
 terview' with your husband — ” 
 
 Which referred to subjects wholly unconnected with 
 myself.” 
 
 ‘‘I won’t pretend to answer for what passed. But 
 there is good reason to suppose, that Mr. Fitzirnham, 
 whom all thn w'orld know's to have De Vere blood in his 
 veins, demanded his Grace’s sanction to a marriage with 
 the Duchess’s niece. For, when the will was opened, a 
 codicil appeared in the Duke’s handwriting, rendering the 
 legacy of thirty thousand pounds bequeathed many years 
 before to De Vere Fitzirnham, contingent on his re- 
 nouncement of an engagement to Elizabeth, the daughter 
 of Edward Mordaunt, Esq., of Spetchingley. Yes ! my 
 dear , — expressly contingent ; and, from the colour of the 
 ink, and other circumstances, the lawyers gave it as their 
 opinion, that this codicil Avas added a few hours previous 
 to his decease.” 
 
166 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 ‘^And my husband had the nobleness to keep this 
 sacrifice carefully from my knowledge 1” cried I. 
 
 “I’ve often thought you were a wretched match for 
 him !” rejoined my delicate aunt ; “particularly as you’re 
 so bad a manager. I’ve often told you, you were going on 
 too fast, and I’m sure I don’t know what you are to do to 
 get out of your present scrape. Algernon is no longer 
 here to help you; and Kawborne, except where his 
 pleasures are concerned, is a perfect curmudgeon. — Sup- 
 posing you were to write and ask the Duchess 
 
 “ Eather beg in the streets !” was my reply. “ No ! I 
 shall apply to my husband. What forgiveness would 
 there be for me, did I show want of confidence in one who 
 has resigned all his prospects in life for my sake !” 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 It is time I should say something of the Shanstones, who 
 certainly were not remiss in affording matter for comment ; 
 though neither Clara nor Lavinia fulfilled our expecta- 
 tions by figuring as Countess of Eawborne, or Eectoress 
 of Spetchingley. An event, far indeed remote from our 
 family, had imposed an obstacle to their matfimonial 
 speculations: — Mrs. Bumptext was no more, and to 
 the Dowager’s snug nest at Petersham, did the widower 
 betake himself for consolation. 
 
 Instead of appearing there, as heretofore, one day in 
 seven, his visits were of daily occurrence ; and one fine 
 evening in June, when the nightingales were singing, and 
 the groves of Petersham adorned with the “ greenth ” 
 and “gloomth” commemorated by the affectation of 
 Horace Walpole, he suddenly threw himself at the feet of 
 Lady Lavinia, and besought from her the gift of a fair 
 hand, which, according to my aunt Carleton’s version of 
 the story, was that of her daughter Clara, but which Sir 
 Obadiah’s widow chose to fancy was her own. 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 167 
 
 No sooner was the marriage arranged, than Lord 
 Eawborne and my brother Richard desisted from their 
 courtship ; not because it was to give them a Tartuffe for 
 a father-in-law ; but because the marriage-portions of the 
 girls lay at TartulFe’s discretion. Lavinia and Clara 
 were thus relieved from two interested suitors ; and, as 
 her ladyship persisted that, for example’s sake, Bumptext 
 should remain two years a widower, there was the chance 
 of some lucky obstacle before the close of his probation. 
 Meanwhile, I saw little of the family. They rarely came 
 to town ; and I had no horses to enable me to visit them 
 in the country. 
 
 A circumstance, however, occurred, which threw me 
 considerably into their society. Towards the close of 
 the session, the labours of which had been so injurious to 
 the health of Fitzirnham, I observed that he had frequent 
 interviews with a ‘‘gentleman in black,” whom I took to 
 be a poor author, but who proved to be a rich man of 
 business. On these occasions, my presence was strictly 
 avoided. But one day, as I unconsciously entered the 
 room where they were sitting together, I overheard my 
 husband say to his guest — “ Let it be managed in any 
 way that does not affect her interests !” 
 
 To what all this might refer, I had no means of con- 
 jecture. Soon afterwards, however, I perceived that our 
 debts were paid ; and that my husband not only “ put 
 money in his purse,” but into my own. That it was 
 derived from an honourable source, I was well satisfied. 
 Fitz. had probably realised a handsome sum by his 
 pamphlet. 
 
 “ These new riches of ours give me courage to prefer a 
 request,” said I, one day to my husband. “ You are in 
 want of country-air and country-quiet. Instead of the 
 fatiguing tour of visits we projected, let us secure some 
 tiny cottage for the autumn, where we may economise at 
 our ease, and grow strong and healthy at our leisure.” 
 
 Scarcely had I spoken, when my wish was accomplished. 
 Before the end of the week, Fitzirnham told me, with 
 one of those sunny smiles which I have never seen expand 
 so brightly on any other human countenance, that he 
 had hired a cottage smothered in China roses and a 
 
168 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS, 
 
 neighbourly neighbourhood, at the foot of Eichmond 
 Hill. This brought me into contact with the Shanstones. 
 But it brought a large counterbalance of enjoyment ; for 
 I was able to have my sister Jane for my inmate, and even 
 Harry, who arrived from Italy, in the course of the autumn 
 on a visit to my father, became occasionally our guest. 
 
 It happened that Lavinia and Clara, who, after their 
 mother’s matrimonial engagements, were no longer kept 
 so closely under her wing, were drinking tea with me, 
 when my brother made his unexpected appearance. Till 
 then, he was but slightly known to them. But no 
 sooner did Clara learn that he had parted only a few 
 weeks before at Leghorn from Algernon Bawborne, than, 
 breaking through all ceremony, she accosted him with a 
 thousand questions concerning our favourite cousin. I 
 was grateful for her interference; for a sort of uneasy i 
 consciousness restrained me in Bitzirnham’s presence 
 from minute inquiries into his health — his spirits — his 
 pursuits ; while, from the frank, open-hearted Clara, such 
 questions seemed proper and natural. 
 
 I know not whether it arose from Harry’s cordial and 
 affectionate allusions to his friend, or the charm of his 
 handsome person and finished manners ; but I trace to 
 that first interview, a transfer of Clara’s partialities from 
 my cousin to my brother ; as well as the strong affection 
 which soon sprang up on Henry’s part towards Clara 
 Shanstone. There was considerable analogy between 
 their dispositions ; a sort of family-likeness, the frequent 
 basis of a tender passion. 
 
 What a happy autumn it was! — To my sister Jane, 
 who, though approaching womanhood, had seen nothing 
 of society, Eichmond with its sociable tea- drinkings, and 
 Willowell Cottage with its cheerful circle, presented a 
 scene of delightful gaiety ; while in her, I found a cheer- 
 ful, intelligent companion, as well as a graceful ornament 
 to our little circle. 
 
 One morning, soon after Harry had brought her to 
 Willowell, we were favoured with a visit from our serious 
 neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Quiesbury, just as Bitzpatrick 
 and Box had driven over to us from Strawberry Hill. 
 
 ‘^We had the pleasure of calling yesterday at Peter- 
 
MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 169 
 
 sham,” observed Mrs. Quiesburj, who was seated near 
 my sister, “ and found them together. What a charming 
 couple they will make !” 
 
 “ Provided Lady Lavinia can he induced to give her 
 consent,” replied Jane, supposing her to allude to my 
 brother and Clara, whose mutual attachment was now 
 becoming the subject of general remark. 
 
 ‘‘ My dear ma’am, — she has already consented!” 
 
 “ You are mistaken,” said my sister — ‘‘he has not even 
 proposed. He is so afraid of seeming actuated by 
 interested motives.” 
 
 “ He is rich,” interrupted the sententious Mrs. Quies- 
 bury, “ in that which passeth show . — Sis treasure is one 
 where moths do not break through and steal 1” 
 
 Jane found it too difficult to preserve her graHty at 
 the misquotation, to reply. 
 
 “ And such a thing, ma’am, for his poor children, to 
 secure such a stepmother,” added Mrs. Q. — “one who has 
 proved so exemplary a mother to her own 1” 
 
 My sister was now completely bewildered. But it 
 soon appeared that the Quiesburys were referring to 
 Lady Lavinia and her G-amaliel, instead of to Clara and 
 my brother. And to this trifling misunderstanding, was 
 Henry indebted for the most fortunate event of his life 1 — 
 At their next visit to Petersham the Quiesburys could 
 find nothing better to relate for the edification of Lady 
 Lavinia, than the curious blunder of “little Miss Mordaunt 
 that was,” relative to her brother and Miss Clara. 
 
 The old lady was both startled and delighted. Deeply 
 hurfc by the desertion of her two nephews, she caught at 
 the idea of being sued by the elder son, for the hand of 
 the daughter tacitly rejected by the younger. Lady 
 Carleton persisted that she was anxious to remove Clara 
 out of sight of her venerable bridegroom. But, to do him 
 justice, no man could conduct himself more honourably 
 than Dr. Bumptext, in the negotiations that ensued. He it 
 was whom Lady Lavinia deputed to tender her daughter’s 
 hand, with a dowry of one hundred thousand pounds, to 
 my astonished brother; and, in the course of a week, 
 Clara and Henry found themselves betrothed, as if by 
 enchantment. 
 
170 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 My poor father’s consent, as may be supposed, was 
 readily obtained. He conditioned only that, dependent 
 as Henry must be upon his wife, he should not on his 
 marriage relinquish his diplomatic avocations ; and sorely 
 against her will. Lady Lavinia saw her daughter depart 
 for a land of Papists. Meanwhile my cousin Algernon’s 
 former praises of Clara’s amiable nature, were confirmed 
 by the kindness of her proposals to my brother, that 
 Jane, who like most girls educated in seclusion was 
 smitten by the love of travel, should accompany them to 
 Italy. 
 
 The loss of these three favourite companions created a 
 miserable void in my existence. After Clara’s marriage, 
 I found the vicinity of Petersham an annoyance. Lady 
 Lavinia was one of the many who can be partly, but not 
 wholly generous. She could part with five thousand 
 a~year, in favour of her daughter and nephew ; but not 
 without calling upon me twice or thrice a week, to 
 remind me of her sacrifice. 
 
 When Parliament met, my husband was obliged to 
 take up his residence in chambers more than half the 
 week, and to pass more time on the road than we were 
 inclined to spare ; and like most other women, J, who had 
 found it impossible to remain in London after the month 
 of June, found it nearly as difficult to remain in the 
 country after the month of J anuary. 
 
 These caprices of your little ladyship will be the ruin 
 of me !” said Pitzirnham, kissing me on the forehead, 
 the day he rode down to announce that he had hired a 
 small ready-furnished house in Chesterfield Street. “ Do 
 not take a fancy for Carlton House, for that, you know, I 
 cannot give you. Our residence at Willowell has cost 
 us exactly three times what we set down for it ; and I 
 claim your assistance, dearest, to prevent a recurrence of 
 this at our new residence. It would be wrong to conceal 
 from you, Lizzy, that our want of management has 
 already encroached largely on our little capital.” 
 
 “ Then I am indeed unpardonable!” cried I. It was 
 doubly my duty to supply my want of fortune by excess 
 of prudence ; yet — ” 
 
 “Do not accuse yourself, my sweet hwe,” interrupted 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEERESS. 
 
 171 
 
 ritzirnham, “or be discouraged by my remark. Our 
 prospects are brightening. I supped with Eox and Hare 
 last night ; who told me that Sheridan has large bets at 
 Brookes’s that we shall be in before the close of the 
 session.” 
 
 “ He is so easily elated !” 
 
 “ But not less easily depressed. By the way, my dear 
 girl, I have a little word of advice for you previous to our 
 reinstallation in the world. Though the disorder of the 
 Prince’s affairs, and his intention of bringing them before 
 Parliament, have put a stop to the entertainments at 
 Carlton House, there are abundance of other places where 
 you must inevitably meet the Duchess of Eochester.” 
 
 “ Is she living in London ?” 
 
 “ In greater force and beauty than ever. Her widow- 
 hood expired, — her weeds laid aside, — at the head of 
 one of the finest fortunes in the kingdom, — she attracts 
 imiversal attention.” 
 
 “Even Lady Carleton, whose ill-nature is never more 
 venomous than when alluding to her sister, declares that 
 nothing can have been more unexceptionable than the 
 conduct of the Duchess since that unhappy event,” said 
 I, in a deprecating tone. 
 
 “JSrothing more judicious. She has afforded time for 
 the whole affair to be forgotten by all but myself ; and 
 the request I have to make you, Lizzy, is that — ” 
 
 “ Do not make it !” cried I, stopping his exhortations 
 by a kiss. “ I can fully enter into your feelings. Trust 
 to me to avoid all renewal of intercourse with Eochester 
 House.” 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 Though the splendours of Carlton House were in 
 eclipse, the Prince’s establishment curtailed, his equipage 
 sold, his entertainments suspended, I scarcely remember 
 to have seen him so ingratiating in manner and address 
 
172 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEERESS. 
 
 as under tliese mortifying, circumstances. His Eoyal 
 Highness probably judged it expedient to replace those 
 absent aids to popularity, by increased urbanity. 
 
 He had other little embarrassments, too, to overcome. 
 Enlisted from so early an age, in the ranks of gallantry, 
 it was not possible that lie should have attained his six-and- 
 twentieth year without creating rivalships and jealousies, 
 such as serve to convert into furies fine gentlemen and 
 finer ladies. He had been faithless too often, and was 
 now become too exclusively faithful, not to find lovely 
 brows knit against him, over which had formerly waved 
 liis armorial plume ; and there was consequently depreca- 
 tion as w^ell as afiability in his mode of smiling his way 
 through the crowds of the fashionable world. 
 
 Between the Prince and Windsor, there was total 
 estrangement. When the chances of private or public 
 life brought them together, the filial obeisance of his 
 Eoyal Highness remained unnoticed by the King; and 
 this unnatural state of alienation was promoted by those 
 whose duty towards both was that of conciliation. When 
 the Prince’s application for an increase of income was 
 peremptorily rejected by his Majesty, instead of attempt- 
 ing to shake by argument the obstinate opposition infused 
 into the mind of the King by the policy of Pitt, the 
 Prince saw fit to expose his embarrassed finances to the 
 commiseration of the people. Carlton House was osten- 
 tatiously shut up ; — not cleansed alone of hungry parasites 
 and foreign libertines, but closed against the decent 
 claims of hospitality. His stud was paraded to the 
 hammer in solemn ovation through St. James’s Street. 
 His costly buildings and improvements were not only 
 suspended, but consigned by studied neglect to premature 
 decay. His train of domestics was dismissed; his equi- 
 pages were sold. His Eoyal Highness was henceforth to 
 be only the most public oi* private gentlemen. 
 
 In vain did the Ducde Chartres, who, having succeeded 
 to the title and prodigious wealth of his father, had 
 already visited England as Duke of Orleans, renew his 
 offer to take upon himself the discharge of all claims 
 upon the Heir Apparent. His Eoyal Highness’s sense of 
 dignity as a prince of the blood, rejected the humiliation; 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 173 
 
 and it was settled that, before the clogi of the session, 
 Parliament should become umpire between the prudence 
 of the sovereign and prodigality of his son. 
 
 It was not, however, by matters of such trivial interest 
 that the mind of Pitzirnham was engrossed. The Com- 
 mercial Treaty between England and France had occupied 
 his attention throughout the winter; and the impeach- 
 ment of Warren Hastings was about to be followed by 
 the trial which, far more than his offences, has served to 
 immortalise his name. In conjunction with Burke and 
 Sheridan, my husband was giving his nights and days to 
 the consideration of the sufferings of an oppressed people, 
 which the strong-right-arm of our own comparatively 
 insignificant tribe, had laid in chains. His own interests 
 were forgotten, — his own affairs neglected, — his own 
 health disregarded, — to minister to the justice of a cause 
 involving the interests of millions. Our creditors pre- 
 ferred ilieir claims while he was thus engrossed; and 
 were dismissed by the readiest and most ruinous mode of 
 payment — the absorption of our little capital, — in order to 
 free his powers of mind from the harassing influence of 
 importunity. It was not w^orth while to hazard a day’s 
 tranquillity, at such a crisis, for the sake of a hundred 
 pounds. But, how could the demands of creditors be 
 otherwise than importunate, when even the society of 
 the wife he loved had become troublesome ! — 
 
 Go, and amuse yourself, dear Lizzy,” he would say, 
 as he locked himself into his study with his reading 
 lamps and MSS. ; — ‘‘ since these peremptory occupations 
 render it impossible for me to devote myself to your 
 society !” 
 
 I ought not to have obeyed! — I ought to have known 
 that, when a husband is compelled to earn, a wife should 
 learn to spare ; and, while Fitzirnham lavished his powers 
 on the acquirement of a name for the eventual acquire- 
 ment of fortune, I, like a thrifty housewife, should have 
 sat at home ; ready to soothe such moments of harassed 
 leisure as he could snatch from his laborious avocations. 
 
 Instead of this, I rushed abroad into the world, to be 
 flattered by princes, and courted by duchesses ; dazzled 
 by brilliant sights, bewildered by the giddy chimes and 
 
174 
 
 MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 changes of fashion, — neglectful of all the higher duties 
 of life. 
 
 The auspicious marriage of my elder brother having 
 given a more cheerful colouring to the prospects of the 
 Mordaunt family, my father consented that my sister 
 Helen should pass a season with me in town. I had 
 thus a motive for accepting the flattering overtures of my 
 friends ; and while Harry, that best of brothers, liberally 
 provided the means of introducing her with advantage, 
 my wiser step-mother entreated me only not to expose 
 my pretty thoughtless sister to the intoxications of a 
 scene so much at variance with her humble prospects. 
 But, forgetful of my own former vicissitudes, I whispered 
 to myself with a smile, — ‘‘My sister shall return to 
 Aldborough no more. She shall form a brilliant marriage !” 
 
 It happened that the three leading beauties of our 
 society, the Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Duncannon, 
 and Lady Melbourne, had each, just then, the prospect 
 of becoming mothers ; so that the dissipations of the 
 preceding year were suppressed. We had fewer balls, 
 but more play ; and the increase of the idlers of public 
 places fell to the share of such minor divinities as myself 
 and my sister. It was scarcely possible, however, to find 
 a face more regularly beautiful than that of Helen. 
 
 Among the young people of the present day, I find 
 few so fair as those who graced the circles of my own. 
 There was a swan-like dignity in the time of hoops and 
 minuets, a mode of carrying the head and rounding the 
 arm, very different from the headlong deportment, and 
 slouching gait of to-day. The ladies of the land certainly 
 walked and talked better, during the reign of Blue- 
 stockings and Sir Joshua! 
 
 One night, soon after Helen Mordaunt’s arrival in 
 town, we attended one of Colonel Dottin’s masquerades ; 
 and, though closely masked, our tall figures, arrayed in 
 Swiss costume, attracted so much notice, that I was not 
 sorry to have secured the attendance of Sir Marcus 
 Hamilton and Lord Ailesfort, who were paying marked 
 attention to my sister. In jDarticular, we were followed 
 by a Neapolitan fisherman, whose remarks far outstepped 
 the bounds that render compliment complimentary. 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 175 
 
 ‘‘Very fine creatures for milk-maids!” cried our tor- 
 mentor. “ To see tkem toss their heads, one would fancy 
 they had never been within hail of an honest fisherman 
 before. Yet, after all, I doubt if they’re anything better 
 than the daughters of a country ’squire.” 
 
 “My good friend,” said Lord Ailesfort, “let me 
 recommend you to leave these ladies to the society of 
 those who are privileged to protect them.” 
 
 “Privileged? Santissimo Gennaro exclaimed the 
 rude sailor. “ ISTot half so privileged as myself!” and, as 
 he was actually on the point of placing his arm round my 
 waist, Sir Marcus thrust him aside, and would have torn 
 off his mask, when our mutual exclamation of “ Dearest 
 Lizzy, don’t you know me ?” — and — “ Alfred, my brother 
 Alfred !” — put a speedy end to the dispute. 
 
 It was indeed Alfred who, arrived in London from the 
 Mediterranean, had followed us by Pitzirnham’s advice 
 from Chesterfield Street to the masquerade. And well 
 might his sisters be excused for not recognising the Eton 
 boy in the fine, tall, manly officer who now presented 
 himself ; and who, as a gallant lieutenant, had not, it 
 appeared, outgrown the pranks of boyhood. 
 
 “ What events in the family since I quitted you, dear 
 Liz. !” he exclaimed, as soon as Sir Marcus profited by 
 his appearance to share with his rival the task of enter- 
 taining my sister. “ Eirst, alas ! poor Spetchingley paid 
 off, and my father left at sea. Then your marriage, — my 
 uncle Eawborne’s death, which puts a hundred a-year 
 into my pocket ; and Harry’s match, which they say has 
 put five thousand into his ! By the way, I saw Algernon 
 t’other day at Venice, where he lives like a prince and a 
 misanthrope ; — a wreck, — a complete wreck, — and all 
 your doing. Miss Lizzy ! — He tried to talk of you ^ — but 
 it would not do. — Tears came into his eyes every time 
 your name was mentioned. — Hot so Harry and his wife, 
 with whom I spent a week at Turin, and who could talk 
 of nothing else.” 
 
 “ And Jane ?” 
 
 “ Jane was taken up with the sighs of young Eothes- 
 bury, one of the attaches. By the way, I came home 
 from Turin with the Pemburys. We arrived at Dover 
 
17G 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 this morning, and they will be in town to-morrow. — A 
 fine fellow Pembury ; and she a charming woman.” 
 
 “ I do not know her, and do not like him^ 
 
 ‘‘ So he told me. He said there was a cloud between 
 him and my lovely sister, Mrs. Pitzirnham, which he 
 trusted to my intervention to clear np.” 
 
 “ No, my dear Alfred. Lord Pembury is one of those 
 with whom I will never renew my acquaintance.” 
 
 “Nonsense, nonsense! Pembury is a plain-sailing 
 fellow. I must have you like Pembury. I shall bring 
 him to call upon you as soon as he comes to tovvui.” 
 
 Alfred was one of those on whom argument is thrown 
 av»^ay. I determined, therefore, to trust to my future 
 ingenuity to avoid Lord Pembury’s acquaintance. Mean- 
 while, it puzzled me greatly to conjecture on what ground 
 he was to stand with the Duchess. Though my aunt had 
 not yet appeared in public since her arrival in London, 
 I heard of her from those who had dined at her magnifi- 
 cent residence in Spring Gardens, as looking younger 
 and handsomer than ever ; having laid aside her former 
 flippant gaiety for a quiet dignity, infinitely more be- 
 coming. The young Duke appeared to be the engross- 
 iog object of lier life. But her daughters resided with 
 her ; and Lady Isabella, now sixteen years old, was said 
 to be a model of grace and beauty. 
 
 "We had not yet met ; and I dreaded the chance of an 
 accidental encounter in society. Por my own part, I 
 could have wished that peace should be between us. — 
 llochester House having been sold and rased to the 
 ground, streets and squares were already erecting on the 
 site: and thus I could have wished it to be with our 
 resentments. — Lady Lavinia was residing at an estate 
 near Kelso, which she had purchased and settled on her 
 318W husband and his children. Lady Carleton, sinking 
 into the regular Pawborne superannuation, w'as kept 
 alive only by snuff and tredriile. Lord Pawborne was 
 exclusively a man of business, — for tlie turf and the 
 whist-table were to him no matter of sport ; — so that my 
 own family afforded me not a single available companion. 
 Yet Pitzirnham remained inflexible ; persisting that the 
 Duchess of Pochester was no companion for his wife. 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 177 
 
 But my brother Alfred was one of those to whom all 
 conventional deferences of ceremony appear superfluous. 
 Arrived in his native country after a three years’ absence, 
 he felt privileged to bring a friend to a sister’s house 
 with a claim that he should be well received; and no 
 sooner had Fitzirnham quitted home the following day, 
 than in walked my brother, — accompanied by Lord 
 Pembury ! 
 
 I have brought my friend Lord Pembury, who 
 fancies he was out of favour with you when he quitted 
 England, Bess,” said he. So give him a hearty wel- 
 come for my sake, and to prove you are not the vindic- 
 tive puss he fancies.” 
 
 By this strange introduction. Lord Pembury seemed 
 not a whit embarrassed. I found him strikingly altered ; 
 grown older, milder, more silent, more absent ; and like 
 other quiet people, apparently relieved by the noisy rattle 
 of Alfred. ISTo sooner, however, was my brother engrossed 
 in conversation with Helen, at the other side of the 
 room, than, approaching me, he whispered an apology 
 for having taken my house by storm, — pleading his 
 desire to be beforehand with my interdiction of his visits. 
 
 It is now three years since I became anxious to offer 
 humble excuses to you,” said he. My eagerness has 
 been increased by many a conversation on the subject 
 with my friend Bawborne, in whose society I have been 
 living at Venice. Be in charity then with me, my dear 
 Mrs. Fitzirnham. Suffer me to account myself among 
 your friends ; and I shall feel that my long absence has 
 not been in vain.” 
 
 “ The number of my friends is regulated by my hus- 
 band,” I replied ; and that Mr. Fitzirnham is not alto- 
 gether guided by my inclination in such matters, is 
 evident in the fact that he does not permit me to see the 
 Duchess of Eochester.” 
 
 “ Mr. Fitzirnham is to blame,” replied Lord P. in the 
 same calm tone. “ Kindred blood is the cement by 
 which tribes are founded, and from tribes, nations. IJnless 
 families hang together, where can we hope for union in 
 the world ?” 
 
 « VTere my support in any degree important to the 
 
178 
 
 MEMOIBS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 Ducliess,” I observed, “ he might, perhaps, have been 
 more placable.” 
 
 “ The support of a virtuous woman must always be 
 important ; the friendship of a beloved niece, gratifying. 
 Por my own part, the longer I live, the more I learn to 
 revere those Christian axioms — ^ Bear and forbear — Live 
 and let live.’ In this, I am not pleading the cause of 
 the Duchess, but my own. The Duchess I have not 
 seen, and am not likely to see. I am only speaking for 
 myself — ” 
 
 “ And of yourself, like an egotist as you are !” cried 
 Alfred, w^ho had exhausted his inquiries of my sister. 
 “ I can’t guess how people find so much to say about 
 their own feelings and opinions. I swear I’ve heard 
 you and Algernon go prosing on, hour after hour, gliding 
 along in the moonshine, in one of those Venetian coffins, 
 till you made me as sleepy as the water dozing below ! 
 After a man has owned himself hungry, thirsty, tired, 
 glad, sorry, angry, or ashamed, what the deuce more has 
 he to feel? — Those subtilties of yours and Algernon’s, 
 about elective affinities, and such sort of rhodomontade, 
 appear to me mere devices of Satan.” 
 
 This speech, which provoked no reply from Lord 
 Pembury, made me conscious of a feeling which Alfred 
 had not included in his list of sensations. I felt curious 
 to learn the nature of those disquisitions between my 
 hermit-cousin and his guest ; nor was I sorry when, on 
 applying that evening to Pitz. for permission to call on 
 Lady Pembury, he replied — Visit Lady Pembury ? — 
 Why not ? — You will find her one of the most charming 
 women of your acquaintance.” 
 
 I had been long convinced that the Duchess of 
 Eochester’s inexpiable offence in his eyes consisted in 
 her treachery towards myself and wanton attack on the 
 memory of his mother; a suspicion confirmed by his 
 want of rancour towards Lord Pembury. With the 
 renewal of my acquaintance in this quarter, however, 
 came the renewal of other reminiscences. A week or 
 two after the arrival of Lady Pembury, she was the first 
 person to point out to me an alteration in the appearance 
 of my husband. 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 179 
 
 “ The last four years have effected strange changes in 
 us all,” she observed. “ But in Mr. Fitzirnham, the 
 change is more than strange, ^ — it is alarming!” 
 
 “ The mere consequence of late hours and close appli- 
 cation.” 
 
 “ And what more is wanting,” observed Lady Pembury, 
 “ to undermine any human constitution ?” 
 
 “ You have been looking on the sunburnt faces of 
 Italy,” said I, “ till we pale, chilly mortals of the north 
 appear mere spectres.” 
 
 “ The remark is more just than you suppose,” she 
 replied. “ Nothing strikes me more on my return to 
 England than the ^ pale cast of thought’ impressed on the 
 countenance of our men of eminence. In the south the 
 
 ‘ Souls made of fire, and children of the sun,* 
 
 are rarely of a reflective turn. Full of gesticulation and 
 emphasis, they expend the energy of their minds in 
 demonstration ; while the English, concentrating all 
 within the depths of their hearts and minds, exhaust 
 nature by excess of feeling and reflection.” 
 
 “ You think, then, that Fitzirnham has a care-worn 
 look ?” said I. “ Eemember, he is now a family-man !” 
 
 “ I cannot jest upon the subject,” said Lady Pembury, 
 shuddering. “I confess to you that the sight of Mr. 
 Fitzirnham has greatly shocked me.” 
 
 This candid admission ought to have secured my con- 
 fidence. But I felt displeased that any other woman 
 should afiect so strong an interest in my husband. 
 
 Pardon me, if I have offended you,” said Lady Pem- 
 bury, discerning my coldness. “ But as the ward of the 
 late Mr. Fitzirnham, I feel a strong interest in his son.” 
 
 I now felt still more indignant. My husband had 
 often alluded to Lady Pembury as an acquaintance ; — a 
 woman betrayed into fashionable dissipation by an ill- 
 assorted marriage ; but he had never spoken of her as 
 the ward of his father. Too proud to avow my surprise, 
 I resolved to discourage all advances to intimacy on the 
 part of the lady, and to refrain in Fitzirnham’s presence 
 from allusion to her name. This, indeed, was easy ; for 
 I saw little of him. Involved in labours similar to his 
 
180 
 
 MEMOIKS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 own, Charles Fox sought relief from political cares in 
 the excitement of play; Sheridan, in the hazards of 
 theatrical speculation ; while Burke, more wisely, reno- 
 vated his faculties in domestic seclusion. My husband 
 retired from the toils of the senate to the toils of the 
 study. His leisure was pledged to the booksellers. 
 When fainting with exhaustion of mind and body, he 
 had resort to restoratives only that he might complete 
 his engagements. 
 
 Yet all this passed unobserved before my eyes! — 
 Alfred rallied me on being married to a bookworm. — 
 Helen regarded him as an ambitious man, resigning 
 present enjoyment for the prospect of public distinction. 
 Even his political associates challenged him with being 
 too laborious, — too covetous of fame. 
 
 The over-tashed man was labouring for the daily bread 
 of his wife; and his friends and family knew it not ! — 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 The time was now arrived for a declaration of hostilities 
 between the King and Prince of Wales ; and the impatient 
 creditors of the latter were only pacified by the promise 
 of the city of London to apply to parliament in his behalf. 
 Mr. Pitt having proclaimed, in his place as minister, that 
 no intention existed on the part of the King to release the 
 Heir- Apparent from his difficulties, Alderman Xewnham 
 gave notice of a motion intended to render the hoped-for 
 grant a matter of political warfare. Votes against the 
 measure were mustered by Government from all quarters ; 
 and threats held forth by Pitt to expose to the public a 
 correspondence involving distressing details of the nature 
 of his Eoyal Highness’s embarrassments. Mr. Eolle, 
 (the unhappy ‘‘De’nshire Squire” “ damned to everlasting 
 fame ” as the hero of the Eolliad,) went so far as to allude 
 to the private marriage of the Prince of Wales ; and, 
 from that period, perpetual meetings took place, at Carlton 
 
MEMOIBS OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 181 
 
 House, between His Eojal Highness and bis private 
 and political friends, — Grrey, 'Fox, Sheridan, Eitzirnhara, 
 Alderman ^^’ewnham and Sir William Lemon, the two 
 Members who had undertaken to bring forward the 
 question. 
 
 But in this, as in other instances, the Prince reposed 
 only partial confidence in his friends ; and when, in the 
 course of a debate preparatory to the motion of Alderman 
 Newnham, Charles Pox was heard to disclaim in the 
 name of his royal friend any marriage between the Prince 
 and Mrs. Pitzherbert, the surprise of society was only 
 equalled by the indignation of the lady. — That Charlie 
 was the dupe of equivocation on the part of his royal 
 friend, no one doubted ; and the Duchesses of Portland 
 and Devonshire, — nay, even the Duchess of Cumberland, 
 — hastened to demonstrate, by their attentions to the 
 lady, their conviction that the disavowal originated in 
 anxiety to emancipate the Prince, even at the expense of 
 honour, from his harassing embarrassments. 
 
 A compromise at length took place between Government 
 and the Heir-Apparent. In an interview between his 
 Eoyal Highness and Mr. Pitt, it was agreed that arrange- 
 ments should be made for his relief, and the Alderman’s 
 motion withdrawn. — But w7io was to expiate the pitiful 
 offence offered to a defenceless woman? — The Prince 
 undertook to restore the fair fame of Mrs. Pitzherbert to 
 at least the ambiguity of reputation she had hitherto 
 enjoyed. But who was now to be the dupe or deceiver, 
 among those through whose intervention the House of 
 Commons was to be silenced ? 
 
 Charles Pox, justly indignant, refused all further inter- 
 ference. Mr. Grey, a young man entertaining the most 
 chivalrous sense of honour, rejected an application to the 
 same purport. Sheridan was the only member of the 
 party to whom the wishes of the Prince, on this as on all 
 other points, were law and gospel. 
 
 It was at this time I first noticed an increase of lassi- 
 tude and despondency on the part of my husband. 
 Scarcely was the delicate question of the grant of an 
 addition to the Prince’s income and the payment of his 
 debts decided, and the establishment at Carlton House 
 
182 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEERESS. 
 
 replaced on its former [footing, when I perceived a cool- 
 ness between Eitzirnham and his Eoyal Highness. Less 
 alarmed by a circumstance which threatened extinction to 
 our hopes of preferment, than mortified by a withdrawal 
 of those courtesies so flattering to my vanity, I questioned 
 my husband on the subject. 
 
 “Do not be angry with me, for having deprived you 
 and Helen of a few fetes,” he replied, with a melancholy 
 smile. “ I am in disgrace, — and you may suppose that 
 cogent were the reasons which determined me to incur 
 such a risk, — when I admit that my last remaining hopes 
 emanated from the friendship of the Prince. Pox and 
 Grrey have patrimonial fortunes. Burke possesses, apart 
 from private property or official emolument, an income as 
 the agent of America. I have nothing to look to but the 
 patronage of the Prince! Yet I renounced it, Lizzy, 
 and for ever, — if to be purchased by so vile a concession 
 as a lie, — a lie dishonouring the reputation of a virtuous 
 woman, the companion of my wife.” 
 
 “ You did right,” said I, — proud that he had escaped 
 a snare fatal to Pox, and despised inducements irresisti- 
 ble to Sheridan. “ I thank you for my friend — I thank 
 you for myself ; — and henceforward, accept with pleasure 
 the disdains of Carlton House. But tell me, — are our 
 means indeed dependent on courtly favour ? — May we 
 not still, by retirement, — by economy” 
 
 “ Too late — too late !” — ejaculated Pitzirnham, pressing 
 his hand upon his forehead. “ Economy might have pre- 
 vented the evil, — but will not repair it. The Prince had 
 long held out hopes to me of a place in his household. 
 On this inducement, and the sanguine expectation of our 
 party coming into power, nearly all that was tangible of 
 our fortune has been dissipated. Prom Carlton House, I 
 have now nothing to expect. Even the most sanguine of 
 the Whigs begin to despair. — We must trust, Lizzy, to 
 our own resources.” 
 
 “ But, you say, they are exhausted ?” 
 
 “ The six thousand pounds settled on yourself are still 
 secure.” 
 
 “Three hundred a-year!” said I, aghast, but more 
 alarmed for him than for myself. “Why — why did I 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 183 
 
 add my persuasions to those which induced you to relin- 
 quish your profession ! — There at least — ” 
 
 E-egrets are now unavailing,” expostulated Fitzirnham. 
 “ Exertion is all that remains for me. — I have profited 
 largely by my aptitude for literary occupation ; and so 
 long as I have health and strength, employment of this 
 kind cannot fail.” 
 
 His voice faltered as he spoke ; and, fixing my eyes on 
 his face, I seemed to discover for the first time, the ravages 
 effected there by the ruthless hand of care ! That it 
 should have needed such an incentive to reveal to me the 
 decaying strength, the breaking constitution of him I 
 held so dear ! — 
 
 “ Fitzirnham !” I whispered, — my heart sinking within 
 me, — “ you are suffering, — you are ill, — you — ” 
 
 I could not conclude. As I clung weeping to his 
 bosom, I felt that his tears were falling on my head. 
 
 “ You are worn with work,” said I, recovering at length 
 the power of utterance. “ Oh ! be well, dearest, — be 
 strong. Eenounce all thought of business, — all thought 
 of gain. Eecover, — only recover. — There will be ample 
 time for the re-establishment of our affairs. — Let us 
 instantly leave town, — let us seek a pure air, — let us — ” 
 
 “ Compose yourself, my sweet wife,” interrupted Fitz- 
 irnham. “ It was the dread of this impetuosity which 
 kept me silent. I am well, Lizzy. — I am in no sort of 
 danger: — a little over-tasked, perhaps, during this arduous 
 session; but soon to recover.” 
 
 “ISTo, no!” cried I. — “Lady Pembury was right. 
 Lady Pembury was quicker-sighted than I have been. 
 These exertions are killing you, and it is my fatal folly in 
 which they have originated. But fear no further weak- 
 ness on my part. From this day, I renounce society, — 
 and devote myself to those domestic pleasures which may 
 attract you with dearer influence to your home.” 
 
 With a mournful smile, Fitzirnham shook his head. 
 
 “ You have a right to imply doubts of my stability of 
 character,” I faltered. “ I have not deserved your con- 
 fidence.” 
 
 “You have deserved it, — and you have it, — pettish 
 child 1” said Fitzirnham, imprinting a gentle kiss on the 
 
184 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 brow that lay half-hidden in his bosom. “ I merely wished 
 to express, dear Lizzy, that the real interests of your 
 husband would not be consulted by any sudden change of 
 system likely to provoke inquiry into its motives 1 I have 
 hampered myself, dearest, with public responsibilities. I 
 belong to my constituents, — to Lord Fitzwilliam. — I can- 
 not quit London.” 
 
 “ Other members obtain leave of absence on the score 
 of health ?” 
 
 ‘‘ Others, with influence and interest. Tour husband 
 is but a humble drudge, whose pretensions to his seat 
 consist in assiduity and usefulness. And since it is thus, 
 do not draw on me the distrust of my creditors, and the 
 officiousness of my friends, by proclaiming your uneasi- 
 ness. Live as you have lived, among the gay and great. 
 Smile with those who smile, — look lovely among the 
 loveliest. Let me have still one thing to be proud of. 
 Lizzy! did you but know what bitter hours the mere 
 sound of your voice has had power to soften 1” 
 
 “At least,” said I, perceiving that Fitzirnham was pre- 
 paring to leave the room, “ I cannot suffer my family to 
 be a further incumbrance to you. Alfred sails next weelv 
 for the Baltic ; but Helen — ” 
 
 “ Helen must not leave us a day earlier than was pro- 
 posed,” said my husband, firmly. “Fler interests in life 
 might be seriously injured by quitting town; nor must 
 Mr. Mordaunt be rendered uneasy by her premature return 
 to Aldborough. All I ask of my dear wife is composure. 
 Prudence, it is no longer necessary to inculcate.” 
 
 Composure 1 — Agitated as I had been by this interview, 
 how infinitely did my perturbation increase when no 
 longer supported by Fitzirnham’s exhortations I Buined, 
 — his health desperately impaired, — yet compelled to 
 efforts of mind far more painful than the heaviest manual 
 labour. My husband — my noble, high-minded Fitzirnham, 
 — he whom I would have surrounded, at the cost of my 
 heart’s blood, with all the joys and luxuries of life! — 
 Ruined — perhaps dying — and ruined and dying for my 
 sake I 
 
 And I was forbidden to weep — forbidden to disclose my 
 consternation — forbidden almost to repair my errors ! — I 
 
MEMOIBS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 185 
 
 was to go smiling and fooling it on, amidst the glittering 
 pomps of society, while de^s of exhaustion rose on his 
 sallow forehead in the stillness of his midnight toil ! — 
 What bitterness was in my heart, as all this presented 
 itself for the first time to my imagination ! — I wrung my 
 hands — I cried aloud — I cursed myself as the origin of 
 his misfortunes ! — 
 
 jSTor was there a friend from whom I could seek counsel. 
 To admit my distress was, in fact, to become a beggar. 
 Henry’s obligations to his wife were such as precluded 
 application to him. Hichard had closed his heart and 
 purse even against his own father. My only friend was 
 Algernon ; Algernon, to whom, in this instance, I should 
 have felt it treachery towards Titzirnham to apply. 
 
 And there was the worlds — the mob of gaudy, noisy, 
 fiuttering things ; driving, without motive, from place to 
 place ; surrounding themselves with music to which they 
 do not listen, flowers which they do not see, delicacies 
 for which they have no appetite, literature for which they 
 have no comprehension ; — the world, — to which I might 
 confide my tears — my terrors — my despair ! — Oh ! with 
 what anguish did I, that night, in obedience to the corn- 
 mands of my husband, parade my pale cheeks and aching 
 
 heart through the thronged assembly at H House. 
 
 I saw around me all the prodigality of wealth, — all the 
 levity arising from its possession. I felt as the beggar- 
 woman may feel, who, sitting on the door-step of the 
 great with a starving child upon her knee, hears within 
 the exulting clamour of prosperity, — the fulness of plenty ; 
 — and in her own hollow bosom the whisper of the fiend 
 calling upon her to curse God and die 
 
 There was one person, one member of even that bril- 
 liant assemblage, to whom I felt half inclined to turn for 
 solace. But how, after all my ungraciousness, to re-accost 
 her ? — How admit my fears for Bitzirnham to Lady Pem- 
 bury, without at the same time admitting the cause and 
 necessity of his exertions? — Prom her, I might have 
 obtained the information I desired and dreaded, whether 
 the illness which detained Pitzirnham’s sister in the south 
 of Prance, -was of pulmonary tendency. 
 
 I dared not! — I continued to return with an unmeaning 
 
186 
 
 MEMOIBS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 smile the mechanical curtsey of one in whom, at such a 
 time, I might have found a valuable and consoling friend. 
 Even Alfred, who might have served as intermediator 
 between us, was gone to renew the hazards of his preca- 
 rious profession; and I looked at my pretty Helen as 
 she sat opposite me at work, with the first delicate bloom 
 of girlhood hovering on her cheek and the sweet confiding 
 smile of perfect happiness beaming in her looks, and had 
 not courage to wither up her youth, by participation in 
 a grief to which she could yield no alleviation. 
 
 Whenever it was in my power, however, I assigned to 
 others the task of escorting my sister into society. Many 
 of my friends whose daughters were not yet presented, 
 took delight in the chaperonage of a girl so fair and 
 pleasing as Helen Mordaunt. Society, which soon dis- 
 cerned that she was indebted for her conquests to no 
 paltry arts or unfair manoeuvres, forgave her success ; and, 
 before the close of the season, I received a visit in form from 
 the old Countess of Ailesfort, to inquire whether any objec- 
 tion existed to the marriage of her only son with my sister. 
 
 Hone was assigned on the part of Helen, none on that 
 of her family, except a fear that the respectability of her 
 connections might not be held a counter-balance to her 
 want of fortune. But the Dowager, eager for the early 
 settlement in life of her only son, gladly accepted the 
 compromise : and, while my own heart was breaking with 
 grief, I had to receive the congratulations of all London 
 on the auspicious alliance in my family. 
 
 In such a case, there was no need to apply to the 
 generosity of my brother. Henry insisted on enabling us 
 to meet the event with becoming splendour. Our little 
 household sparkled for the last time in honour of the 
 nuptials of “the Countess of Ailesfort!” and, when the 
 carriage-and-four drove from our door conveying the 
 bride to the castle of her lord, Eitzirnham, gazing upon 
 me with wistful eyes, whispered mournfully, “ Such, but 
 for me, would have been your destiny. And now, 
 nothing remains for my Lizzy, but debts and despair 1” 
 
 The session closed at last. The season was over. The 
 leaves began to assume their autumnal tint; but this year, 
 there was no hope of a cottage in the country. Our 
 
MEMOIKS or A PEEEESS. 
 
 187 
 
 difficulties rendered removal impossible. The Devonshire 
 family departed for the Continent. Charles Fox had 
 already quitted England. Our usual country society was 
 entirely broken up ; and Crewe Hall and Ailesfort Castle, 
 to which we were warmly invited, were too remote from 
 London to admit of the expense of such a journey. 
 
 “ I must remain here and work,^^ said Fitzirnham, glanc- 
 ing round our now desolate habitation. “ I might pay a 
 country visit or two, alone ; but the benefit of change of 
 air would not repay me for the loss of the society essential 
 to my happiness 1” 
 
 Could any earthly consideration propitiate the ruthless- 
 ness of destiny, it might surely be the spectacle of two young 
 people united in heart and soul, and struggling hand in 
 hand against misfortune ! "We had everything but one. 
 We enjoyed youth — station — honour — admiration. But 
 we were poor , — miserably poor ; — poor with that hopeless 
 poverty whose prospects end in a prison, or a grave. 
 
 I have sometimes striven to console myself with the 
 belief that Fitzirnham was born with the germ of our 
 national disease. His mother fell an early victim to con- 
 sumption ; and the short feverish cough which, as autumn 
 advanced, began to render his nights sleepless and his days 
 uneasy, might perhaps have attacked him, even had he not 
 been harassed by the importunities of creditors and the 
 bitterness of retrospection. 
 
 But, alas ! whatever were the contingencies of the case, 
 that which was certain and before my eyes, was a slow 
 miserable disorder, aggravated by a thousand irritations. 
 
 I saw Fitzirnham become every day paler, feebler, more 
 emaciated. — His eyes grew larger in their orbits, and 
 more impressive in the earnestness of their expression. 
 His lips were compressed, his nostrils dilated by oppression 
 of breath. Still, he persisted that he was better, — that 
 he was well ^ — that occupation served to divert him ; — that 
 a recumbent position being painful, it amused him to sit 
 up and write. Had Fox been in England, so thoughtful 
 was the tenderness of his nature, that he would instantly 
 have discerned the truth, and insisted on a remission of 
 labour. But he and Grrey were both in Italy. Burke 
 was settled for the autumn at Beaconsfield, and of too 
 
188 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 formal a character to be addressed by letter ; and the rest 
 of Fitzirnham’s intimate associates were dispersed for the 
 sporting season, in various parts of the kingdom. 
 
 Few of them had followed the Prince to Brighthelmstone. 
 The part taken by his Eoyal Highness in the parliament- 
 ary discussion of his affairs, had destroyed the circle of 
 his adherents, who were replaced by buffoons and profli- 
 gates, — a Barrymore, a Hanger, a Queensbury. 
 
 The newspapers teemed with accounts of the exploits of 
 their unmeaning joviality; their intrusions on public notice 
 at theatres, races, boxing-matches, as performers, not spec- 
 tators ; while a crowd of foreign libertines, attracted by the 
 favour of the Duke of Orleans, swelled the train of royalty 
 without adding an iota to its dignity. 
 
 Yet, revolting as were such traits in the young, hand- 
 some, witty, gallant Prince of AYales, what would I not 
 have given that Pitziruham were still of his society ! — 
 Every day, the autumnal fogs of the metropolis grew 
 heavier, — more damp — more chill. Every day, I perceived 
 that change of air and cessation of toil were essential to 
 the invalid. Yet could I have commanded a miserable 
 twenty pounds, instead of effecting his removal, the sum 
 would have been instantly applied by my husband to quiet 
 some pressing creditor. 
 
 ‘‘We who are in debt and danger,” he would say, “must 
 not presume to be fanciful. This climate suffices hun- 
 dreds of thousands, — it must suffice meT — And when he 
 patted my cheek to enforce the justice of his argument, 
 I could feel every pulse thrilling and throbbing with fever, 
 and hear, in the hollowness of his voice, that his destiny 
 was accomplishing ! — 
 
 Eitzirnham himself, following the usual impulses of 
 his insidious disease, looked confidently forward. The 
 spring was to restore him. Believed by relaxation from 
 his parliamentary vigils, he said he was gaining strength, 
 and that the renovation of a milder season would effect 
 the rest. The spring would bring with it the long anti- 
 cipated India cause, — the trial of Warren Hastings ; — 
 the trial that was to dispense retribution to the oppres- 
 sors of the East, and immortality to the advocates of its 
 suffering millions. 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEERESS. 
 
 189 
 
 “ You will not know me again next May,” he some- 
 times whispered. “ My anxieties will then be repaid. I 
 shall have created to myself a name, — a career. I shall 
 be no longer the adventurer stigmatised by the Duchess 
 of Eochester !” 
 
 The medical men whom, on pretence of indisposition 
 on my own part, I called in to pronounce upon his state, 
 did not bid me wholly despair. They saw", I verily 
 believe, how dearly my life was bound up in his, and had 
 not courage to pronounce sentence of death upon two 
 hearts so passionately united. But their forbearance 
 scarcely deceived me. — I saw, if not the hopelessness, the 
 extreme peril of the case. 
 
 In the silence of the night, I often heard my husband’s 
 restless steps in the room below ; and, stealing to the 
 door, would seat myself beside it, that he might not be 
 harassed by my watchfulness. Hour after hour have I 
 sat there, my head upon my knees ; listening to the 
 heavy sighs that burst from his bosom, — to the half- 
 smothered invocations of my name, — to still more solemn 
 appeals to the name of the Almighty. — Then came the 
 hectic cough, stifling the w"ords upon his lips, — the moan 
 of pain, — the murmur, — the sob, — the anguish ! 
 
 One evening that w^e had been passing together, he 
 suddenly rose from his wTiting-table, and flinging himself 
 on the sofa, dropped into one of those heavy unrefresh- 
 ing sleeps characteristic of his disorder. 
 
 As soon as I saw him completely overpow^ered, I stole 
 towards him, and observed with horror the cold dew 
 risen upon his forehead, — the matted clammy hair, — the 
 blue lips, — the eyelids deeply stained by every wandering 
 vein. I heard his struggling respiration, — his heavy sighs. 
 
 At length, words burst from his lips, which for a 
 moment I referred to the child that had been taken 
 from us. I drew nearer to listen, — I hung over him ; — 
 and perhaps the movement disturbed his slumber, for he 
 instantly opened his eyes. 
 
 “ Is it dead ?” was his involuntary exclamation. 
 
 I pressed his hand in silence. It was plain that he 
 had not fully recovered his consciousness. 
 
 “ Hay, then — so much the better !” he added. Poor 
 
190 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 boy — poor child of shame ! — It might have lived to brood, 
 like myself, in the solitude of a broken heart.” 
 
 This could not refer to a babe of ours. I soon dis- 
 covered that his dreams had been bewildered by an adula- 
 tory paragraph contained in our morning paper, referring 
 to the young Duke of Eochester, who had been attacked 
 by some disease of childhood. 
 
 “ JN'othing,” these journalists observed, “ could exceed 
 the attentions bestowed upon his Grace, who had now 
 entered his third year, by the amiable Duchess his young 
 and lovely mother, and his guardian. Lord Hugh de 
 Vere, only brother of the late Duke of Eochester.” 
 
 “Admire this, Lizzy!” said Eitzirnham, as, rising 
 from his recumbent position, he recited the announce- 
 ment. “ Admire the chain of social hypocrisies, created 
 by a breach of chastity! — Lord Hugh de Vere, quitting 
 his retirement, his sick-bed, his despondency, to watch 
 over a feeble infant in whose veins not a drop of his 
 blood is flowing — to yearn over it, as all that remains to 
 him of a beloved brother ; while 1 — his nephew as much 
 as if fifty dignitaries of the church had consecrated his 
 connexion with my unhappy mother, — am dying here, — 
 alone, — unheeded, — destitute.” 
 
 I pressed his hand in mine in token of sympathy. 
 
 “ A wanton woman who deceives her husband,” he 
 resumed, “ thinks she has done all, and hugs herself in 
 her triumph. Earely does she deceive the world, which 
 avenges itself not only upon her, but hers ; never that 
 jealous God, who visits her sins upon the generation her 
 frailty has brought to light! — My mother expired, a 
 victim to remorse. But even this did not suffice. The 
 curse is still upon her son. I belong to nothing — I 
 belong to nobody. On the De Veres, I have no legal, on 
 the Eitzirnhams no moral claim.” 
 
 “ Vex not your mind by such thoughts,” said I. “ You 
 have made to yourself a name, a destiny, a family. You 
 have an idolising wife. You possess the esteem of all 
 belonging to her. Would you but permit me to lay the 
 state of your circumstances before my brothers — ” 
 
 “ Never !” interrupted Eitzirnham. “ If canker be in 
 the heart of the tree let it fall, rather than live supported 
 
MEMOIES OP A PEERESS. 
 
 191 
 
 by props that shame its nature. But this is no time for 
 discussion,” he added, staggering from the sofa towards 
 the table. ‘‘ My printer is waiting for the copy of these 
 last sections on the Commercial Treaty. I must work 
 till daybreak, Lizzy. I cannot write when morning 
 comes with its interruptions, — its vile, humiliating inter- 
 ruptions, — its duns, — its necessities. Gro to bed, my 
 dear girl, — leave me to my occupations.” 
 
 “ I will go on one condition,” said I. “ Tour illness 
 is increasing. It is our duty to neglect no human means 
 of cure. Promise me to see Warren. He attended you 
 in your childhood. — He knows your constitution. Pro- 
 mise me for my sake to see him once^ and abide by his 
 advice.” 
 
 “ Gro to bed !” said Pitzirnham, pushing me playfully 
 towards the door. Are not your prognostics dispiriting 
 enough without those of a physician ? — Gro to bed !” 
 
 “ I will not stir,” I persisted, “ till I have your pro- 
 mise. Dearest husband, for this once only, — accede to 
 my entreaty 1” 
 
 Be it so !” he replied in a graver tone. “ Since you 
 choose to hear my sentence from the lips of the oracle, 
 I consent.” 
 
 The following day, accordingly. Dr. W. was called in ; 
 and long and earnest was the conference between them. 
 But Pitzirnham contrived to circumvent any private 
 interview between myself and the doctor; and, as our 
 position precluded the possibility of requesting a con- 
 tinuance of his visits, I felt that 1 had gained little by a 
 consultation of the results of which I remained ignorant. 
 
 Next day, as I sat at work during Pitzirnham’s absence, 
 the carriage of the physician again stopped at my door ; 
 and I trembled lest he might have so far mistaken our 
 views, as to consider himself in permanent attendance. 
 
 “ Mr. Pitzirnham is in Lincoln’s Inn,” said I, welcom- 
 ing him in confusion. 
 
 ‘‘ I know it,” replied the Doctor. “ It is yoic, my dear 
 Madam, I am come to see to-day.” 
 
 “ And, alas ! I have scarcely courage to thank you for 
 the visit. I feel that it is not as the bringer of glad 
 tidings you are here.” 
 
192 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESb 
 
 “ You are mistaken. Mj errand is ex-professional. I 
 come as said from a friend. We doctors, you know, are 
 privileged people. It is part of our duty to pusli our 
 inquiries into the moral as well as the physical causes of 
 disease. We must understand the position of a patient, 
 ere we assign due importance to his symptoms. AYith 
 this view, I have ventured to extend my surmises respect- 
 ing your husband, and to take into my confidence one 
 who, like myself, was his father’s friend, and is deeply 
 interested in his welfare. It was at old Eitzirnham’s 
 house in Kent, that, five-and-twenty years ago, I became 
 acquainted with Thurlow ; and yesterday, after my inter- 
 view with your husband, I happened to meet him at 
 Windsor. The Chancellor, in short, is most anxious to 
 see and befriend the son of his old acquaintance. Poh- 
 tics, he says, have hitherto disunited them. But Thurlow 
 has considerable patronage unconnected with politics; 
 and an earnest desire to advance the interests of your 
 husband. But my young friend possesses an over- 
 sensitive spirit, rendered doubly irritable by disease ; and 
 I should have some difficulty in proposing the question. 
 — You, my dear Madam, must negotiate for us.” 
 
 I thanked him, as such goodness merited ; but avowed 
 my want of courage to propose to Eitzirnham even an 
 interview with the Lord Chancellor. 
 
 “ I will have no refusal !” resumed Dr. W. — ‘‘ I under- 
 take no cure unless the mind of my patient can be placed 
 at ease. I do not disguise from you that this young 
 man is in danger, — but I am not altogether without hope. 
 Cooperate with me, and we may save him ; save him to 
 be a blessing to yourself, and an ornament to the country.” 
 
 That evening, accordingly, I expressed with more 
 seriousness than I had yet ventured to assume towards 
 Eitzirnham, that it was a duty he owed to himself and 
 me, to profit by so bright and unexpected an opening as 
 the overtures of Lord Thurlow. 
 
 He wishes to entangle me in obligations, to ensure, 
 if not my subservience, my silence,” said Eitzirnham, 
 fractiously. 
 
 “ Ko ! — I have authority to assure you, that the pre- 
 ferment he offers is not of a political nature.” 
 
MEMOIRS OP A PEERESS. 
 
 193 
 
 “ A living, perhaps ?” demanded my husband with a 
 mile. “ Or some sepulchre in the colonies, bought with 
 interchange of patronage ! What say you, Lizzy ? Will 
 you exchange Chesterfield Street, with its body-guard of 
 creditors, — its legion of devils, — for some African consul- 
 ship ? Will you try Sierra Leone for change of air ? — 
 Or what think you of Cape Breton or Cape Cod, for 
 a winter season ?” 
 
 “ I say, that you are perverse and ungracious ! — Here 
 is a man who would lay aside his political enmities to 
 assist you — ” 
 
 ‘‘ My dear Lizzy, I would fain trifle, where it is pain- 
 ful to afford a serious reply. The preferment intended 
 for me may be wholly disconnected with politics. But, 
 given by one of the most eminent political partisans in 
 the kingdom, it ties me down in obligations never to be 
 shaken off. My public position is an obscure but a 
 decided one. The friend of Fox and Burke, the once- 
 devoted servant of the Prince, must not accept favours 
 from the Lord Chancellor of the Tories.” 
 
 “ He must starve, then, with his family ?” 
 
 “ He must ! — Such is the nature of public virtue. 
 Such is the gulf to which the modern Curtius devotes 
 himself.” 
 
 “ But, my dear, dear husband,” cried I, this is no 
 ordeal of political consistency. Lord Thurlow is conscious 
 of obligations to the late Mr. Fitzirnham, and wmuld 
 willingly repay them to yourself.” 
 
 “Enough!” interrupted my husband, in a tone that 
 admitted of no reply. “ The question is now set at rest. 
 Ask your own heart, Lizzy, whether it is for me to 
 receive favours as the son of Mr. Fitzirnham 1” — 
 
 And, to my infinite mortification, he returned so 
 haughty an answer to the letter addressed to him the 
 following day by the Chancellor, as to preclude all 
 further overtures. 
 
 o 
 
194 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 ^^I HATE three welcome pieces of intelligence to com- 
 municate to my dearest sister,” wrote Harry Mordaunt, 
 at this crisis of my domestic troubles, “ Eirst, that I am 
 father of a boy, whose dear mother is doing as well as 
 possible; secondly, that Jane’s engagement to young 
 Eothesbury meets with the unqualified approbation of 
 his family ; and thirdly, that I am appointed Secretary 
 to the embassy at Xaples. Join with me, dear Lizzy, in 
 thanking Heaven that the prospects of the Mordaunt 
 family are thus strangely brightening. My own marriage, 
 and those of Jane and Helen, are happier and more 
 fortunate than my father could have hoped for in his 
 highest prosperity. Alfred and Eichard are advancing 
 rapidly in their professions ; while our dear Lizzy, united 
 to a man so excellent and eminent, and established, if not 
 in opulence, at least on the sunny side of the hill, has a 
 life of happiness in enjoyment and distinction in prospect. 
 Under these circumstances, with my mind at rest as to 
 the welfare of my family, I devote all my endeavours to 
 forward the release of our good father. What a triumph 
 to replace the old man in his proper station, and behold 
 him, like Israel of old, go down in honour to the grave, 
 surrounded by his grateful children !” 
 
 My heart sank as I perused the exulting words of my 
 brother ! I felt that there would be a broken link in the 
 chain he hoped to see united,— a withered flower in the 
 wreath. Heavy sighs burst from my bosom. I dared not 
 look forward. Eitzirnham had distinctly admitted that 
 unless able to fulfil a literary compact for the completion 
 of a History of India, for which he was to receive the 
 price, at that time enormous, of five hundred guineas, he 
 must fail in engagements of the most serious nature. 
 
 “I am beginning to fear,” said he, wiping the cold 
 moisture from his forehead as he made the confession, 
 
MEMOIBS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 195 
 
 “ that nature is against me ; — that, sacrifice myself as I 
 may, the victim will be offered in vain. But — ’’ 
 
 I interrupted him to implore permission to address my- 
 self to one of my brothers, or to Lady Lavinia. 
 
 “ Such an appeal would I never forgive you 1” was his 
 reply. “I know in how abject a light I have been repre- 
 sented by the Duchess to the Mordaunt and Bawborne 
 families : let not my own wife place me in that of a 
 beggar. Bor the first time, I assume a husband’s autho- 
 rity, diudi forlid you to make such applications. Will you 
 obey me 
 
 ‘‘I will!” 
 
 On your word, then, I rely,” said he ; and were I 
 to discover that you had broken faith with me — ” 
 
 He was interrupted. Dick Sheridan, accidentally in 
 town for a day or two, dropped in to take an unceremonious 
 dinner with us. 111, and under the care of a physician ?” 
 cried he, after our first words of greeting. ‘‘We were all 
 puzzling ourselves to guess what could keep you drowsing 
 your autumn away in Chesterfield Street. But, my dear 
 Bitz., profoundly as I bow to AYarwick Lane, my faith in 
 fresh air is infinitely greater ! You are sadly fallen 
 away ; you ought to be in the country. A milder climate 
 would restore you at once. Suppose you try a trip to 
 Brance ?” 
 
 “ And my constituents ?” — said my husband, with a 
 ghastly smile. 
 
 “ All that might be readily managed,” cried Sheridan. 
 “Lord Bitzwilliam, so much your friend, and the most 
 gentlemanly and amiable of men, would facilitate every 
 arrangement ; and — ” 
 
 “ No ! I hold to my seat in Parliament, and am pledged 
 next session to Burke on the Hastings business,” said 
 Bitzirnham, his pride rebelling against an avowal of the 
 truth. Half an hour afterwards, they were deep in 
 politics, deep in constitutional questions ; deep in the 
 projects of Carlton House, and obstinacies of Windsor. 
 A few fatal glasses of claret served to impart to the coun- 
 tenance of my husband a factitious lustre, long banished. 
 Sheridan had his merry tale to tell of the royal sailor, 
 Prince William, who, following the example of his elder 
 
196 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 brothers, had fallen into debt and love, and been kid- 
 napped out of the way of mischief into the command of 
 the Andromeda, on the West India station ; or rather 
 of what Sheridan was pleased to call “ the Way to Wynne 
 him,” He had his anecdotes, too, of the Steyne, with its 
 smock-races of Sussex Atalantas, to supply laughter to 
 the Prince and a betting-book to Lord Barrymore; and 
 the marine exploits of his Boyal Highness, who, accom- 
 panying the Marquis de Conflans to the packet in which 
 he was about to sail for Prance, dragged the hydrophobic 
 Prenchman through wind and tide, into full two fathom 
 of salt water. 
 
 The idle details of still idler practices, were related 
 with so much whim and drollery, that we laughed heartily 
 at Sheridan’s recitals. None who could have seen my 
 husband, that evening, would have suspected him to be 
 on the brink of the grave. None who could have listened 
 to the mirth of his miserable wife, would have guessed 
 that her heart was breaking ! 
 
 Next day, Pitzirnham was confined to his bed, with an 
 accession of fever. The excess of the preceding night, 
 and a slight cold caught in taking leave of Sheridan, 
 while the hall-door stood open to admit the night air, 
 hung heavily upon him. His voice was reduced to a 
 hoarse whisper, and his eyes seemed to burn with un- 
 natural brilliancy. Stationed by his bedside, I watched 
 his snatches of restless slumber, and listened to murmured 
 ejaculations of delirious excitement. 
 
 “ No, no !” he faltered. “ The first exercise of your 
 paternal authority over me must not be the interdiction 
 of our marriage. Miss Mordaunt is good — pure — inno- 
 cent ; you have been deceived by one far less innocent, — • 
 less pure. The letter was none of hers. — The letter was 
 for the Duchess ! — Lizzy ^ the paramour of Lord Pem- 
 bury ? — Look at home — look nearer to you, — look nearer, 
 I say, — look nearest ! — The child is the child of Lord 
 Pembury, — let the Duchess deny it if she dare !” — Then, 
 seizing my arm, as I leant over and strove to tranquillise 
 him, he bad me remove those hateful pistols, and wipe 
 away that stream of blood ; — that he had murdered his 
 father, — that he had murdered the Duke of Eochester ! — 
 
MEMOIES OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 197 
 
 ]Mucli as I dreaded to expose his condition to observa- 
 tion, I sent immediately for Warren; a man too kind to 
 resent our former ungraciousness. 
 
 “I prescribed rest,” said he, reprovingly, after seeing 
 the sufferer. I insisted on quiet and temperance. And 
 this man has been sitting up, — reading, working, talking, 
 wine- drinking, — all, acts of madness in his present state. 
 The little hope I saw grounds to cherish, is extinct. But 
 if you love him, and I see and know you do, remove from 
 him as far as possible all causes of excitement. — I will not 
 answer for the consequences of any shock or agitation.” 
 
 All that night, Fitzirnham’s mind was rambling. All 
 that night, I watched by his pillow, listening to every 
 breath he drew ; and trembling lest I should discern in- 
 crease of perturbation. But, alas ! no sooner did morn- 
 ing dawn, than there were loud voices in the hall ; voices 
 of angry creditors, which I knew might bring death to 
 Fitzirnham. I flew down in my dressing-gown, hoping 
 to pacify the disturbance ; and addressed them, intreating 
 indulgence. 
 
 They threatened ; for they saw the state of terror to 
 which I was reduced. From arrest, my husband was 
 secured as a member of Parliament. But they talked of 
 an execution, in a tone intended to reach the ear of the 
 victim. 
 
 A happy thought struck me. I hastened to place in 
 the hands of the roughest of my menacers, the valuable 
 set of pearls presented to me on my marriage by my father, 
 as well as every other trinket in my possession. 
 
 “I do not want these ^ — I want my money,” said the 
 man, softened or ashamed. ‘‘Every honest tradesman 
 wants his money. I have a family of my own to whom I 
 must do justice. But, since you seem desirous to see me 
 righted, promise me on your own account that my claim 
 shall be paid at Christmas, and I will desist from legal 
 proceedings.” 
 
 Christmas was still a month distant; — I promised, and 
 my word was accepted. — I accompanied the men to the 
 street-door. — I longed to see them quit the house, and 
 assure myself that no danger of further interruption 
 existed. All the pride of Lizzy of Spetchingiey was past 
 
198 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 and forgotten. Willingly would I have sat all day upon 
 the door-steps, to have insured unmolested tranquillity 
 to ritzirnham. 
 
 Eut measures for immediate relief were indispensable. 
 My husband lay insensible on what was likely to be his 
 death-bed ; and I had not ten guineas in the house to 
 meet the exigencies of the moment ! — Tradesmen were 
 clamorous ; servants insolent. My pledge to my husband 
 to refrain from applying to my family, extended only to 
 my brothers and sisters, and Lady Lavinia. There had 
 been no mention of Algernon— Algernon, whom at any 
 other time I should have shrunk from addressing. But, 
 with a dying husband before my eyes, how could I 
 hesitate ? 
 
 A fortnight, however, must elapse, before I could 
 receive an answer to the letter. Eor that period, I 
 trusted I was safe ; and it was no small comfort when, in 
 the course of the following evening, Fitzirnham in waking 
 from a long and refreshing sleep, appeared completely 
 sensible. 
 
 “It is strange,” whispered he, after having taken a 
 sedative from my hands, “ but throughout this long sleep, 
 I seem to have retrograded into the past. I have lived 
 over again that dreadful interview with the Duke of 
 Bochester, — written over again that frantic letter of accu- 
 sation against the Duchess ; — and again seemed to quit 
 his presence, and set off for the north, to seek at Yere 
 Court the old servant who, he told me, w^as his confidant 
 and my mother’s. But a moment ago, I fancied myself 
 once more overtaken on the road by Algernon Bawborne, 
 and brought back to London, — to< Bochester House, — 
 to the inquest, — that my presence might free me from the 
 imputation of murder. My heart still thrills within me, 
 Lizzy, as it did when your cousin unfolded that accursed 
 history. — Poor Algernon! — What a friend! — What a 
 man ! — How few such in the world ! — And we are fated 
 to see his face no more !” 
 
 There was a mournful intonation in Fitzirnham’s 
 voice, which, united w ith the consciousness of my recent 
 communication with Algernon, rendered it impossible 
 to reply. 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 199 
 
 “ Lizzy,” he continued, gently taking my hand in his, 
 and turning upon me those eyes whose wistful expression 
 still haunts my remembrance, — “ when I am gone, you 
 will marry your cousin. — Yes, dearest ! Make no dis- 
 avowal, — no rash vows ! — I will not hear them, I will not 
 receive them. — You will marry Algernon, and be happy. 
 Happiness, dearly as I have loved you, was not for us. Hap- 
 piness is incompatible with poverty. Erom the day of our 
 marriage, my thoughts have been of gain, — of thrift : not 
 for my own sake, dear wife, but yours. For this, I have 
 often neglected your society, — have renounced the warm- 
 est inclinations of my heart, — have sacrificed my time, — 
 have withered my constitution. And how has it all 
 availed? — What place in society have I been able to 
 assign to her who ought to have been its queen? — My 
 sweet wife ! it is the sense of these mortifications which 
 has undone me, — by making my bread bitter and my 
 pillow sleepless. And now I die, — still young, — the pro- 
 mises of the world unfulfilled, — the Civic crown almost 
 within my grasp ; — knowing that with another you will 
 taste those sweets of prosperity which to me it was denied 
 to afibrd you.” 
 
 ‘‘And who will ever make so vast a sacrifice for my 
 sake,” cried I, “ as he who refused the benefits of the 
 Duke of Rochester when offered as a bribe for the renun- 
 ciation of my hand !” — 
 
 “ Say rather, who sacrificed his father to vindicate your 
 honour,” murmured the feeble sufferer. “ Lizzy! I better 
 estimate now the feelings of a husband. — I should not 
 now have courage to redress even your fair fame at such 
 a cost ! — I knew not then that there was death in such 
 revelations 1” 
 
 “Not another word,” said I, laying my hand upon his 
 J-ips. “I have Warren’s orders that there shall be no 
 agitation in the sick-room he has placed under my control. 
 I remain here this night by your side, only on condition 
 that you recur to no afflicting reminiscences.” 
 
 “Have I anything more cheering in prospect was 
 his reply. “ Death is drawing near. Yet near as it is, 
 fearful troubles may intervene. To-morrow may bring 
 sheriffs’ officers into the house. — Lizzy, — help me to 
 
200 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 rise, — help me to draw my writing-table to the fire. — 
 I am strong enough to work — I — ” 
 
 And, in attempting only to raise himself from his 
 pillow, he fell back, exhausted. 
 
 “ Grive me something to support me, dearest !” said he. 
 
 Grive me opium. — I have had recourse to it before, when 
 my anguish became insupportable. 
 
 “ You will never have it from me^'* said I, pressing his 
 fevered hand to my bosom, and bathing it with tears. 
 “ You must rest. It is night, Yitzirnham. — All the world 
 is asleep. — Why should you, an ailing, sufiering man, 
 exempt yourself from the general blessing ?” — 
 
 “ Because in my labour abides your life ! My funds are 
 exhausted. — I have no money for you, Lizzy — I have — ” 
 
 “ Be calm, — be calm !” said I, almost frantic with 
 terror at witnessing his excitement. “All is well. I 
 have money. — I own it with shame, I have been a 
 hoarder. — I have enough for all our present needs. 
 
 “ God be thanked !” ejaculated Bitzirnham, faintly, 
 while the tears rolled slowly down his wan cheeks. 
 “Then in peace of conscience, I may enjoy a night’s 
 sleep.” And, in less than half an hour, his feeble head 
 was lying on my arm, absorbed in profound repose. — Oh ! 
 how I gloried in the success of my first bold breach of 
 truth ! 
 
 When Warren visited him the following day, his keener 
 eye discerned no subject for gratulation in the altered 
 aspect of his patient ; and, taking me aside, he bad me, 
 if Bitzirnham had any affairs needing arrangement, to 
 lose no time in providing him with professional assistance. 
 
 “He must die, then ?” said I, pouring my whole soul 
 into the glance I fixed upon the face of him in whose 
 hands was my destiny. 
 
 “ His danger, I confess, is imminent. — The change 
 must be visible to yourself?” 
 
 “ But must he die ? — Ho not trifle with me, — do not 
 measure your expressions ! — When my child was expiring, 
 you and others strove to cheer me to the last moment 
 with flattering promises. Do not deceive me now I — 
 Answer me, Doctor. Look me in the face and answer 
 me, — will he die 
 
MEMOIES OF A FEEEESS. 
 
 201 
 
 He loill /’* replied the good man, folding my hands 
 in his. — “ But on yourself depends the mode and moment 
 of the event. Exercise all your self-command; or the 
 sight of such uncontrolled sorrow as I am now witnessing, 
 will hasten the event, and embitter the last moments you 
 have to spend together.” 
 
 They were measured then, those moments, — I dared 
 not inquire to how limited a span ! 
 
 “Lizzy!” murmured Eitzirnham, when I hastened to 
 him, after Warren’s departure, “let not professional 
 plausibilities deceive you. If they tell you, as they do 
 me, that I am better, they do you wrong. — Be not mis- 
 taken. I have not many days to live.” 
 
 “You say this only to exercise your tyranny over my 
 feelings,” said I, endeavouring to smile. “ But you 
 shall not alarm me, dearest, when there are no grounds 
 for alarm.” While I spoke thus cheerfully, however, my 
 eyes fell upon his face ; and his saddened expression struck 
 me with such anguish, that I had scarcely time to escape 
 from the room to stifle my sobs. I came back, to watch 
 by him — to tell him the hour of the night which again 
 and again he demanded, — not with peevishness, not with 
 weariness, — but with the deep consciousness that the 
 moments were passing from us, — our moments ! — Within 
 a few short hours, he would be beyond the reach of 
 human suffering, — and I — a grieving widow, — helpless, 
 lonely, — desolate ! — 
 
 “Morning at last!” — he faltered, when the cold gray 
 straggling light of a winter’s day broke into his chamber. 
 “ How cheerless, — how dreary ! — I had always wished to 
 part from the world in summer ; — to take my last view of 
 it with a smile upon its face. — I hoped that in every 
 returning season of ffowers and sunshine, my friends 
 would be reminded of my departure. But even this, 
 Lizzy, is denied me. When the cheerless winter comes 
 again, you will say — It was thus the wind howled, — 
 thus cold, — thus desolate was the weather, when he died ! — 
 Ho not weep, my own love ! — Ho not weep, wife, whom I 
 would fain have made happy, — rich, — great! — Could I 
 have survived but one short year, Lizzy, — nay, but a few 
 months, I might have bequeathed you an honourable 
 
202 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 memory. But I have laboured in vain. — I shall have 
 lived only to be forgotten. — No I precious love, bid 
 me not be silent. I speak now, — now, at the 
 
 eleventh hour preceding the everlasting midnight of the 
 grave.” — 
 
 But, alas ! nature’s admonishments were sterner than 
 mine. Exhaustion soon repressed the ramblings of fever. 
 It was not till after a long gasping pause that he added, 
 in a solemn tone — Gron is merciful, dear wife. Gon 
 deals not with his creatures as they deal with each 
 other. — Deep are my self-accusations, — of wasted hours, — 
 talents unimproved, — means wantonly squandered that 
 should have ministered to the good of my fellow-creatures. 
 — Yet great as are these offences, greater still is my 
 reliance on the patience and long-suffering of the Almighty. 
 — My feet that have been wandering by the wayside, 
 will find rest at last 1” — 
 
 I pressed his cold hand to my eyes, — my heart 
 
 “ The struggle of parting life may be a hard one,” 
 he added in a still fainter voice. ‘‘ Mortal anguish may 
 overcome me. But console yourself hereafter with the 
 knowledge that my sufferings were of the flesh ; and that 
 hope and reverence are in my soul !” 
 
 I seized the opportunity to suggest the attendance of 
 abler and more authorised comforters than myself— 
 He looked earnestly and in silence upon me for some 
 minutes, as if studying the motives of my request, or 
 perhaps examining his own state of worthiness to receive 
 spiritual comfort. But, at that moment, a strange voice 
 sounded indistinctly from below ; and, trembling lest it 
 should meet his ear, I summoned his usual attendant, 
 and hastily quitted the room. 
 
 Yes, — it was as I feared ! — In the hall was a lawyer’s 
 clerk, struggling with the servant for admittance, and 
 insisting on an interview with Mr. Eitzirnham. 
 
 “ You cannot see him to-day,” said I, striving to 
 appear composed, lest he should suspect the urgency of 
 the case and become more peremptory. — Mr. Eitzirnham 
 is seriously ill.” 
 
 ‘‘The more necessary that I should speak to him 
 directly,” cried the man, raising his voice. 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 203 
 
 “ Impossible !” said I. The physicians have forbidden 
 him to enter into any kind of business.” 
 
 “ There are some sorts of business that must take their 
 course, in spite of the doctors !” cried the clerk, evidently 
 misled by my disordered dress and haggard looks, into 
 mistaking me for a servant. ‘‘ So just step up to your 
 master, and tell him without preamble that — ” 
 
 “ Hush, hush ! — Lower, I intreat you !” cried I ; — 
 ‘‘Mr. Eitzirnham will hear you.”— 
 
 “The sooner the better. Ho need of keeping my 
 business a secret,” he exclaimed, in a still louder key. — 
 “ Let the whole house hear me.” 
 
 A bell rang violently in the room above. 
 
 “ I beseech, — I implore you,” said I, “be patient ! All 
 I ask is that Mr. Eitzirnham’s last moments may not be 
 disturbed, — you shall have all of which we are possessed.” 
 
 “ Do I speak, then, to Mrs. Eitzirnham ?” demanded 
 the man, removing his hat. 
 
 “You do. — Fray do not detain me!” cried I, — for as 
 I opened the dining-room to admit him to a more con- 
 fidential interview, the bell of Eitzirnham’s room was 
 again and still more violently rung. “ I will give up all 
 my rights, — you shall have everything. — Only quit the 
 house, and let me go to my dying husband.” 
 
 “You mistake me. Madam, altogether,” replied the 
 young man, now assuming a respectful tone, while his 
 face betrayed extreme emotion. “I am employed by 
 Mr. Eitzirnham’s solicitors to acquaint him, that an 
 ulterior will of the late Duke of Rochester has come to 
 light, fully establishing his claim to a legacy of thirty 
 thousand pounds. We are instructed by Lord Hugh 
 de Yere, to apprise our client that he is prepared as 
 executor to — ” 
 
 I heard no more. — Again, the bell rung furiously. — 
 The servant, who had already rushed up stairs to answer 
 the summons of the nurse, met me with a look of dismay 
 on the landing-place. A strong smell of vinegar struck 
 me as I entered the room. The servants were busy 
 round the bed. — The sheets were stained with blood ! — 
 
 “ G-ently, gently. Eaise his head, — give him air!” 
 were the first words that met my ear. “ How could you 
 
204 
 
 MEMOIUS OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 let that noise keep on below ! — It was in the agitation of 
 trying to follow my mistress that he burst the blood- 
 vessel !” exclaimed the nurse. 
 
 I staggered to the bedside. Pitzirnham’s eyes were 
 fixed, — but he was still sensible. — He knew me as I fell 
 on my knees by his bedside, and prayed aloud. 
 
 But it was a look of distress, — of despair with which he 
 recognised me. I had no thought then to tell him of our 
 change of fortunes. His soul was departing. He felt 
 that he was leaving me, — leaving me to tro\}b\e-—to want ! 
 
 — One deep — deep sigh 
 
 “ GoneV cried I, almost maddened when I saw the 
 nurse, with an unmoved countenance, close those eyes, — 
 those eyes of tenderness and love. — “ Oh ! no — not, not 
 gone, — not gone now that our troubles are over ! — Come 
 back to me, — my companion, my friend, — my husband ! — 
 Listen to me, — hear me!” — 
 
 But he heard me not, — he was never to hear me more. 
 And, throwing myself beside him, I clung convulsively to 
 the form no longer conscious of my anguish, — my endear-c 
 ments, — my despair ! — 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 For some time, total insensibility afforded a relief to my 
 sufferings. But consciousness came at last, — and I was 
 alone — alone in the world 1 — It was already night ; for in 
 the room in which I had been placed, lights were burning, 
 A vague idea beset my bewildered mind, of duties to be 
 fulfilled, — of orders to be given. — But I had been fore- 
 stalled. — Ere I could rise, a stranger entered my room ; — 
 a stranger of grave aspect, who had installed himself with 
 authority under my roof. And, as he approached and the 
 light fell on his distorted form and benignant countenance, 
 I recognised — Lord Hugh de Vere ! — 
 
 I should have been in this house before. But it is 
 
HEMOmS OE A PEEEvESS. 
 
 205 
 
 not too late to atone my fault,” said he, taking me ten- 
 derly by the hand. “ On learning from the person who 
 visited you this morning the fate of my brother’s son, I 
 remembered, amid many unavailing regrets, that there yet 
 survived one who was dear to him, to whom justice might 
 be rendered. I am here, my dear Mrs. Titzirnham, to 
 fulfil your orders. — Tell me ! how can I assist you ?” 
 
 “ Let me go to him, — I want to look on him again !” 
 was all I could reply. 
 
 ‘‘ You are not yet strong enough for such an effort 1” 
 
 “ I am, I am — I must look on him again !” I repeated, — 
 wringing my hands when it occurred to me that officious 
 friends might have already rendered it impossible. 
 
 Compose yourself, and you shall see him,” replied 
 Lord Hugh ; and, supporting me with the tenderness of 
 a father, he led me into the cold, silent chamber, set forth 
 in the fearful array of death. I did not weep a single tear. 
 I did not utter a single cry. I felt not as if approaching 
 the husband I loved ! — I was in the presence of the sancti- 
 fied, the immortal ! — I removed the sheet ; and, not daring 
 to look upon the face of the dead, took into my bosom that 
 hand, — that cold, listless hand of clay, whose fervent clasp 
 had been so dearly mine ; — that hand which had so truly 
 redeemed every pledge offered at the altar, — which had 
 sustained me, — laboured for me. — JN: o ! oh, no ! — I cannot 
 write of this ! — 
 
 I laid down my head at his feet! — It was not mere 
 affection that thrilled through my soul ; it was veneration 
 — a more than religious reverence. Lord Hugh, terrified 
 by my silence, at length approached the bed. 
 
 “ Lear not to look upon him,” said he, gently removing 
 the handkerchief from those beloved features, in the hope 
 of drawing forth my tears. But on the first glance, a 
 shriek burst from my bosom. That cold, calm, passion- 
 less face, so changed from the bright, vivid countenance 
 of my beloved, seemed to apprise me for the first time 
 that he was lost to me for ever 1 
 
 “ Look 1” cried I, wildly snatching the hand of Lord 
 Hugh. “ Look at that tranquil smile, — that happy smile. 
 Yet he died in distress, — he died in despair, yes 1 in 
 despair ; harassed by creditors, — threatened with want — 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 206 
 
 disowned by tlie- family of bis father. And now you come 
 to relent over his remains !” 
 
 “ The hand of Gron hath been in this !” said Lord Hugh 
 in a solemn voice. “ But yesterday did the last letter of 
 my brother come to light, unmasking the intrigues of the 
 Duchess, — proclaiming the illegitimacy of the child she 
 was to bring forth, — securing a provision for your husband, 
 and commanding me to undertake towards him the part 
 of a father. Alas ! it was already too late. — God hath 
 done this ; — even that jealous God, who willeth not that 
 the marriage-vows spoken at his holy altar, shall be spoken 
 in vain !” 
 
 ^Hs this a place to speak of such things ?” I murmured; — 
 as if allusion to this hateful subject might yet impart a 
 pang to Bitzirnham ! 
 
 The first question referred to me by Lord Hugh de Vere, 
 regarded the place of sepulture of his nephew. 
 
 If it would afford you satisfaction to have him lie with 
 the De Veres,” he began — 
 
 ‘‘ Never 1” was my reply. While he yet lived, their 
 affection would have sustained him. It would provoke 
 idle inquiries were they now to extend their arms to 
 welcome a corpse.” 
 
 A testamentary paper was found in his desk, bequeath- 
 ing all and everything he possessed to myself — even the 
 choice of his grave ! I recollected that, at a time when 
 we were so poor that the concession was great, he had 
 acceded to my request that our infant should be laid at 
 Spetchingley : and thither, I now desired he might be car- 
 ried. I could not have borne that Eitzirnham should be 
 buried in London, where there is so little deference for 
 the dead. Lord Hugh insisted on bearing me company 
 in the mournful ceremony ; and, in frost and snow, on a 
 stormy night in January, we reached the old Hall, where 
 the funeral train was to rest for the night ; the desolate, 
 deserted Hall, now only too aptly fitted for so melancholy a 
 purpose. 
 
 What a returnhome! — What a welcome to Spetchingley ! 
 — I had so often anticipated with Eitzirnham the day when 
 we should visit the place together, and explore the beloved 
 haunts of my youth ! — And now, all was over ! — I had 
 
memoieSkOF a peeeess. 207 
 
 brought down my husband to Spetchingley ; but it was 
 to lay him in the sepulchre of my fathers ! 
 
 They placed the coffin in the great drawing-room, — the 
 room where, in my happy childhood, I had played at my 
 mother’s feet. And now I was kneeling there, a widow, 
 beside the coffin of my husband ! 
 
 In that gloomy hour, my heart was not as it should have 
 been. There was nothing humble, — nothing submissive in 
 my grief. I arraigned the goodness of Gron. I felt that 
 we had been hardly dealt with. Titzirnham, so good — so 
 noble, — so fitted to be an ornament to human nature, had 
 been tortured into the grave, and mocked with riches 
 showered on his senseless remains. All he had suffered 
 — all he had resigned — all he had deserved, recurred to 
 my mind ; and bitterness and upbraiding mingled with my 
 widow’s tears. 
 
 I watched all night. — The morning came, that was to 
 lay him in the grave. — I went down into the vault. I 
 chose a place for him beside our babe, at the feet of my 
 mother. — I knelt down and said farewell, — and left him 
 there, — and went back into the breathing world alone, — 
 alone, — alone ! — 
 
 How was it all ? — I seem to struggle with my recollec- 
 tions* — I have an indistinct consciousness that three 
 persons descended into the vault : the widow, — Lord Hugh 
 who attended as chief mourner, — and Hichard Mordaunt, 
 the priest who officiated in the last rites. But there was 
 a fourth, whose arm sustained me in ascending those dark 
 damp steps, — one who, enfolded in a mourning cloak, had 
 stood listening overwhelmed with sorrow, to the solemn 
 service. 
 
 No matter! — Whose presence or whose absence could 
 grieve or afflict me now ? Sis voice was silenced. — Sis 
 smile was darkened. Sis bright aspirings were extin- 
 guished 1 — I had nothing left to love or live for. I was 
 solitary on the face of the earth ! — 
 
208 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX* 
 
 Eive years passed slowly away, and I was still a widow, 
 — a widow of six-and-twenty years by computation of 
 time, — of sixty, by tale of sorrow and suffering. Eicb 
 beyond my desires, not a member of my family but was 
 basking in the sunshine of prosperity. 
 
 To my desolate home in Chesterfield Street, Lord 
 Hugh de Vere never permitted me to return. He took 
 me to his house and home, as his adopted daughter ; and 
 even bestowed upon me by legal right, as his heiress, the 
 name of He Vere. 
 
 ‘‘You are weary of the follies jof the world,” said he, 
 when, after a month’s sojourn at Penderels, I talked of 
 returning to town. “ Like the dove of Scripture, you 
 have sought rest for your foot, and found none. But if 
 seclusion and the dulness of a valetudinarian’s life do 
 not alarm you, remain at Penderels, and comfort the 
 remnant of my days, as it was my hope your husband 
 would have done.” 
 
 Lord Hugh had other motives than those of mere 
 humanity for desiring my society. The documents left 
 by the late Duke, though adequate to establish in the 
 mind of his brother all they tended to assert, were insuffi- 
 cient for any legal purpose. A jury had recorded, that 
 the Duke was suffering under mental derangement at 
 the period of writing his testamentary letter. It was 
 thus finally invalidated. But the case was sufficiently 
 strong to admit of being placed at the disposal of a court 
 of law ; and the Duchess, rather than venture the 
 exposure, submitted to a compromise. To preserve her 
 son from disinheritance, she consented that her daughters 
 should pass six months of the year under the roof of their 
 uncle, who clung with feelings of the deepest tenderness 
 to all that remained of his brother. 
 
 And thus, while it was important to secure as a com- 
 panion, fitted to preside over the society of his nieces, 
 
MEMOIKS OF A PEEUESS. 
 
 209 
 
 one against whom the Duchess could raise no personal 
 objection, their annual visit to Penderels became to 
 myself a source of the deepest enjoyment. Dor I 
 cherished in those lovely girls at once the nieces of my 
 mother, and the sisters of Fitzirnham. 
 
 Into the presence of Lord Hugh, the Duchess never 
 dreamed of intruding. She was too much in his power 
 to provoke animosity which might precipitate her in a 
 moment from her high place in society. The same feel- 
 ings which had brought her a suppliant to my feet while 
 the inquest on the Duke of Rochester was pending, ren- 
 dered her subservient to the wishes of her brother-in-law. 
 She had spared neither threat nor entreaty to obtain 
 possession of the letter removed by one of his foreign 
 domestics from the library of the Duke, in the confusion 
 following the discovery of his dreadful end. But the 
 man chose to make sure the payment of his annuity, (the 
 only bribe in the power of her Grace to bestow,) by 
 retaining possession of the document ; and, having dis- 
 covered that she was taking measures to effect his re- 
 moval from England through the Alien Office, he threw 
 himself into the hands of Lord Hugh de Yere, to whom 
 he supposed the secret as important as to the Duchess. 
 
 Had the dispute between these worthy confederates 
 occurred only a few months earlier, the discovery of their 
 treachery might have been the means of preserving the 
 life of Fitzirnham ! But his destiny was otherwise ap- 
 pointed. Fortune and fame alike eluded his grasp. 
 Hastings’s trial, which occurred scarcely two months after 
 his death, presented opportunities of distinction which 
 would have immortalised his name ; and the laurels 
 gathered by Burke and Sheridan, had their root in the 
 labours of Fitzirnham. 
 
 “ Behold the fruit of his vigils , — his researches !” said 
 I, while reading aloud to Lord Hugh the details of that 
 memorable trial ; — and how would the brilliancy of 
 Sheridan and energy of Burke have been surpassed, had 
 the voice, long silent, been uplifted in this mighty cause !” 
 
 I have now reached an epoch of my life which renewed, 
 in the death of my benefactor, my earlier grief. Lord 
 Hugh expired in all the sanctity of a Christian vocation ; 
 
 P 
 
210 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS, 
 
 grateful for the happiness I had bestowed on his declin- 
 ing years, and bequeathing to me, with the estate of 
 Penderels and his whole fortune, a recommendation to 
 the Duchess of Rochester to place her daughters as 
 much as possible under my protection. And thus, at 
 six-and-twenty, I became rich and independent ; and in 
 Mrs. De Vere of Penderels, no trace remained of Lizzy 
 Mordaunt, — still less of Mrs. Fitzirnham. In the one 
 character, I had been self-engrossed, — in the other, en- 
 grossed by tender affection. I was now estranged even 
 from myself, by feelings of misanthropic bitterness. I 
 despised the world which bowed at the feet of a Duchess 
 of Pochester. I despised the world which had suffered 
 such a man as Fitzirnham to pass away undistinguished. 
 The splendid mansions of her Grace were still the re- 
 sort of the fashionable, the wise, the witty ; and from 
 Isabella and Helena De Yere I found that, still beauti- 
 ful and holding high ascendancy in society, her Grace 
 was surrounded by admirers. The young Duke, just 
 entering his eighth year, was under the care of a private 
 tutor ; wFile the two elder girls shared with their mother 
 the homage of the fashionable w^orld. Adeline, Susan, 
 and Maria, still in the school-room, were my frequent 
 guests at Penderels. 
 
 But, important as were the changes effected in the 
 immediate circle of my family, those of public life had 
 assumed a far more remarkable character. France was 
 now a Pepublic, and the Prince of Wales, a married 
 man; while England — to borrow the expression of the 
 Indian Chief of the Creek nation in his palaver with Mr. 
 Panton — had for years been in confusion and distress, 
 occasioned by had talks sent into it^"^ 
 
 I have lived through momentous epochs of History. 
 I have seen Crowms rise and fall in value, like public 
 securities or foreign speculations ; and now, sitting with 
 my cat on my knee, and my silver hairs gathered under 
 my dowager’s coif, I begin to trace effects to their 
 causes ; bringing to mind the Eight Divine degraded in 
 the eyes of nations by the physical infirmity of one sove- 
 reign and the moral frailty of another ; by the humilia- 
 tion of Windsor Castle, the orgies of Carlton House; the 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 211 
 
 levity of Versailles, and the despotism of the Tuileries. 
 But, at the period I write of, it was the fashion to ascribe 
 the revolutionary tendencies of the day to the sanguinary 
 impulses of the French nation. All England, — all 
 Europe, — united against a government whose ends were 
 compassable only by means so ghastly. The patrician 
 world was in a state of dismay ; for the marble tramp 
 of the spectre, Eetribution, was heard approaching its 
 banquet-hall ! 
 
 The Carlton House party had been the first to dissolve. 
 If its politics were liberal, its tendencies were undeniably 
 aristocratic; and to these, the energetic eloquence of 
 Burke so strongly appealed, that thenceforward it seemed 
 to argue want of chivalry to remain on the popular side. 
 
 ‘‘ Edmund was right to desert to the royal standard,” 
 said Charles Eox, adverting, some years afterwards, to 
 Burke’s change of opinion. “ Such was his tendency to 
 extremes, that had he remained with the people, he 
 would have never rested till he was hanged.” 
 
 Soon afterwards, the opening of the Scheldt affording 
 pretext for a national quarrel, the Duke of York was 
 dispatched with an army into Holland ; Lord Moira 
 having previously attempted his Quixotic expedition to 
 the coast of France. But all ended ill ; and, with the 
 exception of Lord Howe’s glorious victory of the first of 
 June, British valour had little to boast of. 
 
 When the close of my mourning re-opened the gates 
 of Penderels to those guests especially recommended to 
 my friendship by its late lord, the general topic of con- 
 versation was the new Princess of Wales ; who, wedded 
 at Brunswick by the Earl of Malmesbury as proxy for 
 the Prince, was expected in England for the re-solemni- 
 sation of her nuptials. Even by those whom the interests 
 of the succession rendered eager for the match, (the 
 union of the Duke and Duchess of York having proved 
 heirless,) a small measure of domestic happiness was 
 predicted to the young Princess of Brunswick. An 
 attachment for an ofdcer of high rank belonging to the 
 household of the Duke her father, had induced, her to 
 refuse the hand of the Hereditary Prince, afterwards 
 King of Prussia; and, though parental authority and 
 
212 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 the reported merits and attractions of her cousin the 
 Prince of Wales at length surmounted her repugnance 
 to an English throne, little good was expected from an 
 alliance commencing under such evil auspices. 
 
 The eclat with which, in my girlhood, the Prince was 
 surrounded, had long been tarnished. The transfer of 
 his political confidence from Fox to the heavy, feeble 
 Duke of Portland, — his ostracism from the sporting 
 world, — and the mercurial nature of his attachments, 
 dissipated all 'prestige of chivalry and romance. Pie 
 stood before the tribunal of society as a prince starved 
 into matrimony ; — wedding, against his will and against 
 his judgment, to secure payment for his debts and the 
 means of further extravagance. Even the elements 
 seemed to oppose this Brunswick alliance. Admiral 
 Payne, who had sailed for the Elbe to receive the royal 
 bride, remained fog-bound on the coast. 
 
 It was in the interval between the marriage of the 
 Princess and her arrival in England, that I was myself 
 summoned to take my part in a family event, far more in- 
 teresting to my feelings. Harry Mordaunt and his wife had 
 been some months settled in England, summoned from 
 Naples by the sudden demise of Lady Lavinia, which 
 placed them in enjoyment of the greater part of her 
 fortune ; Lavinia Shanstone having offended her mother by 
 a match with a Jacobite laird of the Eoman Catholic per- 
 suasion. Thus raised to opulence, my brother had obtained 
 my father’s permission to become his tenant at Spetch- 
 ingley ; and it was Harry’s wish that the whole Mordaunt 
 family should be re-united under his roof, in honour of 
 this installation. The Ailesforts, and Sir Charles and Lady 
 Doth esbury, with their infant families, — Captain Mordaunt 
 and his new epaulettes, — Pichard, the portly prebendary, 
 
 ' — and my solitary self, — were to be once more gathered 
 together. It was, I concluded, in deference to my father’s 
 reluctance to see his son take possession of his birth-right 
 during his lifetime, that I heard no mention of his name 
 or that of Mrs. Mordaunt. 
 
 Every year since the death of my husband, I had 
 devoted some days to a pilgrimage to his grave, so that 
 the immediate impression of my melancholy journey was 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 213 
 
 in some degree subsiding. I had even found leisure to 
 note with grief, year after year, the dilapidation produced 
 by the prolonged absence of the owners. It was now 
 eight years since the old hall was abandoned by the 
 family ; during which, immediate profit had formed the 
 sole object of the trustees ; and the ornamental department 
 was suffered to run to ruin. The summer preceding Lord 
 Hugh’s decease, I visited Spetchingley at a moment when 
 the gardens were in all their exuberance of summer 
 blossom ; when the lime-trees of the old avenues drooped 
 their unpruned branches on the damp road ; when the 
 gum-cistus shrubs, in showering bloom, obscured the win- 
 dows of the sitting-rooms; and the jessamine and passion- 
 flower, which overgrew the old-fashioned western front, 
 straggling forth in all directions, imparted to the house, 
 at a distance, the air of some sylvan monster. Yet the 
 fruit-gardens, as a source of gain, were in perfect order ! 
 
 These neglects must of course have been remedied since 
 the return of my brother ; and as it was winter I could no 
 longer expect to see entanglements of roses connecting 
 the walks into labyrinths. Yet, I confess, I was startled 
 on beholding a new and handsome lodge in place of the 
 decaying tenement I had left ; and on driving to the hall- 
 door, to perceive that the mansion had undergone complete 
 reparation, subject to the ancient Elizabethan style of the 
 original structure. 
 
 'Within, every step increased my delight and surprise. 
 In the hall, beautiful windows of stained glass, perpetu- 
 ating the armorial bearings of the family, were substituted 
 for the narrow panes. The family pictures had been 
 cleaned and restored; and the whole house, (with the 
 exception of the sacred room known as Lady Betty’s,) 
 handsomely and appropriately re-furnished. In one small 
 gallery, my brother had collected portraits of the whole 
 surviving Mor daunt family : among others, Sherwin’s 
 sketch of Diana, representing the giddy Mrs. Eitzirnham ! 
 
 Clara, accompanied by her two handsome boys, met me 
 with a smiling countenance in the hall. “ Should you 
 find anything to disapprove in the changes and improve- 
 ments at Spetchingley,” said she, ‘‘tell it me, dear Lizzy, 
 when we are alone, and I will see whether it can be 
 
214 MEMOIES or A PEERESS. 
 
 remodelled. But do not mortify Harry by a word of 
 censure. For months past, his whole soul has been en- 
 gaged in completing the restoration of the place ; and it 
 would grieve him that even the smallest of his arrange- 
 ments gave offence in the family.” 
 
 It was easy to promise compliance, for fastidious indeed 
 must have been the taste that could raise objections. 
 Spetchingley now presented the perfect type of an old 
 English mansion-house, modernised to the utmost luxury 
 of comfort. My two sisters accompanied us in our tour 
 of the house; and there was only one small suite of rooms 
 situated in what we used to call the nursery-wing, that 
 was closed against our scrutiny. 
 
 “Harry has the key of those rooms,” said my sister- 
 in-law. “ But they contain only old furniture.” 
 
 It was the last night of the year ; and though tired by 
 our journey, we sat round the lire till a late hour, laughing 
 and chatting ; rallying my brother Alfred on his travel- 
 lers’ wonders and thrice-told tale of the miracles of the 
 first of June; and Sir Charles and Lady Bothesbury, 
 whose marriage was of scarcely a year’s date, upon the 
 long continuance of their honey-moon. On separating 
 for the night, Harry made it his request, that we should 
 meet him by ten o’clock at the breakfast table, to welcome 
 in the new year. 
 
 Boused at an early hour by the cheerful village bells, 
 — proclaiming the dawn of a new year, so auspicious to 
 Spetchingley, I observed, in looking out into the park, 
 that there were more passengers, on foot and horseback, 
 than even the privileged season of hospitality seemed to 
 warrant ; and felt persuaded that something unusual was 
 going on. Having dressed in haste to be down and 
 questioning among the rest, from the window of the great 
 stairs a spectacle of a novel kind struck me with amaze- 
 ment. Nearly a hundred decently dressed persons were 
 drawn up on either side of the gates of the court-yard, 
 with boughs of holly in their hands; and as I stood 
 wondering at so much ceremony, two horsemen rode up, 
 and took their station at the same point. Beyond, as far 
 as my eye could reach, extended a line of mounted yeomen, 
 through which I saw advancing, a carriage-and-four, the 
 
MEMOmS or A PEEEESS. 
 
 215 
 
 postilions of whicli wore the livery of my family. A loud 
 liuzza instantly burst from the assembled crowd ; and 
 boughs, and hats, and handkerchiefs were waved, with 
 cries of ‘‘Welcome back! — AVelcome back!” — “Long 
 live ’Squire Mordaunt of Spetchingley 1” — 
 
 I flew down to the hall, where my brothers and sisters, 
 and their children, were already waiting. All but Harry. 
 My brother had been off at day-break to Leicester, to 
 meet the old man his father, and bring him back in 
 triumph to the seat of his ancestors ; every debt discharged, 
 — every incumbrance paid off, — every arrangement made 
 for him and Mrs. Mordaunt to resume their place at the 
 head of the establishment ! 
 
 Harry and Clara were to be their guests. But in order 
 to remove every feeling of embarrassment on the part of 
 the ’Squire, my brother had accepted the appointment of 
 Minister Plenipotentiary to the court of Sardinia, which 
 he intended to hold till the venerable man felt once more 
 thoroughly at home. 
 
 Hever shall I forget the delight with which I beheld 
 my gray -headed father assisted Irom the carriage by his 
 excellent son 1 Not a stranger had been permitted to 
 enter the court-yard, that the old man’s emotions might 
 not become a spectacle to the multitude. Not even a 
 servant was in attendance. He was alone with his wife 
 and children, when he fell upon my brother’s neck, and 
 lifted up his voice and wept 1 — 
 
 I am wrong. There was one individual present, who, 
 though not a son, had done a son’s duty towards the 
 ’Squire ; and when, in visiting every corner of the old 
 mansion, my father noticed that not only Lady Betty’s 
 favourite chamber had been respected, but that a snug 
 suite of rooms in the nursery wing was fitted up with the 
 furniture from Dick Mordaunt’s cottage, while a key, 
 bearing his name and arms, marked his proprietorship of 
 the little tenement; he laid hold of Harry’s hand, with a 
 look such as must have found registry in Heaven, in 
 attestation of the virtues of my brother. 
 
 The ’Squire was soon seated in his favourite library, witli 
 Mrs. Mordaunt hanging over his chair ; his children round 
 him, and their children at his feet ; nay ! with a fine 
 
216 
 
 MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 Snyders-lookiDg hound extended on the hearthrug, who 
 answered to the name of her grandam, “ Ladybird.” There 
 was young Harry Mor daunt and young Algernon Mo r daunt, 
 and little Lord Clareville with his sister Lady Elizabeth 
 Ailesfort — and a babe in a flowing mantle which Lady 
 Eothesbury’s anxious face plainly pointed out as her own. 
 
 The reverend Eichard was making a long set speech of 
 compliment to his brother, garnished with quotations; 
 while Harry’s happy eyes wandered ever and anon to 
 Clara, who looked beautiful with the beauty of perfect 
 happiness, — perfect goodness! 
 
 I alone stood somewhat behind the rest. I rejoiced 
 indeed with their but mine was imperfect, /had no 
 child to present for my father’s blessing, and to inherit the 
 virtues of such a race. He whose hand should have been 
 in mine, even as those of the rest were clasped together, 
 was in the cold chancel whose lofty tower was seen 
 through the opening vista ; and tears of bitterness started 
 to my eyes at the thought of my lost Eitzirnham. 
 
 “Lizzy!” cried the old man, missing me, — in the fond 
 fatherly voice of other years, — “ Where is Lizzy ?” 
 
 I threw myself into his arms. 
 
 “Lizzy!” faltered my father in his now broken voice, 
 while a tear fell from his withered cheek upon my own. 
 “ Lady Betty would have been a happy woman had she 
 lived to see this day ; — a proud woman — a happy woman. 
 But good mothers make good children!” 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 Hekrt and his wife were to pass two months in London 
 previous to their departure for Italy ; and, at my brother’s 
 desire, I took this opportunity of leaving Penderels to 
 undergo those repairs which the long indisposition of 
 Lord Hugh had procrastinated, and engaged a house in 
 town for the season. Two quarters of the metropolis I 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 217 
 
 was bent upon avoiding, — the neighbourhood of Bedford 
 Square, and that of Chesterfield Street. My new abode 
 was therefore on the outskirts of London ; one of the 
 newly-built houses in Cumberland Place, near Hyde 
 Park. 
 
 It was still winter, and in the memory of man so 
 severe a season had not been recorded. The Thames was 
 frozen over. Every week brought tidings of some severe 
 disaster. Yet desolate as was the weather when I reached 
 town, I found it already full of the idle and gay; 
 awaiting the fetes which were to follow the arrival of the 
 Princess of Wales. My brother and sister had pro- 
 mised to remain at Spetchingley some weeks longer ; and 
 I experienced grievous symptoms of advancing years in 
 reviewing a circle so broken by the encroachments of 
 time. Of my former companions, the young and lovely 
 Mrs. Sheridan and her sister Mrs. Tickell were no more. 
 — The Duchess of Portland too was gone ; — Mary Monck- 
 ton had been some years married to the Earl of Cork, 
 who filled a high command in Ireland ; and there, too, 
 was settled Eitzirnham’s friend. Lord Edward Eitzgerald, 
 now the husband of Pamela, the daughter of the Duke of 
 Orleans. The Devonshire House party, recently returned 
 from the Continent, were not yet established in town for 
 the season ; and I felt, as most people feel on returning 
 to a spot after long absence, that things were miserably 
 changed. 
 
 How willingly would I have renounced the five thou- 
 sand a-year and painful reminiscences of Mrs. De Vere, 
 for the fresh, eager feelings of Lizzy Mordaunt, rebelling 
 in her attic in Jermyn Street against the thrift of Lady 
 Carleton and impertinence of Mistress Phillis ! I went to 
 visit them immediately on my arrival. But though the 
 now despotic waiting-woman shouted my name into the 
 ear of the poor infirm creature who sat rolled up by the 
 fireside, the Viscountess looked on, unrecognising, and 
 turned to that better comforter of age, — her snuff-box ! — 
 
 A few weeks, and things began to brighten. I accom- 
 panied Mrs. Mordaunt to the drawing-room to be pre- 
 sented on her departure for Italy ; and soon gathered 
 round me the butterfly-friends of former days; giddy 
 
218 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 girls transformed into sober matrons ; sober matrons 
 into artful chaperons ; artful chaperons into nodding 
 dowagers ! — 
 
 Meanwhile, the estrangement between the Duchess of 
 [Rochester and myself was a source of deep regret to my 
 brother Henry, the invariable advocate of family concord. 
 Neither he nor any other living being was aware of the 
 exact circumstances attending the death of the Duke ; 
 Lord Hugh and myself having judged it essential that 
 family secrets of such moment, should be buried in his 
 grave. Ignorant therefore of my causes of irritation, he 
 insisted that a reconciliation should take place ; and I 
 accordingly accompanied the Mordaunts to a dinner-party 
 at her Grace’s residence in Spring Gardens. 
 
 It surprised me that a person so influential and self- 
 reliant as the Duchess, should think it worth while to 
 make overtures for the acquaintance of the insignificant 
 Mrs. De Vere ; but with still greater surprise did I 
 observe the advantageous change effected in her manners 
 and appearance. No longer the fluttering affected beauty, 
 — no longer the restless woman trying to conceal her 
 frailties from her husband, — she was mild, well-bred, un- 
 pretending. The young Duke remained at Brighthelm- 
 stone under the care of a private tutor. Her beautiful 
 daughters only were around her, seeming to render her 
 more beautiful. 
 
 I a*m most happy in the prospects of my children,” 
 said the Duchess to Henry and myself, conversing with 
 us apart, and recognising, with the tact of a woman of the 
 world, my determination to banish all memory of the 
 past. “ Lady Isabella, who is to be one of the four train- 
 bearers of the Princess of Wales at the approaching cere- 
 mony, has the offer of a place as Lady of the Bedchamber ; 
 and Lady Helena has for some months been addressed by 
 the Duke of Sicignano, the Neapolitan ambassador.” 
 
 I wish her joy !” replied my brother. “ Sicignano is 
 at the head of one of the most illustrious houses in Sicily. 
 But would you consent to marry her to a foreigner ?” 
 
 I am not disposed,” replied the Duchess, gravely, ‘Go 
 oppose my daugliter’s inclinations. It is rather to Isa- 
 bella’s views I hesitate about giving my consent. She is 
 
MEMOIllS OP A PEEPESS. 
 
 219 
 
 scarcely nineteen ; and to be enfranchised at that age 
 from a mother’s authority without being placed under 
 that of a husband — ” 
 
 “ And in a court such as that of Carlton House is likely 
 to become,” I involuntarily added. 
 
 “ Have you, then, any information respecting the new 
 Princess ?” inquired my aunt. 
 
 “ Only that she is giddy and wilful,” said I. “ Sir 
 Brook Boothby, when at Brunswick on his official mission, 
 saw her swallow a billet-doux which the Duchess, her 
 mother, required her to give up.” 
 
 ‘‘ Her manners are I fear unformed, and her character 
 weak,” observed the Duchess. Such a woman is scarcely 
 likely to obtain influence over the Prince of Wales ; 
 though, alas ! as our future queen, she may afford fatal 
 lessons to the country.” 
 
 “ To do her justice,” I rejoined, “ no one can better 
 extrinsically become her station in life. I find the great 
 world sadly altered for the worse in its tone of represen- 
 tation. There is less of the swan-like dignity of my own 
 day of hoops and minuets : and Lady Augusta Clavering 
 and Lady Charlotte Campbell, in condemning us to the 
 fashion of short waists, have hazarded the loss of half 
 our triumphs. Scarcely a woman left in London pos- 
 sesses the grandes manieres d^une grande dame. Lady 
 Sutherland, the Duchess of Devonshire, and Lady 
 Elizabeth Foster, are introducing the laissez-aller of the 
 Trianon ; and all these noble emigrants — these Vaudreuils, 
 and Grrammonts, and Montmorencys, have infected us 
 with a flightiness of manner foreign to our English 
 nature. A French air sits like affectation upon us''’ 
 
 A few days more, and our curiosity was gratified. The 
 Princess Caroline, so long delayed, arrived in London, 
 and the marriage was solemnised in the Chapel Eoyal. 
 It was only natural we should beset Isabella de Vere 
 with inquiries, on her return from the ceremony. 
 
 “ In the first place — the bride 1” inquired Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt. 
 
 ‘‘ The Princess of Wales was attired in a white satin 
 train and diamond coronet, and led to the altar by the 
 young Duke of Clarence.” 
 
220 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 “ So mucli, my dear, the Court Circular informed 
 us!” interrupted Clara. “But is she pretty, — is she 
 dignified ?” 
 
 “ Pretty enough. Her manners are those of a 
 person over-anxious to please. She talks and laughs 
 too much. His Eoyal Highness seems in pain for 
 her.” 
 
 “ And the King ?” 
 
 “His Majesty appears to see in his daughter-in-law 
 only the daughter of his sister.” 
 
 “But how will the Queen, so rigid an upholder of pro- 
 priety, like this laughing, talking lady ?” inquired Lady 
 Ailesfort. “ Several of the household who went to meet 
 her at Greenwich, are whispering that, while changing 
 her dress at Sir Hugh Palliser’s, she conducted herself 
 like a giddy school-girl.” 
 
 “ Poor Princess of Wales!” ejaculated my sister-in-law. 
 “I see clearly how it will he with her. We English are 
 the most prejudiced people on earth. All that differs 
 from our experience in foreign customs, puts our delicacy 
 to the blush ; and everything passes for vulgar that is not 
 regulated by the standard of St. James’s. Here is a 
 simple, cordial-hearted German girl, come among us with 
 notions formed upon the model of her father’s homely 
 court ; who will terrify poor old Lady Charlotte Pinch, 
 and Miss Vernon, and Miss Brudenell into fits, by her 
 want of experience in the length and depth of curtseys, 
 and her habit of being glad and sorry according to the 
 dictates of nature !” 
 
 “ I fear it will prove a bad business altogether,” ob- 
 served my brother, who had joined our conference, 
 “ Government has broken faith with his Eoyal Highness 
 respecting the payment of his debts, by which he was 
 bribed into W'edlock ; and Ministers, by proposing, as ‘ A 
 new way to pay Old Debts,’ the approbation of the in- 
 creased income voted on his marriage, will reduce the 
 Heir- Apparent to beggarly expedients,[necessitatiug fur- 
 ther embarrassments.” 
 
 “ Never mind the Prince — his Eoyal Highness is strong 
 enough to take care of himself!” said Clara, laughing, 
 “il/y compassion is enlisted in the cause of the poor 
 
MEMOIUS OE A PEEEESS, 
 
 221 
 
 Princess, who has to contend against an old mistress and 
 a world of etiquettes.” 
 
 And we were all the more eager to second her sympathy 
 as Lady Isabella de Vere had already entered upon her 
 duties as Lady in Waiting. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 Amokg- the most clamorous against the parsimony exer- 
 cised by the Pitt administration in relieving the difficul- 
 ties of the Heir- Apparent, was my cousin Lord Eawborne ; 
 who, having advanced to him, on bond, considerable sums 
 of money, felt profoundly interested in the distresses of 
 his Eoyal Highness. 
 
 Susceptible of only two predilections, — love of lucre 
 and love of horseflesh, — the Earl of Eawborne was de- 
 tested at Newmarket, as a mule, bred between Scotsman 
 and Jewess ; who resorted to the turf as the only specu- 
 lation in which a nobleman can engage without forfeiture 
 of caste. But as the propensity for field-sports forms at 
 least a manly weakness, his lordship’s addiction to the 
 racing-stable came to be accounted a virtue, compared 
 with his avarice. Even with his borough-interest. Lord 
 Eawborne dealt like a broker ; nor was he ever known 
 to solicit Grovernment for friend or kinsman, lest the 
 concession should be placed to his account in the balance- 
 sheet of parliamentary profit. 
 
 In vain did Henry Mordaunt represent to him that 
 his brother Algernon ought to be invited from Italy, to 
 occupy one of the family-seats. Lord Eawborne was 
 inflexible. “ His brother,” he said, “ was an oddity, who 
 in England would draw upon himself the strictures of 
 society : whereas in Italy, where he chose to reside, his 
 absurdities were forgiven in favour of his scholarship and 
 'wealth.” 
 
 “ So long as Algernon Eawborne can expend a certain 
 number of crowns per annum, and favour the academies 
 
222 
 
 MEMOinS or A PEERESS. 
 
 of Eome with dissertations on Etruscan vases,” added 
 Lord Eawboriie, “ the Italians will vote him to have the 
 soundest of heads ; whereas London might sentence him 
 to salt-bathing and Dr. Willis.” 
 
 “ Inquire of your cousin Lady Craven,” replied Henry 
 with indignation, “ whether she did not find your brother 
 revered as a benefactor and friend, rather than fiattered 
 as a dilettante. His hospitality, it is true, is at the 
 disposal of travelling artists, rather than of lordlings and 
 their bear-leaders. But all Elorence can attest — ” 
 
 “ I require no attestation,” said Lord Eawborne coldly. 
 “ Algernon has chosen his own line across country. He 
 is now, I am told, a sort of ultramontane Horace Walpole, 
 — devoted to nightingales, dowagers, and Dresden china ; 
 and an old bachelor, my dear Henry, is an excellent 
 adjunct to any family, to hoard up stores for the pre- 
 servation from the almshouse of its prodigal members. 
 Look at Lord Hugh de Vere, — who mouldered through 
 life in single blessedness, in order to bequeath a fortune 
 to the widow of an illegitimate nephew !” — 
 
 “ But you are yourself a bachelor, Eawborne ; and one 
 is enough in a family,” replied my brother, not deigning 
 to notice the taunt ; — “ unless indeed you intend your 
 race to become extinct, and its name forgotten.” 
 
 It will survive in the immortal pages of the Eacing 
 Calendar!” sneered Lord Eawborne. “But, in all 
 cousinly confidence, know that I am waiting till Lady 
 Adeline de Vere shall be a year or two older; when I 
 may present you with a Countess without going out of 
 the family.” 
 
 “ But why not Isabella or Helena ?” said Harry. 
 
 “ Siciguano was beforehand with me with Helena ; and 
 Isabella’s affections are pledged to Lord Addenbrooke, 
 the only son of the Marquess of Kincardine, governor- 
 general of India.” 
 
 “ And he will have a charming little wife !” cried 
 Henry. “ Of the beauties I have seen since my return 
 from Italy, Lady Isabella strikes me as the most capti- 
 vating.” And the first time we met, Henry related to 
 me enough of his conversation with Lord Eawborne, to 
 call forth my anxieties for Isabella. 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 223 
 
 “ Do not be angry with me,” whispered the dear girl, 
 when, soon afterwards, I taxed her with reserve. A 
 strong attachment indeed exists between Lord Adden- 
 brooke and myself ; and I have a hundred times wished 
 to consult the kind friend to whom my poor uncle Hugh 
 advised me to refer in all matters of difficulty. But we 
 have not yet spoken to mamma ; and I should be unjusti- 
 fiable in confiding to another what I have not submitted 
 to her opinion.” 
 
 But why hesitate ? — The match is unexceptionable.” 
 
 ‘‘ Lord Addenbrooke wrote by the last fleet to India 
 for his father’s sanction, previous to laying his addresses 
 before my mother. Live months must elapse before we 
 obtain an answer. But it will be more respectful to 
 v/ait for permission from Lord and Lady Kincardine, 
 before the subject is openly agitated.” 
 
 “ What objections can possibly arise ? — You are equally 
 assorted in age, birth, fortune.” 
 
 “ Nor does Addenbrooke apprehend opposition. He 
 is an only son. His family are anxious for his early 
 marriage. Everything is in our favour. But Lord and 
 Lady Kincardine are people of the old school, who enter- 
 tain the most rigid notions of filial submission. As a 
 boy, Addenbrooke was never suffered to enter their 
 presence without an obeisance ; and it is not likely that 
 half-a-dozen years of vice-royalty should have moderated 
 their self-importance. It is but a small sacrifice on our 
 part, to suppress our engagement till an authorisation 
 arrives in form.” 
 
 Meanwhile, my dear girl, lose no time in relating to 
 the Duchess every word you have told to me. Lord 
 Addenbrooke’s attentions have been noticed ; and it 
 might produce an unpleasant feeling between you were 
 she to learn from others what she has a right to hear 
 from her daughter.” 
 
 I believe you are right,” replied Lady Isabella. 
 
 But I own I feel a degree of unaccountable awe in my 
 mother’s presence. As children, we were not brought up 
 in habits of familiarity with her as with my poor father. 
 I was always more intimate with good old nurse Eeltham 
 and the governess, than with mamma. And then, so 
 
224 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS 
 
 positive and arbitrary as she is, were she once to inabe np 
 her mind against Addenbrooke, not all the powers of 
 earth would induce her to relent. Indeed, indeed, I am 
 afraid to introduce the subject to her !” 
 
 “ I might say to you — ‘ A lady of the Bedchamber, and 
 afraid ?’ — But I will say that you are past the age for 
 such weakness.” 
 
 ‘‘Well, well, dear Mrs. De Vere, I will speak to her. 
 Let me only first consult Lord Addenbrooke. I wish I 
 had opened my heart to you before. Addenbrooke was 
 very anxious I should decline this appointment at Carlton 
 House. But I had no excuse to offer to mamma, nor he 
 any for interfering.” 
 
 “ And why did he wish you to decline it ?” 
 
 “ The Kincardines, as great favourites at Windsor, and 
 violent Tories, may entertain a prejudice — may possibly 
 fancy — may, in short,” said Isabella, — checking herself, 
 from the difiiculty of expressing before Litzirnham’s 
 widow Lord Addenbrooke’s. detestation of the digue of 
 Carlton House, — “ he does not wish his future wife to 
 assume so ostensible a situation.” 
 
 The following night, I had the satisfaction to learn 
 from Clara Mordaunt, who had accompanied the Duchess 
 to Westminster Hall to be present on the great public 
 occasion of delivering judgment on Hastings, that Isa- 
 bella had whispered her a message for me, apprising me 
 of the good success of my advice. At this trial, I had not 
 found courage to be present. The King’s illness and 
 other political causes had protracted judgment for a period 
 of eight years ; increasing the expenses of the East-India 
 Company in the defence of their servant, to a sum of 
 seventy thousand pounds. But even this lapse of time 
 had not sufficed to disconnect in my mind the memory of 
 my husband from those hateful affairs of India, which had 
 proved the means of hastening his end. 
 
 “ And was the Duchess in good spirits ?” I inquired of 
 my sister-in-law, when she delivered Isabella’s message. 
 
 “ I never saw her so charming,” was Clara’s reply. 
 “ And she had reason to be proud ; — for every eye was 
 upon her and her two daughters, — the three most striking 
 figures in the hall. William Spencer has lately written 
 
MEMOIBS OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 225 
 
 some verses about them, which render them objects of 
 general notice ; and beautiful as we thought Isabella in 
 her bride’s-maid’s dress, she looked far lovelier to-day in 
 Westminster Hall.” 
 
 So, too, said the public journals. All London seemed 
 occupied with the surpassing beauty of the Ladies De 
 Vere. Their portraits, (the last work finished by Sir 
 Joshua,) attracted admiring crowds to the Eoyal Aca- 
 demy ; and when the Duchess opened her house with a 
 gala in honour of the marriage of the Prince of Wales, the 
 popularity of the De Vere family was at its zenith. 
 
 On that auspicious evening, Isabella presented Lord 
 Addenbrooke to me, and Helena her Sicilian duke ; the 
 former, an intelligent, manly young Scotsman, — the latter, 
 all that youthful poets dream of in the hero of a romance. 
 Eadiant with youth, prosperity, and beauty, — happy in 
 themselves, each other, and the world, — the two sisters 
 seemed to have reached their highest culmination ; and, 
 painfully versed in the evanescent nature of worldly 
 pleasures, I could not help whispering to myself, Heaven 
 send that their joy be permanent ! — After the brightest 
 day — midnight!'^ 
 
 ‘‘ How rejoiced I am,” observed my brother Henry, 
 who was on the eve of his departure for Turin, to leave 
 you all thus gay, and thus prosperous ! I scarcely know 
 which to regard as happiest among my sisters, — Jane^ 
 Helen, or yourself. After all the troubles of our family, 
 what a rainbow has graced the cessation of the storm ! — 
 Look at the Duchess, whose rewards are so much beyond 
 her merits ; and who, at one time, stood on the brink of so 
 frightful a precipice : — see how Portune has smiled even 
 upon her ! Two of her girls about to form such noble 
 establishments ; while Lady Pembury’s death enables her 
 to gratify the first affections of her heart.” 
 
 “ Is Lady Pembury dead?'*' I murmured, as though it 
 were necessary to ivhisper that name under the roof of the 
 Duchess of Eochester. 
 
 “How dearly must you love your friends, Lizzy, since 
 they slip out of the world without your knowledge ! But 
 I forgot. — She was not your friend — she was — ” 
 
 “ Eitzirnham’s ! — Say on!” cried I, perceiving that my 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 MEMOIES OJ? A PEEEESS. 
 
 brother hesitated. “ Surely even jealousy must find rest 
 in the grave !” 
 
 ‘‘Jealousy retorted Henry, with a smile. “ You never 
 could have found it in your heart to become jealous of 
 poor Lady Pembury ?” 
 
 “ De Vere had a sincere attachment for her — ” 
 
 “A ^m.Qeve friendship ! — But had he entertained one 
 grain of affection for his father’s ward, mere pride would 
 not have induced him, as it did, to refuse her hand.” 
 
 “Do you mean that the hand of Lady Pembury was 
 actually rejected by my husband ?” 
 
 “ You must surely have heard that old Pitzirnham left 
 no means untried to throw his elder son into the society 
 of the heiress of whom he was guardian ? But the young 
 lady having avowed her preference for De Vere, the young 
 gentleman obtained leave from his father to proceed to the 
 Continent ; and did not return to England till the mor- 
 tified girl had given her hand to Lord Pembury, who, on 
 his side, was driven into the match by the opposition of 
 his parents to his alliance with Lady Harriet Bawborne. 
 
 “What a system, and what results !” cried I. And as I 
 involuntarily glanced towards the Duchess, I noticed a 
 handsome young man in assiduous attendance upon her. 
 
 “ Who is he ?” I demanded of my brother. 
 
 “Ho less a person,” he replied, “than the young 
 Marquis of Mount Hardington, with a princely fortune, 
 and the four finest seats in Great Britain. But though I 
 look upon the Duchess as the luckiest of her sex, she can 
 scarcely have made a conquest of the Alcibiades of the 
 peerage. The utmost force of his imagination will not 
 remove the fifteen years between them, and I should lose 
 my respect for her sagacity, did I imagine that Pembury 
 w^ould be distanced by this handsome boy.” 
 
 “ He is, indeed, singularly good-looking.” 
 
 “ By the way, Lizzy, how comes it you have let such a 
 prize escape you ?” 
 
 “ If there be fifteen years between him and my aunt, 
 there must be five between him and myself. At thirty I 
 am not likely to attract a rich marquess of five-and-twenty.” 
 
 At that moment, the Duke of Sicignano approached to 
 explain a commission which Henry had undertaken for 
 
MEMOIUS OF A PEERESS. 227 
 
 him in Italy ; the transport of some Cape plants, to his 
 sister, the Princess Colonna. 
 
 “ You will see my family in the course of the autumn,” 
 said the Duke. “ The Duchess and Leonora are about 
 to visit my sister at Turin. They will overwhelm you 
 with questions; for my poor mother loves me as most 
 mothers love an only son. Let me only warn you against 
 betraying my secret to them ; or the rival volcanoes of our 
 two Sicilies are mild types of their indignation.” 
 
 ‘‘ Not tell them that you have secured the hand of one 
 of the most charming girls in England ?” cried Henry. 
 
 It will require some self-denial not to convey such agree- 
 able intelligence.” 
 
 “ Not agreeable to Leonora,” rejoined the Duke. — 
 “ Before I accepted my present appointment, my sister 
 passed nearly a day at my feet imploring me to decline it. 
 You are to know, that I am one of the predestined ! — 
 More than a century ago, some Cagliostro of the day 
 predicted at Palermo, that the last heir of the house of 
 Sicignano was to die in a far island of the West ; and my 
 father’s Abruzzian vassals having chosen at my birth to 
 have my nativity cast by their mountain seers, — my un- 
 fortunate horoscope set forth that I was to die a violent 
 death, and be the last Duke of Sicignano. Thereby, in- 
 deed, hangs a tale, which they will tell you in Italy ; and 
 between these omens and her own presentiments, my dear 
 gentle Leonora would not hear of my accepting a mission 
 to any ‘island in the West. ^ Were she to learn that 
 my affections are anchored here for life, she and the 
 Duchess would fly to the feet of the King of Naples, and 
 implore my recall. May I therefore entreat one of my 
 earliest English friends, to refrain in Italy from all pre- 
 mature allusion to my present prospects ?” 
 
 “ Bely upon my prudence !” said Henry, accepting his 
 offered hand. “ And should the news of your attachment 
 otherwise transpire, I will do my utmost to persuade the 
 Duchess of Sicignano thatVere Court, where Helena was 
 born, stands in Kentucky !” 
 
228 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII. 
 
 I, TOO, had my commissions for Italy ; hut I wanted 
 courage to confide them to Clara or my brother. I longed 
 to expostulate with Algernon on the waywardness of his 
 proceedings ; and remonstrate against his acclimatising 
 himself permanently in a foreign country. 
 
 But I felt conscious of the interpretation such a 
 message might bear. I, — Mrs. De Vere, — rich and in- 
 dependent, might be accused of having summoned to my 
 feet the rejected lover of poor Lizzy Mordaunt. 
 
 I sometimes wished that Henry and Clara had invited 
 me to accompany them. But they thought me wedded to 
 Penderels, — calm, elegant, grassy Penderels, with its 
 tranquil lawns and sunny slopes. — For the last five years, 
 however, I had scarcely quitted the place ; and every tree, 
 — shrub, — glade, — vista, — was familiar to my eyes, even 
 to satiety. 
 
 It was toward the latter end of May that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Mordaunt and their eldest boy took leave of us. On the 
 day following, a brilliant ball was given by Lady J ersey 
 to the Princess of Wales ; which, considering the relative 
 position of the parties, called forth universal disapproba- 
 tion. 
 
 The very newspapers were unsparing in their comments; 
 till the royal bride, imperfectly as she was skilled in the 
 English language, was induced to make inquiries and 
 extend her observations ; and when all became manifest, 
 appealed to the Prince : — insisting on the dismissal of 
 her Lady of the Bedchamber ! 
 
 On the 4th of June, I was waiting for Madame Le 
 Brun to send home my court-dress, preparatory to the 
 drawing-room, when, to my surprise, the Duchess of 
 Eochester, the renewal of whose acquaintance I had never 
 encouraged to intimacy, made her appearance in Cumber- 
 land Place in a morning-dress, but with her feathers and 
 lappets prepared for court. 
 
MEMOIES OF A. PEERESS, 
 
 220 
 
 am come to consult you, my dear Mrs. De Vere, as 
 one of the truest well-wishers of my girls,” said she, “ on 
 the strange dilemma in which we find ourselves. Half an 
 hour ago, the Princess of Wales refused to let Lady Jersey 
 enter her carriage to go to court ; and has proceeded to 
 the Queen’s House without her ! — Isabella, who was to 
 foUow in the second carriage, instantly despatched a note 
 to apprise me of what had occurred, and ask my instruc- 
 tions. I confess I am irresolute what part to take.” 
 
 ‘‘ The part, I conclude, most friendly to the Prince,” 
 said I coldly ; ‘‘ as it was at his Eoyal Highness’s entreaty 
 vour Grace permitted Lady Isabella to enter the house- 
 Lold.” 
 
 “ Certainly. And I was in hopes his Eoyal Highness 
 would guard against any public rupture. However, the 
 Princess of Wales has now thrown down the gauntlet, 
 and some person must take it up. It is not for me to 
 consult my predilections where the interests of my 
 children are concerned. Tell me, therefore, dear Mrs. De 
 Vere, on which side will it be most advantageous to 
 Isabella to enrol myself ? The Princess is likely to give 
 an heir to the throne, under which circumstances, the 
 King cannot withhold his interference. Had I been 
 aware, at the time, of Isabella’s engagement to Lord 
 Addenbrooke, I would never have consented to her ac- 
 cepting the place; and it strikes me that the event of 
 this morning, and the rupture by which it must be 
 followed, present a desirable opportunity for getting out 
 of the scrape.” 
 
 “ But should Lady Isabella know more than we do 
 of the merits of the case,” said I, “and, considering the 
 Princess in the light of an injured person, desire to retain 
 her post ?” 
 
 “ I should be much surprised were a daughter of mine 
 to form a judgment on such a subject, in opposition to my 
 own ! I shall meet her at court, and take an opportunity 
 to give her my opinion respecting those she is to hold,” 
 said the Duchess, rising hurriedly to take leave, when she 
 found it impossible to wring from me a decisive sentence. 
 She had been in hopes I should enable her to say, “ Mrs. 
 De Vere, (whom poor, dear Lord John was so anxious I 
 
230 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEERESS. 
 
 should consult in all matters regarding the welfare of the 
 girls,) persuaded me it was the duty of Isabella to resign 
 her office !” 
 
 JN’ext day all London was busy with the catastrophe. 
 — At the drawing-room, nothing had generally transpired, 
 save among the two or three to whom the Duchess of 
 Eochester whispered the secret. But neither resignation 
 nor dismissal authorised any active reprisal on the part of 
 her G-race ; and to defy the scrutiny of the public, which 
 was beginning to deal somewhat unceremoniously with 
 the chief actors of the drama, the Eoyal household pro- 
 ceeded from Carlton House to Brighthelmstone. 
 
 The Stadtholder, driven from his States, was just then 
 the invited guest of the Prince ; and instead of the flow of 
 wit and display of beauty which, in former years graced, 
 under the easy, elegant sway of the lady-like Mrs. Pitz- 
 herbert, the society of his Eoyal Highness, there was the 
 ill-assorted wrangling couple, who could scarcely keep up 
 in public the farce of conjugal decorum; and the ponder- 
 ous Dutch prince, whose audible snoring kept tune to the 
 orchestra on every occasion of festivity. Sheridan, re- 
 admitted, on this occasion, to the favour of the Prince, 
 (himself the bridegroom of a second wife,) had need of 
 some skill in courtiership to disguise his amazement at the 
 falling-off of the dramatis personae of the Eoyal comedy. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lord Eawborne having put forward his 
 pretensions to become the husband of Lady Adeline De 
 Vere, I considered it my duty to the memory of her uncle 
 to surmount my aversion, and invite him to my house. 
 Under any other circumstances, I should have refrained ; 
 in the twofold apprehension that he might suspect me 
 of views upon his coronet, or that my own handsome 
 fortune might draw his speculations towards myself. But 
 I now frequently numbered him among my dinner-guests ; 
 and it was from him I learnt the opinions and projects of 
 the Duchess ; with whom, as head of her family, and in 
 some sort her pupil. Lord Eawborne had always been a 
 favourite. 
 
 “Will the Duchess visit Brighthelmstone this summer?” 
 1 inquired, one night, when he gave me his arm in a party 
 I had made with the Townshends to Vauxhall. 
 
MEMOIKS or A PEEKESS. 
 
 231 
 
 She is to pass the season at Vere Court, and have the 
 Duke there for his holidays,” replied he. After this 
 year, the Duchess, having only the two younger girls on 
 her hands, will be able to travel ; and after her marriage, 
 she will probably be glad to get away from home.” 
 
 “ Her marriage — cried I, in amazement. “ Is the 
 Duchess of Rochester going to marry again?” 
 
 “ All fair widows are going to marry again !” replied 
 Lord Hawborne, affecting a tone of gallantry. “ With 
 respect to the Duchess, you know as much of her inten- 
 tions as I do. Have you not observed in her lately a 
 popularity-seeking tone of mildness and deprecation, like 
 that of a person on the eve of taking an important step, 
 and canvassing for indulgence ?” 
 
 “Is that your only motive for imagining that the 
 Duchess is going to be married ? And, whenever I am less 
 a termagant than usual, do I incur a similar inference ?” 
 cried I, amused at his interpretation. 
 
 “ Exactly ! — At this very moment, your tone of saucy 
 defiance convinces me that you have no piece of folly in 
 immediate prospect. With respect to the Duchess of 
 Rochester, as Pembury is now a widow^er, and she a 
 widow, I cannot imagine that anything will prevent them 
 from fulfilling the dearest wish of their hearts for the last 
 twenty years.” 
 
 “ It is Lord Pembury, then, and not, as I had almost 
 begun to fancy. Lord Mount Hardington, who is to be 
 the happy man ?” 
 
 “ Of what are you dreaming ? — Mount Hardington is 
 desperately in love with Helena.” 
 
 “ And Helena engaged to marry the Duke of Sicig- 
 nano !” — 
 
 “By no means ^ engaged^ The Duchess would not 
 have disliked to see her figure as Neapolitan ambassadress. 
 But what is that to an English peerage ? Mount Harding- 
 ton is the great match of the day, and a very fine fellow, 
 besides. He bagged four hundred and twenty brace in 
 the first five days’ grouse -shooting, last August; and 
 his stud is the most complete thing in England.” 
 
 “And on such temptations, you think Lady Helena 
 will change her mind ?” 
 
232 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 “Few women, whether for their daughters or them-* 
 selves, would find courage to refuse Mount-Hardington.” 
 
 “And my niece will be one of the few ! With respect 
 to the Duchess and Lord Pembury, their marriage would 
 be an act of atonement.” 
 
 “An act of execrable folly!” — exclaimed Lord Eaw- 
 borne. — “ Both are happy, rich, and independent. Each 
 is connected with the most disagreeable recollections 
 of the other. The match would only serve to refresh 
 the memory of society. Depend on it, they are much 
 better as they are.” 
 
 Unable to coincide with the feelings of Lord Eawborne, 
 I declined argument and kept my opinion. To me, it 
 appeared essential that Lord Pembury should prevent 
 any other man from becoming the father of his son. But 
 the more I ruminated on this painful subject, the more I 
 marvelled at the triumph crowning, even in the most 
 minute particulars, the desires of the Duchess of Eoches- 
 ter. Such a wife, — such a mother as she had been, — 
 unprincipled, haughty, reckless, godless ; — outraging 
 every duty of her sex and position 1 — The lowest of 
 her handmaidens might have been committed to Bride- 
 well for offences such as hers, — the highest in the land 
 had undergone the highest sentence of condemnation, on 
 grounds less valid. A moment had been when disgrace 
 impended over her head as by a single hair. Tet she 
 had escaped, — escaped blameless, — escaped with triumph ! 
 — Every advantage was concentrated in her position 
 which the partiality of the world could bestow. Her 
 daughters had only to appear in society, to be sued for by 
 honourable men. She was in favour at Carlton House, 
 and yet uncompromised at Court. Those who stood in 
 her way, seemed to fall and die at the unexpressed wish 
 of her heart. Fitzirnham, the only man cognisant of her 
 treachery, was in his grave. — Lady Pembury was no more. 
 — Even Algernon, with whom it might have been vexa- 
 tious to her to come in contact, had banished himself to a 
 foreign country as if to avoid giving her pain. 
 
 Was not this success? — Was not this triumph? — 
 Was not this discouragement to such as walk the world 
 humbly, in the paths of rectitude and virtue ? — I began 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 233 
 
 to fancy it was written that the ungodly should alway 
 prevail *! 
 
 On this discovery of the Duchess’s projects concerning 
 Lord Mount Hardington, however, I felt it a duty to the 
 memory of Lord Hugh de Vere to keep my eye on the 
 proceedings of her Grace. I invited her accordingly to 
 Penderels, and accepted her invitation, repeatedly de- 
 clined, to Vere Court. The girls were enchanted at the 
 concession. To both these parties. Lord Addenbrooke 
 was to belong ; and, as the Duchess had probably received 
 no definite proposals from Lord Mount Hardington, she 
 thought proper to continue her courtesies towards the 
 Duke of Sicignano ; from whom, having engaged him to 
 visit Vere Court in the autumn, it was now clearly im- 
 possible to withdraw the invitation. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIII. 
 
 Hertfordshire has always been a gay, sociable county; 
 — its lords and ladies being relieved from their farthin- 
 gales and coats of mail by that close vicinity to the me- 
 tropolis, which insures general civilisation in place of 
 autocratic distinction. Penderels is one of its most 
 favoured spots ; situated in a grassy glade between Wel- 
 wyn and Wade’s Mill, and within easy reach of Hatfield. 
 Archery was the rage. We had our Toxophilite meet- 
 ings, — our Hoo races, — our Wheathampstead cricket- 
 matches; — while Brocket Hall and Panshanger contri- 
 buted their gay hosts of London visitors to the enliven- 
 ment of our sober country neighbourhood. 
 
 By these gaieties, the Duchess of Eochester consoled 
 herself for the fortnight her line of policy compelled her 
 to dedicate to the representative of Lord Hugh de Vere. 
 Charles Pox happened to be on a visit to the Melbournes ; 
 his powers of enlivening the monotony of lordly life, a 
 thousand-fold increased by his estrangement from the 
 
234 
 
 MEMOIRS OP A PEERESS. 
 
 jarring world of politics. Disappointments of a public, 
 and vexatious of a private nature, had sobered, without 
 embittering his character ; and to a heart warm as ever 
 for his friends, and a mind overflowing with the fruits of 
 philosophic culture, he united a sarcastic playfulness of 
 speech, — a polish derived from the hard friction of the 
 world, — imparting a yet more sparkling brilliancy to the 
 diamond of pure water. 
 
 ‘‘ Have you news from Italy ?” inquired the Duchess 
 of me, one morning, in a careless tone, as we were saun- 
 tering together on the lawn of Penderels, after a drive she 
 had taken alone in her phaeton to Panshanger ; while I 
 was introducing the girls and Lord Addenbrooke to the 
 beautiful spring and shrubberies at Woolmers. 
 
 “ I heard from Clara a fortnight ago. — Of Henry, I 
 exact little as a correspondent. His time is engrossed by 
 the cares of diplomatic life.” 
 
 “ I did not allude to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Mordaunt.” 
 
 “ Alfred’s ship is not in the Mediterranean squadron. 
 My brother is stationed in the East Indies.” 
 
 “ Yes, — I recollect !— But I alluded to my nephew 
 Algernon.” 
 
 “ Many years have elapsed since I had any intercourse 
 with Mr. Bawborne.” 
 
 “Hot since your marriage!” observed the Duchess, 
 with a smile almost sarcastic. “Mrs. De Vere has not 
 lost the little touch of prudery that distinguished Lizzy 
 Mordaunt.” 
 
 “ I am glad to see you smile again. — I was almost 
 afraid some mischief might have befallen poor Algernon,” 
 said I, in a reproachful tone. 
 
 “Ho mischief , — according to my idea of the word. He 
 is only desperately in love. Allow that, after ten years’ 
 constancy, it is almost time 1” 
 
 “ Indeed I do 1” replied I, — trying to speak in a cheer- 
 ful tone. “ But how has the news reached England ? 
 By the telegraph, I conclude, as Mr. Eawborne’s political 
 friends are at the Admiralty.” 
 
 “Ho! the report came in a letter to Panshanger, 
 while I was there this morning. The ‘ hella e yloriosa 
 donna' is a certain fair Countess of the Visconti family, a 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 235 
 
 near relative of Sicignaiio, who arrived last year as a bride 
 at Venice ; and selected the handsome Englishman to be 
 her cavalier e serventeT 
 
 Is that all ? — To call her carriage, mill her chocolate, 
 cool her sorletti, air her lap-dog, and draw and undraw 
 the curtains of her opera-box ! — Such, I believe, is the 
 extent of an Italian liaison /” said I, — “ the last thing in 
 the world likely to provoke my jealousy.” 
 
 Jealousy ejaculated the Duchess, affecting to stop 
 short, and regard me with surprise. — “ You do not actually 
 mean to say, dear Mrs. De Yere, that you feel jealous of 
 a man whom you have frowned upon any time these ten 
 years ; and who need only be summoned by a word to fiy 
 to your feet ?” 
 
 “Forsaking even those of Countess Visconti?” 
 
 “I had forgotten the Visconti; which is more than 
 Algernon is likely to do, — at present. Lord Cowper’s 
 letter from Florence, stated that poor Ilawborne played 
 the part o^jpatito with the most infatuated patience.” 
 
 “Algernon’s heart must be somewhat green for its 
 age, to be infatuated about even a Milanese Countess. 
 Mine has long been turned to clay. I could as easily fall 
 in love, as resume my bib and tucker.” 
 
 “ I would no more proclaim the impossibility of falling 
 in love than of catching the small-pox,” said the Duchess ; 
 “for neither disorder spares sex or age. Dear old Madame 
 du Deffand, a miracle of wit and good sense, was as 
 school-girlishly in love at eighty with my friend Horace 
 "Walpole, as Algernon with Madame de Visconti. And 
 have we not all seen poor dear Mrs. Montagu sighing 
 like a gray turtle-dove for Lord Lyttelton; and the 
 antiquated Duchesse de Fiennes forced to confess to the 
 Brighton watchmen, that the man getting in at the win- 
 dow was not a housebreaker, but a Borneo ?” 
 
 “ Illustrious examples, certainly, to smooth my way to 
 folly,” said I. “ But I must be permitted to refrain.” 
 
 It luckily occurred to me that my remarks might seem 
 to convey censure upon her own projected marriage with 
 Lord Pembury ; and Lady Helena approaching us at the 
 moment, I turned the conversation to Woolmers and the 
 Colne. 
 
236 
 
 MEMOIBS OF A PEEBESS. 
 
 Algernon, then, was lost to me ; — lost, at the moment 
 I was beginning to discover the vast happiness that would 
 he added to my life by a renewal of our friendship ! The 
 position in which he stood towards me as a benefactor, 
 had alone produced my original insensibility. I was now 
 his superior in fortune, and above all suspicion of inte- 
 rested motives in the avowal of my affection. No com- 
 panion suited me half so well. To none other could I 
 confide my feelings, — my regrets; — or rather, to none 
 other was it unnecessary to confide them, — since he was 
 familiar with every detail of my life and secret of my 
 heart. It has been said that the long constancy of Pope 
 to Martha Blount consisted in a similar coincidence ; that 
 “ the mind of each was reflected on the mind of the other.” 
 
 I now admitted that it was to Algernon’s eventual 
 return to England I had been looking, to perfect my 
 domestic happiness ; to direct my opinions and indicate the 
 duties of my station. The domestic happiness of Jane 
 and Helen served only to apprise me of the imperfect 
 nature of my own. 
 
 And now, all was over ! I began to rejoice that the 
 penance-visit of the Duchess to Penderels was nearly at 
 an end. I was eager to be alone with my vexations ; and 
 still more eager for the appointed period of meeting 
 Sicignano at Vere Court. The Duke was not of our 
 Hertfordshire party. Desirous, like most young foreigners, 
 to acquaint himself with the sporting life of England, he 
 had accompanied Lord Eawborne to the Moors ; and they 
 were to meet us in Lancashire the first week in September. 
 Thither, the Duchess and her daughter preceded us ; with 
 the exception of Isabella, who was discharging her duties 
 at the Pavilion. 
 
 I was to visit Spetchingley on my way to Vere Court ; 
 and before leaving home, drove over one morning to 
 Brocket. Its gay guests were gone on a fishing excur- 
 sion to Luton Park. But my coachman having in- 
 sisted on resting his horses, I had the good fortune to 
 find in the library Mr. Pox, who was suffering from a fit 
 of the gout ; and Pen Lamb, who had remained behind at 
 Brocket, to keep company with the invalid. 
 
 “ A thou sand thanks for your charity to a sick hermit,” 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEBESS. 
 
 237 
 
 cried he. “ You enable me to be peremptory with my 
 young friend, who has been losing his summer’s day in 
 order to lend a little sunshine to mine. In vain have I 
 been assuring poor Pen that I had business in hand ; 
 and that, as ‘ the labour we delight in physics pain,’ I 
 could afford to pass the day alone. He insists that I am 
 at Brocket to play, not work ; that I left St. Anne’s Hill 
 expressly for the benefit of a holiday. But now you are 
 come, both may yield with a good grace. He has every 
 excuse for going ; — I, every consolation in staying.” 
 
 Pen Lamb quitted us accordingly, to finish letters for 
 his father for the post ; and to find myself sitting alone 
 with Pox in the large cool library, carried me back pain- 
 fully to days of yore. A tone of conversation, light without 
 levity, philosophical without pretension, classical without 
 pedantry, but displaying by fits and starts that scholar’s 
 melancholy” which descends with gray hairs upon middle 
 age, deeply affected me. I remembered Charles James 
 Fox, when, twelve years before, at four-and-thirty, life 
 seemed opening to him as brilliantly, more brilliantly, 
 than to those of any man of his day. But now, all was 
 dark. The future afforded him no promise, — the present, 
 little pleasure. Nor were his own refiections much more 
 cheering than mine. 
 
 ‘‘You bring back old times sadly to my mind, dear 
 Mrs. He Vere,” said he, gazing upon me as I sat beside 
 him on the sofa. “ Instead of the meridian brightness of 
 girlhood I once saw radiant in your face, I find the mild 
 sweetness of evening. For my part,” continued he, with 
 one of his benignant smiles, “ I find the leaves dropping 
 from my tree of life, and leaving it, like Timon’s — 
 
 Bare to every storm that blows !’" 
 
 “ After a certain period of human life,” said I, “ there 
 is consolation in finding one’s leaves growing yellow with 
 those of the rest of the grove. The melancholy cypress 
 or yew that survives, evergreen, in a cemetery, has but a 
 gloomy triumph.” 
 
 “ And I, not fifty years old, am beginning to appre- 
 hend the fate of the cypress ! The death of your husband 
 left a sad gap in my existence. The days of Burke and 
 
238 
 
 MEMOmS OP A PEEEESS. 
 
 Pitzpatrick are numbered. — The Prince,” said he, trying to 
 recover his gaiety, “is morally extinct. Not a particle of 
 his idiosyncrasy is identical with the Prince of other days.” 
 
 “ With Sir Sidney for his Bayard, and John Doyle for 
 his G-eorge Selwyn, what can you expect ?” 
 
 “We will not trouble ourselves with such small deer,” 
 continued Pox, with a significant smile. “ But I regret 
 that the daughter of my poor dear friend. Lord John, 
 should be entangled in so dangerous a labyrinth.” 
 
 “ Lady Isabella will have a pretext for resigning, on 
 her marriage with Lord Addenbrooke,” said I. 
 
 “ Lord Addenbrooke ? — Aha ! — And what do the Kin- 
 cardines say to their son-and-heir establishing himself in 
 the family of the Duchess of Bochester ?” 
 
 “ The next fleet will probably bring their consent to 
 the match.” 
 
 “ I am sorry to hear it is still undecided. The Kincar- 
 dines are people who abide by the rubric. You might 
 raise two marble effigies of some Baron and Baroness of 
 the Middle-ages off a tomb in Westminster Abbey, and 
 infuse more humanity into them than is exhibited by Kin- 
 cardine and his wife in their warmest moments. Their 
 piety is not love of Gron, but fear of the Devil ; — their 
 loyalty not devotion to the King, but contempt of the 
 People. Lord Kincardine would have made a capital Arch- 
 bishop. — He missed his vocation in becoming Governor- 
 General.” 
 
 “ But you do not imagine that he will oppose the wishes 
 of Lord Addenbrooke ?” 
 
 “Imagine? — Yes! I do imagine that nothing is more 
 likely than for him to object to a connection with the 
 Duchess. But it is a mere act of imagination. I have 
 no grounds for the belief. And now tell me something 
 of my friend Bawborne ?” 
 
 “ He is on the Moors, as usual at this season.” 
 
 “Beturned to England?” — 
 
 “ Ah ! you are speaking of my cousin Algernon — ” 
 
 “ Of whom else ? — You don’t suppose I have a senti- 
 ment in common with that animated betting-book, his 
 brother ? Smile and welcome I I plead guilty to love of 
 play, as one of the excitements of conventional life. But 
 
MEMOmS OE A PEEEESS. 239 
 
 I detest your sportsman, trafficking in horseflesh, as an 
 epicure abhors a glutton.” 
 
 ‘‘ There is one sentiment you would not blush to enter- 
 tain in common with him,” said I. ‘‘ Lord Eawborne is 
 in love with one of the Duchess’s charming daughters.” 
 
 “ And she is going to sacrifice her girl to the monster ?” 
 
 “She is going to make her Countess of Eawborne. 
 Lady Adeline is scarcely seventeen, — has seen nothing of 
 the world, — her cousin is the only man with whom she is 
 much acquainted, and she marries him without repug- 
 nance.” 
 
 Without refugnanceV — The pet sophism of the 
 Drench ! — The fine-lady emigrants assure me, when I at- 
 tack their mariages de convenance, that they marry and 
 make marry ‘ without repugnance What a system to 
 pursue in the creation of a tie which extends beyond the 
 limits of the grave ! — The connection which of all others 
 demands sympathy of soul, thought, feeling, action, 
 principle !” 
 
 “ You speak with unction !” 
 
 “ I speak out of the abundance- of my heart. I speak 
 when 1 feel — or am silent. On this point I feel deeply. 
 I have sanctioned matches in my own family, and perhaps 
 demanded sanction, for which this unanimity of heart and 
 soul affords the sole apology. And bear in mind, dear 
 Madam, — take it, my dear Mrs. De Vere, from the lips 
 of a man of nearly half-a-century’s experience, — that such 
 a marriage is the ‘ sovereign’ st thing on earth,’ — a foretaste 
 of Heaven afforded to poor mortals, as bounty-money to 
 enlist for the skies !” 
 
 “I will lay your lesson to my heart,” said I, with a 
 smile, “ for the woman’s reason, that your philosophy is 
 confirmed by my personal experience. But you were 
 speaking of my cousin Algernon. You will hear with 
 regret that he has formed a liaison likely to detain him in 
 Italy for the remainder of his days.” 
 
 “ That cursed Italy !” cried Box, referring probably to 
 some animosity of his own. “ But be comforted ! — In 
 Italy, the English are not long destined to remain. Italy 
 will soon be made the seat of war by the new-fledged re- 
 publicans of Erance. In the first place, it affords the only 
 
240 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 debateable ground on which they are likely to pluck the 
 wings of the Imperial Eagle. Austria would have little 
 chance in the Milanese, against the champions of liberty ; 
 and in the states of Genoa and Venice, the people wait 
 but a signal to rise against their oligarchical task-masters. 
 The Erench Eepublic may have been unlucky on the Ehine. 
 Mark my prediction that it will gather laurels on the Po.” 
 
 ‘‘ Which you think will drive Algernon from Italy ?” 
 said I, referring to what I regarded as the only important 
 effects of such a cause. 
 
 “ Of course ! — When I was there in eighty-eight, I 
 found the population of several states ripe for insur- 
 rection. The Erench Eevolution has since sent scouring 
 over Europe a drove of Sampson’s foxes, with firebrands 
 at their tails, to let fall a spark wherever the fruits of the 
 earth are dried up and ripe for conflagration. My friend 
 Eawborne, with his aristocratic name and presence, his 
 palace on the Brenta and other patrician foibles, may find 
 Venice too hot to hold him, when its new Council of Ten 
 shall be composed of Cittadino Bruto the butcher, Citta- 
 dino Catone the baker, and Cittadino Scsevola the stewer 
 of maccaroni.” 
 
 “ By these contempts, you second the Duchess of Gor- 
 don’s retort to Lord Lauderdale,” said I. ‘‘ But no mat- 
 ter ! — Since you announce my cousin’s return, I applaud 
 your inconsistency.” 
 
 The Luton party now returning, the conversation be- 
 came general. A few days afterwards, I was at Spetch- 
 ingley ; where the good Squire and Mrs Mordaunt were 
 installed as if they had never quitted the place. My father 
 had now completed three-score and fifteen years, and, but 
 for the adversity of his latter years, would probably have 
 remained robust as ever. But his day for field-sports was 
 over. His eye brightened indeed when Dick Mordaunt 
 (whom at fifty he regarded as a brisk young fellow) re- 
 galed him with the details of a fine run, or a good day’s 
 shooting. But his own occupation w^as to watch the pro- 
 gress of some colts destined for little Harry, whom he in- 
 variably designated “young Mordaunt of Spetchingley.” 
 — His wliole happiness seemed centred in my brother’s 
 two boys. 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 241 
 
 Here then, too, I was supplanted. — Even here, I was 
 but a secondary object. — Aware that his daughter Lizzy 
 was happy in a fine place and fine fortune, my father could 
 not suppose me the least happy of his children, and con- 
 sequently the most covetous of his tenderness. At length, 
 one day, when I returned from the church, my eyes red, 
 my heart full, with meditating over the grave of my hus- 
 band, — the old gentleman called me into his library, much 
 as he w'ould have done at fifteen, fifteen years before ; and 
 gave me his serious recommendation to marry again ! 
 
 He cited the comforts of his own domestic life, — the 
 happiness of my brothers and sisters. 
 
 “ There’s Harry,” said he, “ with that good wife of his, 
 who turns pale if he gets a hedge-thorn, out shooting ; — 
 such a life of peace and good-will as they lead together, 
 she neither knowing nor caring whether the trade-wind 
 blows round his side the house, or hers : happy and 
 obedient as if she had been some Melton or Leicester 
 miss, whom young Mordaunt of Spetchingley had picked 
 up without a guinea in her pocket ! — There’s Jane and 
 her good-man, as quiet and content at their country-place 
 as two field-mice in a furrow, (though I’m told Eothesbury 
 Hall is nothing to mention with Spetchingley, — two 
 turnpike roads and a navigable canal right through the 
 park!) As to Helen, — to be sure, there would be no 
 pardon for her to be otherwise than content, with forty 
 thousand a-year, a fine old castle, a fine young chap of a 
 lord, and two beautiful babes, — all thrown at her head, as 
 one may say, when she had scarcely where to lay it. For 
 that luck, Lizzy, she has to thank you ; and so has her old 
 father — and so he does, (though young Ailesfort is as 
 thorough a tailor on horseback as ever crossed a saddle.) 
 All these children of mine, God be thanked, are as happy 
 couples as may be, and a pattern in their generation. And 
 do you know, Liz, they tell me even my son the Preben- 
 dary, (Dick the Demure as you used to call him — you and 
 Harry — Harry and you were always sad madcaps when 
 children; Lady Betty, poor dear woman, used to have 
 many a fright about you 1) even Eichard is going to take 
 a wife. — Ho ! ho ! ho :!— the eldest daughter of the Bishop 
 of Lichfield: and between you and me, Lizzy, it will be 
 
243 
 
 MEMOIRS OP A PEERESS. 
 
 lucky if the gray mare don’t prove the better horse ; for 
 I’m told the bride is as gray as a badger ; fine churcH 
 interest, fine fortune, fine expectations, and forty-five. — 
 But ’twas of yourself, my dear girl, I wanted to talk to you.” 
 
 I began to fidget in my chair, and to wish that little 
 Algernon, who had the privilege of his grandfather’s 
 room, might break in and interrupt a colloquy which I 
 felt persuaded would lead to the subject of my cousin. 
 
 . “ I don’t feel comfortable to see you turned adrift on 
 
 the wide sea of life, without pilot or convoy, my dear 
 girl,” resumed my father. “It would give me satisfaction 
 to find you happily settled, before I go down to the grave ; 
 under the care of some fine manly-hearted fellow, who 
 would keep your property together, and be company for 
 your long winter evenings yonder in Hertfordshire. In 
 short, Lizzy,” he continued, “without going out of our 
 own family, I have my eye on one who has loved you like 
 the apple of his eye, for the last twelve years or more ; — • 
 who loved you before you ever so much as heard tell of 
 the poor fellow that lies yonder in Spetchingley Church. 
 —Ay, ay 1 — no wonder you blush to hear of it !” 
 
 And my father indulged in a laugh which I thought 
 sadly ill-timed. 
 
 “ To say truth, my dear, one of the things that recon- 
 ciled me to the match you chose to make,” resumed he, 
 “ was that it put an end to his heart-burnings, and 
 settled you at once out of his way. But now, you’re 
 independent — a young widow with a fine jointure and a 
 fine woman still, — I see no reason why you should not 
 make up a match with your cousin.” 
 
 “My cousin, my dear father,” said I, “has other en- 
 gagements.” 
 
 “ I don’t believe a word of it ! Because the poor fellow 
 is not sighing and dying at your apron-string, you fancy 
 he must have got another sweetheart. Years agb, Lizzy, 
 when you were single, did he ever make much of a lover 
 in the way of courting ? To be sure, after you went 
 off to London to Lady Carleton, the poor fellow did so 
 mope about the house, going and sitting for hours in 
 the room that used to be yours, that when he started 
 off after you, merely for a glance at the house you lived 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEKESS. 243 
 
 in,, (for he never screwed up courage for a call,) I told him 
 when he came back, that if times should ever mend with 
 us, he should have my free leave to ask for you, and my 
 blessing into the bargain.” 
 
 Dick Mordaunt ?^^ — I ejaculated, almost breathless 
 with surprise. 
 
 ‘‘Yes! Lizzy; — your cousin Dick!” reiterated the old 
 man ; “ w*ho has been the staff of my old age, — and that 
 is a strong word from one blest with such a son as mine. 
 South wind or north, Dick was always staunch — always 
 ready to come to call. I’ve known him go without many 
 a thing he wanted, when money grew scarce among us ; 
 for his purse was always more mine than his own.” 
 
 “I am quite sensible. Sir,” said I, “of my cousin’s 
 great and good qualities. But, not to enter into other 
 objections, the vast difference of age between us — ” 
 
 “Why, what’s a matter of twenty years,” interrupted 
 my father, “ when it lies on the right side ? And where 
 would you find a likelier-looking fellow than Dick, or one 
 who carries his age as well ? — Last Whitsuntide, when he 
 was over at Leicester for the ’Sizes, there was Lord Har- 
 borough and several of the country gentlemen who’ve 
 known Dick since they were born, swore he wasn’t an 
 hour altered for the last twenty year ; and I don’t sup- 
 pose there’s a bolder rider in this and the next three 
 counties !” 
 
 “ I grant it all, my dear father ; but — ” 
 
 “ But he is not a maccaroni — not a buck — not a beau — ” 
 
 . “Mr. Pitzirnham was no maccaroni,” said I, in an 
 extenuating tone. 
 
 “ Then I’m afraid, Lizzy, I counted too much on your 
 moderation. I’m afraid you despise the poor fellow for 
 his poverty?” 
 
 “ So much the contrary, my dear father, that could the 
 sacrifice of a portion of my fortune recompense my cousiii 
 for the devotion of his life to our family — ” 
 
 “ No, no, my dear! Dick wants none of your money. 
 ’Tis yourself he has been hankering after, from the day 
 you were ten years old. He used to be so proud of you, 
 Lizzy, — proud even of your pride as Miss Mordaunt of 
 Spetchingley. But he was afraid your sagacity would 
 
244 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 find him out, and make a butt of his passion ; and so was 
 always finding fault, to put you on a wrong scent.’* 
 
 “ He succeeded. I own I never suspected him.” 
 
 ‘‘ May be,” interrupted my father, struck with a bright 
 idea — “ may be, child, ’tis a lord you are looking for ? — 
 May be this grand match of Helen’s has put it out of your 
 head that you are but the daughter of a country ’squire ? 
 — Ah ! Lizzy, Lizzy ! there was always a spice of Raw- 
 borne blood in you ; and that was the reason your poor 
 dear mother, rest her soul! loved you better than the 
 rest. Lady Betty couldn’t at all times forget she’d walked 
 at the coronation. — DidrCt she walk? Well, never mind! 
 — She was there as an Earl’s daughter ; and for an Earl’s 
 daughter, ’tis a hard thing to tumble down into a ’squire’s 
 wife. — But the best of wives she was, and best of mothers. 
 And now, what shall I say to poor Dick ?” 
 
 “ Did Mr. Mordaunt commission you, then, to make 
 proposals to me ?” 
 
 “ There or thereabouts.” 
 
 “ I am heartily sorry, Sir, to hear it. I could have 
 wished — ” 
 
 “ Ay, ay 1 I see how ’tis ! Enough said. Well, my dear, 
 I’ll soften it to the poor fellow as well as I can. And 
 so, Lizzy, I’ll plague you no more about lengthening 
 your stay this time at Spetchingley ; ’twill be only vexa- 
 tious to both of you. — As you settled it at first, to- 
 morrow, go to Yorkshire — to Lord Fitzwilliam’s, isn’t it ? 
 and then, away to your Duchess-aunt. What chance has a 
 poor Le’stershire ibx-hunter among so many high-fiyers ?’* 
 
 I threw myself, as in former years, into his arms. 
 
 “ A Leicestershire fox-hunter is the first object to me in 
 life,” cried I, “ when I see him in my father. Forgive me, 
 if I have other fancies in a husband.” 
 
 ‘‘ You are a dear dutiful child,” he replied, laying his 
 hand with much emotion on my head. “Be happy in 
 your own way. Ho fear but ’tis one that will be a credit 
 to your family.” 
 
 “ Farewell, Lizzy !” he added, on taking leave of me 
 the following day. Hext time you visit Spetchingley, ten 
 to one but ’twill be to lay your father’s old bones in the 
 grave !” 
 
245 
 
 - 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 I PASSED a deliglitful week at Wentwortli House. Lord 
 Eitzwilliam loved me for Fitzirnham’s sake, whose un- 
 '^fortunate mother was his distant relation. It was on 
 account of his mother’s connections, that Fitzirnham had 
 been brought up among the Whigs. Wentworth afforded 
 I a thousand remembrances of his youth ; and I was sorry 
 when the day arrived to summon me from the sober 
 dignities of one of the most unostentatiously-aristocratic 
 of English mansions, to the more brilliant, but less 
 genuine hospitality of Vere Court. 
 
 It was my first visit to a spot with which I was con- 
 nected by so many invisible but indissoluble links. As 
 the niece of the Duchess, the widow of Fitzirnham, and 
 1 the representative of Lord Hugh de Vere, I felt myself 
 to have a triple portion in its destinies; and when my 
 ^carriage traversed the fine old moated drawbridge, and 
 I drew up in the quadrangle of the venerable building 
 |;exhibiting at all its gables the wyvern volant, — the 
 ancient crest of the house of De Vere, — inexpressible 
 - emotions overpowered me. 
 
 ? I had been interrogated by Charles Fox and several 
 other guests at Wentworth House, concerning the cha- 
 ^^tacter of the young Duke of Eochester; and could only 
 reply, that as he was educated at Brighton, I had not 
 yet seen him; but that, as an object of strong affection 
 to his mother and sisters, I concluded he must be a 
 promising boy. 
 
 B-‘ “ The lad is now in his twelfth year,” added Mr. Fox 
 
 r on the late occasion : “ the Duchess ought to send him 
 to Westminster. All the De Veres are brought up at 
 Westminster; it is time the boy should be there.” 
 
 I had accordingly determined to seize some moment 
 during my visit to Vere Court, to repeat to the Duchess 
 the counsel of a friend so illustrious. But I found I 
 should have little opportunity for confidential conversa- 
 
246 MEMOIKS OE 1 PEERESS. 
 
 tion with her. The house, gigantic as it was, was full of 
 company ; — people returning from the Moors, — from the 
 Lakes, — and idling out their time in Lancashire till 
 Doncaster Races. . Every day, we sat down a party of 
 more than thirty to dinner, with a constant change of 
 guests. 
 
 Lord Addenhrooke and Lord Mount-Hardington were 
 of the party. There were the Wrottesleys, St. Johns, 
 Sheridan and his bride, the Haggerstons, — most of the 
 persons with whom I was intimately acquainted ; and 
 the day after my own arrival. Lady Isabella, under the 
 guardianship of her faithful nurse Feltham and another 
 upper servant, arrived from Brighton. 
 
 “ Have you not brought the young Duke with you 
 I inquired when, arm-in-arm with Lady Helena, she ran 
 into my dressing-room. “ I understood he was to pass 
 his holidays at Vere Court ?” 
 
 The two girls looked at each other, — Lady Helena 
 deeply blushing. 
 
 ‘‘ Have you not already seen my brother ?” demanded 
 Isabella. “ He has been here this fortnight.” 
 
 ‘‘ Mamma does not like Henry to leave his suite of 
 rooms, now the house is so full of company,” said Helena, 
 replying to her sister. ‘‘I believe she thinks it might 
 distress Mrs. De Vere to see him.” 
 
 I looked, as I felt, greatly surprised. 
 
 ‘‘ Surely,” observed Lady Isabella, readily interpreting 
 the expression of my countenance, “ you have already 
 heard, — you are aware, — that Henryis ” she hesitated. 
 
 “ Less forward and intelligent than other boys of his 
 age,” added Lady Helena, firmly. ‘‘ It is not surprising 
 that, agitated as my poor mother must have been previous 
 to his birth, the child should not be strong in mind or 
 body. At one time, it seemed impossible he should live. 
 But great care and pains have been taken. He is the 
 most affectionate docile creature upon earth ; and often, 
 for weeks together, seems to have the full use of his 
 faculties. He soon relapses, however, poor fellow ; and 
 more than half the year is in a state to be seen only by 
 the members of his family. Mamma fancies sea-air 
 advantageous ; and he has a physician, tutor, and nurse 
 
MEMOIRS OE A. PEERESS. 247 
 
 attached to his Brighton establishment, who never lose 
 sight of him.” 
 
 ! “ Unfortunate boy !” was my involuntary exclamation. 
 
 Last spring, he became so much stronger and more 
 rational, that she determined he should pass a month, 
 this autumn, at Vere Court ; in which I fear she was 
 wrong, as the indispensable precautions have caused his 
 unhappy condition to be far more generally known or 
 suspected, than they ever were before.” 
 
 “ I always fancied you perfectly well-informed on the 
 subject,” observed Isabella; “and that it was out of 
 delicacy to his state, you forbore to mention Henry’s 
 name to us.” 
 
 Alas ! I could not explain to the girls the true motives 
 of my reserve. I could only express my sincere sym- 
 pathy in the mortification which so great a calamity must 
 entail upon their mother. 
 
 She, then, whom in my shortsightedness I had thought 
 too happy for her sins, — she, on whose account I had 
 presumed to arraign the justice of Providence, — was 
 suffering under that heavy dispensation — an idiot child. 
 What thorns must have been wearing into her ffesh ; 
 what bitter vexations into her heart, when I fancied her 
 proudest and most triumphant. — Alas ! in her the sentence 
 of Divine wrath was indeed accomplished. The sins of 
 the parents had been visited upon the child. 
 
 Had the young Duke of Bochester been deformed, 
 even to the worst extreme of human deformity, no 
 mystery would have been observed concerning his mis- 
 fortune. The world would have known, and the news- 
 papers have proclaimed, what physicians were consulted, 
 and what means resorted to for his recovery. But mental 
 infirmity is an ailment from the admission of which even 
 the least worldly-minded parent shrinks with anguish. 
 The silence of the Duchess of Bochester proclaimed her 
 fully sensible that the heaviest of inflictions had fallen 
 upon the child of her frailty. 
 
 So deeply was I penetrated with the awfulness of this 
 retributive decree, that, when we met at dinner, I could 
 scarcely summon up spirits to answer the lively saluta- 
 tions of the Duke of Sicignano, who was just arrived ; or 
 
248 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEES3. 
 
 to admire the brilliant sallies of G-eorge Canning, whose 
 acquaintance I had recently made at Devonshire House, 
 and who was noAv returning with the young couple, Lord 
 and Lady Titchfield, from a tour to the north. 
 
 Country-houses, in those times, were not what I have 
 seen them, of late, under the presidency of my grand- 
 nieces. In my time, there was none of the listless apathy 
 of modem fashion. Gaiety was voluble, not to say 
 vociferous ; for the Duchess of Gordon had brought into 
 vogue the wildest hilarity. Instead of tableaux and 
 charades, — Blind-man’s-buff and Questions and Com- 
 mands, filled up many a boisterous evening ; coterie more 
 refined than that of her Grace, indeed, had imported 
 from the ill-fated Trianon a taste iov petit s-jeux de societe^ 
 which, if boasting greater elegance, were neither more 
 intellectual nor more discreet. But what Miss Banshawe 
 has described as “ one eternal cut and shuffle,” — Scotch 
 reels, ‘‘ Money Musk,” or “ Sir Eoger de Coverley,” — 
 did honour to our restless activity • while the music-room 
 was supplied by the jiggety-jig of Arne, and the common- 
 place of Storace. We were beginning to tire of Handel ; 
 whose solemn maiesty was still the delight of the Wind- 
 sor Court. 
 
 Vere Court was so far superior to many other noble 
 mansions of my contemporaries, as to reject the practical 
 jokes of Gordon Castle or Stowe ; nor did the Duchess 
 of Eochester permit her daughters to emulate the private 
 theatricals of Blenheim or Cliefden. Though Jekyll, 
 William Spencer, and Mat Lewis were of our party, I 
 heard no attempt at wit j — no fetching and carrying of 
 bays,” — no impromptus f aits a loisir. A charming emigree, 
 Madame de Blahault, an especial favourite of Charles 
 Box, assured me that the wittiest coteries of Paris ex- 
 hibited nothing more brilliant, easy, and conversational, 
 than the society of the Duchess of Eochester. 
 
 During the lifetime of the third Duke, father to Lord 
 John, Horace Walpole having twice visited Vere Court 
 in a rhapsody of enthusiasm, had been at the trouble of 
 writing out a catalogue raisonne of its fine collections, 
 which was afterwards printed at Strawberry Hill ; Bitz- 
 patrick — or, I think it was General Burgoyne — having 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 2-19 
 
 protested that the housekeeper was in the liabit of trans- 
 forming certain pictures into “ Courageous’s my Tony,” 
 and “ Dishum’s Dammee.” 
 
 But nothing had since been changed in the house. 
 The Duchess had so far reformed her taste since she first 
 complained of the mildew of age encrusting the posses- 
 sions of the De Veres, as to have restored the place 
 strictly in accordance with its original character. The 
 state-rooms and galleries had been simply cleaned, and 
 the doors and windows placed in sound condition. The 
 private wing, indeed, was submitted to the laws of modern 
 luxury. But it was to the state-rooms we were compelled 
 to have recourse for our evenings’ amusements, during 
 the stay of so large a party. A fine vaulted music-room, 
 the picture gallery, and state drawing-room, were every 
 night brilliantly lighted up ; in spite of which, the heavy 
 hangings of crimson velvet, the painted ceilings and oaken 
 pannelling, imparted a gloomy character to the place. 
 
 There is something at Vere Court that throws a 
 weight upon my spirits,” said Lady Isabella to Lord 
 Addenbrooke, one Sunday night when the organist and 
 sacred music had been called for by the Duchess, in 
 compliment to one or two of her more serious guests. 
 
 One cannot take a walk here without crossing the 
 drawbridge ; or arrive in the drawing-room, without 
 traversing that great gulf of a staircase, which seems to 
 belong to a state-prison rather than to a dwelling-house.” 
 
 “ It is because you were not accustomed to the spot 
 in early childhood,” said I, to whom her observation was 
 partly addressed. 
 
 •‘True! — Vere Park, where we lived so long and 
 happily, was gay, cheerful, light, airy.” 
 
 “ And then,” added Helena, speaking in a whisper, “it 
 is impossible to forget, whenever we pass the chapel, that 
 it contains the remains of my poor dear father.” 
 
 “ I always concluded that the Duke was interred in 
 the parish church, like Lord Hugh at Penderels, among 
 his people and his poor ?” 
 
 “ Our family-vault is under the chapel, just below the 
 De Vere monuments which you may have remarked 
 during prayers.” 
 
250 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 ‘‘ Is there one to the memory of the late Duke ^ 
 
 “ JSTo ! — It has often struck us with surprise, that 
 mamma never thought of erecting even a tablet !’’ oh-: 
 served Helena ; who, as well as her sisters, remained in 
 ignorance of every detail connected with the death of 
 their father. 
 
 Another motive for the expression of care I sometimes 
 saw contract the countenance of the Duchess ! — A living 
 and a dead witness of her crime constantly beside her. 
 Her husband’s grave — her idiot son — under her roof ! 
 
 “ For my part,” interposed William Spencer, who had 
 been enlarging apart, with the Duke di Sicignano, on the 
 original text of Lady Isabella, “ I never visit Vere Court 
 without longing to furnish myself beforehand with a ghost- 
 trap. If such a thing as ghost yet linger on English 
 earth, unexorcised by Cavendish or Adam Smith, — by 
 chemistry or political economy, — it must be within the 
 magic square of the moat surrounding us. Spectres, by 
 the way, are apt to be afflicted with hydrophobia ; from 
 those of the Styx, modernwards. I speak avec connais- 
 sance de cause. ‘ Lenore’ is not the only German maiden 
 in whose company I have made ghostly acquaintances; 
 and I suspect the existence of more than one unearthly 
 visitant at Vere Court.” 
 
 The two simple-hearted girls turned pale ; while Mr. 
 Spencer, unheard by either, whispered to me, — ‘ And I 
 suspect the ‘ beauteous majesty of Denmark’ has her 
 own misgivings on this point. The Duchess would go 
 further and fare worse, rather than venture by moonlight 
 on the battlements; and were my friend Pembury to 
 make his appearance here from Ireland, we should pro- 
 bably be startled from our rest at dead of night by a 
 hollow ‘ Swear ! ’ — proceeding from the subterranean 
 justice-room.” 
 
 I was about to remonstrate against this ill-timed levity,, 
 when we were all startled by the sound of a heavy fall ; 
 and on starting from our seats, we found extending on 
 the ground, near the door, the insensible form of the 
 Duchess. A few words of the indiscreet conversation 
 I have been describing had reached her ears ; and, ere 
 she could quit the room, deprived her of sense and 
 
251 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 motion! I was one of those who assisted in raising and 
 bearing her to her chambers. But I fear that during 
 my absence the comments and suppositions of her guests 
 were only too freely indulged. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 
 The following day, the Duchess kept her room, and re- 
 quested me to do the honours of Vere Court in her place. 
 When I visited her in the course of the afternoon, I ob- 
 served so strange an alteration in her countenance, that I 
 entreated Lady Isabella to send for advice. 
 
 “ I have already proposed it,” she replied. “ But mamma 
 refuses ; and is not a person to bear dictation from her 
 daughters.” 
 
 The Duchess was right. The whole College of Phy- 
 sicians could have done nothing for her. Her malady 
 was of the mind ; and seemed, during the time she re- 
 mained confined to her room, hourly to increase. Several 
 of the more formal guests, concluding their presence to 
 be de trop, departed without further ceremony ; and the 
 Duke of Sicignano, the limit of whose invitation had 
 expired, made an explicit request for the honour of an 
 audience of her Grace. 
 
 The young man admitted to me that his object was to 
 demand the hand of Lady Helena ; and, at the instance of 
 the girls, I exerted my infiuence with the Duchess, not 
 only to receive him, but to receive him favourably. 
 
 But as I went straight to the point, she answered me 
 with equal frankness, that “ nothing would induce her to 
 accept the Neapolitan duke for a son-in-law!” Vainly 
 did I remind her of the declaration made in the spring to 
 Henry and myself, that she would not interfere to pre- 
 vent any match likely to promote the happiness of her 
 daughter. 
 
 “She perfectly remembered the circumstance. But 
 she had since taken counsel from the friends of the late 
 Duke of Eochester ; and as the Duke di Sicignano was a 
 
252 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 Papist, of whom and of whose family comparatively little 
 was known in England, they saw in the alliance nothing 
 to tempt her to the sacrifice of her daughter’s society. 
 Helena was young and inexperienced, and fancied herself 
 attached to a handsome young man, who had been the 
 first to call her an angel. But she, as guardian of the 
 girls, was responsible to the world for their welfare, and 
 must look for something more.” 
 
 To shake her resolution appeared at present impossible ; 
 and I strongly advised the young couple to wait a more 
 propitious moment. Lovers, however, are not to be con- 
 trolled. Within an hour, the Duke addressed to her 
 Grace a formal letter of proposal, ofiering her carte 
 llanche in the way of settlements and every other arrange- 
 ment. But his offer was peremptorily, nay haughtily, 
 rejected, in a tone that left no opening for perseverance. 
 All that remained for Sicignano was to order post-horses 
 and depart. 
 
 The circumstance most irritating in the affair was, that 
 when he departed. Lord Mount -Hardington remained 
 master of the field. Even Lord Addenbrooke, of whom 
 the English suitor was the intimate friend, did not con- 
 ceal his satisfaction that he was not to have a foreigner 
 for his brother-in-law ; and I observed with pain for my 
 young friend, that all those staying in the house, to whom 
 the despair of the lovers had given a tolerable insight 
 into what was going on, applauded the opposition of 
 the Duchess. — Foreigners were getting out of fashion. 
 As in the case of every extensive emigration, bad had 
 crowded to England with good ; and the respectable were 
 made accountable for the encroachments of swindlers. 
 Sicignano was a foreigner and a Papist — no matter whe- 
 ther from Paris or Palermo. — He could not be a desirable 
 match for the daughter of England’s premier Duke. 
 
 Meanwhile, I had derived some advantage from this 
 unlucky visit of Sicignano, by obtaining the fullest per- 
 sonal details concerning the Countess his kinswoman. 
 But like most inquisitive people, I had procured aliment 
 for my own disquiet. Alidea di Visconti, he informed me, 
 was beautiful, sprightly, and scarcely twenty years of 
 age ! — That was the thorn that pierced home ! — She was 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 253 
 
 ten years younger than myself ; and I, so world-worn, — 
 so haggard in heart, — could fully appreciate the potency 
 of the charm. It is not, as the vulgar would interpret, 
 mere lustre of the eye, — mere bloom of the complexion, — 
 that renders irresistible the charm of youth. It is the 
 warm heart, yet unchilled by the mortifications of life ; — 
 the bright soul, still beaming with the unsullied lustre 
 derived from its sacred source. In early life, the spiritual 
 predominates. As we live on and on, clay gains the 
 ascendancy. — We grow material, — we grow mortal. In 
 the society of Alidea, my cousin doubtless found that 
 sanguine confidence, — that elasticity of sense, — which 
 imparts such buoyancy to life ; — in all which, my nature 
 was a bankrupt. 
 
 He had heard nothing, however, of the intimacy between 
 his fair relation and Algernon. “I must own,” said he, 
 when replying to my interrogatory, “ that with us, such 
 liaisons are too much a matter of course, for any one to 
 think it worth while to notice it in a letter ; unless the 
 lady played traitress, and deserted one cavaliere for 
 another. — Still, I never desire to hear of my English 
 friends involving themselves in similar connections. Of 
 all soft slaveries, it is the mildest, and consequently the 
 most permanent. — It is far easier to get rid of a senti- 
 ment than a habit.” 
 
 “To us,” said I, “the cavalieri serventi of Italy appear 
 to hold the place of upper servants. In England, women 
 exercise some influence over manners and morals ; but 
 severer bondage, like the usages of feudal times, has fallen 
 into disuse. Our tenderness is of a silent, undemonstra- 
 tive order ; and cicisbeism is no less revolting to our prin- 
 ciples, than repugnant to our taste.” 
 
 But, however inclined to assert the morality of my 
 countrywomen, I knew Sicignano had seen too much of 
 our higher orders not to be aware that “the lady did 
 profess too much.” The aristocracies of all the civilised 
 countries of Europe exhibit a family-likeness ; as the same 
 soil and latitude produce similarity of vegetation. Luxury 
 and idleness will as surely beget licentiousness in the 
 realms of a virtuous Maria Theresa, as in those of a 
 profligate Catherine; and though the moralists of England^ 
 
25 ^ 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 ..deriving their examples chiefly from the middle classes, 
 whose cares and occupations and protestant rigidity com- 
 bine to preserve them from excess, assert with justice 
 the purity of our domestic life, Sicignano had seen too 
 many a page of our English peerage defiled with — 
 
 ‘‘ which marriage was dissolved by Act of Parliament,” 
 — to be hoodwinked by mere assumption. 
 
 The era I have been describing was, in fact, one 
 whose social license rivalled its social brilliancy; and 
 posterity will be required to accept wit, beauty, and magr 
 nificence, in atonement for many an outrage on domestic 
 decency, and an utter contempt for the claims of suffering 
 humanity. The reign of Charles II. is read as a brilliant 
 and licentious comedy. The frank gallantry of Henry 
 II., of Prance, and the regal splendours of Louis le 
 Grand, diffuse a false lustre over their several epochs ; 
 and I have sometimes heard regrets expressed by the idle 
 iand luxurious, that our utilitarian age had become too 
 practical for the pleasures of life. But had they lived in 
 the days when uproarious mobs surrounded the sovereign 
 wdienever he appeared in public, crying aloud for bread 
 and when a hearse was actually driven into the court-yard 
 .of St. James’s, for purposes of intimidation; had they, 
 .witnessed, as I did, the disunion of families, the confusion 
 of offspring, the bitterness of remorse connected with the 
 brilliant epoch in question, they would thank their stars 
 for having fallen upon better days. 
 
 Among its other disgraces, was the now unconcealed 
 disunion of the Prince and Princess of Wales; and the 
 .public exposure of the discords of the Pavilion rendered 
 -the position of Lady Isabella almost insupportable. 
 
 Again and again, did she intreat permission from the 
 ‘Duchess to send in her resignation. 
 
 ‘‘Wait a few months,” persisted her mother, “and 
 iyour marriage will aflbrd a pretext. On what plea 
 could we now ground such a proceeding ? — Delicacy of 
 ^health ? — Absurd ! when their Koyal Highnesses have so 
 lately seen you in the full bloom of youth !” — 
 
 “ I have no wish to disguise my motives.” 
 
 “ Not when your mother will be made accountable for 
 your perversity ?” 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 255 
 
 ‘^You are very earnest, then, dear mamma, that I 
 should remain?” inquired Isabella in a desponding voice. 
 
 “I ask it as Vi favour ; a strong word for so trifling a 
 sacrifice ! — Lord Addenbrooke assures us his father’s 
 sanction to your marriage will arrive at Christmas ; and 
 before the commencement of the ensuing season, you 
 will have become Countess of Addenbrooke, and bidden 
 adieu to Carlton House. Prom that period, your move- 
 ments will be regulated by your husband.” 
 
 “ Do you suppose, then, that the marriage will take 
 place in the course of the winter ?” said I, mistrustfully, 
 when Isabella had quitted the room. 
 
 “ What obstacle should prevent it ? — With five daugh- 
 ters, I am naturally anxious that one of them should 
 settle in life, to afford, in case of any mischance to my-» 
 self, a protectress to the rest. And, were my own wishes 
 consulted, I would willingly see Helena and Adeline 
 married on the same day with their sister.” 
 
 “ Helena ? — You have relented then in favour of the 
 Duke of Sicignano ?” cried I, with dawning hopes. 
 
 “ So far from it, that I have conditionally accepted for 
 her the proposals of Lord Mount- Hardington. Adeline 
 will complete her seventeenth year early in Pebruary, and 
 a single celebration might solemnise the marriages of the 
 three sisters. There is nothing more insupportable than 
 to have engaged young ladies sighing and sentimentalising 
 about one. You will greatly oblige me, dear Mrs. De 
 Vere, by assisting me to put an end, as early as possible, 
 to this embarrassing position.” 
 
 My duty to the memory of Lord Hugh was imperative ; 
 and I spoke as strongly against Isabella’s retention of 
 her place and a precipitate marriage for a child like 
 Adeline, as in favour of poor Sicignano. 
 
 But not a syllable did the Duchess deign to reply. She 
 fixed her calm, cold eye upon me for some moments in 
 silence ; then, rose and quitted the room ; and from that 
 period, the Duchess of Bochester’s demeanour became so 
 reserved and distant, that, three days after my fruitless 
 advocacy of the cause of the girls, I found myself and my 
 wounded pride on our way home to Penderels. 
 
256 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVI. 
 
 CoiJLD anything have increased the depression of my 
 spirits, on my own account as well as on that of my young 
 cousins, the omens of that dreary autumn were calculated 
 to call forth melancholy forebodings ! — Every day produced 
 some public disaster. The coercive measures necessitated 
 by the public insults offered to the King on the day of 
 the opening of Parliament, threw a damp over the politi- 
 cal atmosphere ; while such was the intemperance of the 
 equinoctial season, that fleets sank upon our coasts ; and 
 “high towers and moss-grown steeples’’ were toppled 
 down in all directions. Loss of life — loss of property — 
 was universal. Every mail brought tidings of national 
 calamity. 
 
 The day after my return to Penderels, was signalised 
 by a hurricane unprecedented in England in the memory 
 of man ; and the rising of the river Lea occasioned great 
 devastation in my little domain. Several fine old timber- 
 trees adorning the place, were snapt like reeds before the 
 wind. 
 
 These portents oppressed my spirits. I had not yet 
 passed a solitary winter at Penderels. The mild in- 
 tellectual companionship of Lord Hugh had spoiled me 
 for ordinary society. The intelligent, the high-bred, and 
 high-principled, are not easily attainable in a provincial 
 neighbourhood ; and my courage failed before the deso- 
 late prospect of a lonely winter. A country-life, without 
 BO much as a favourite companion with whom one may 
 “ sit by the fire and presume to know what’s done in the 
 capitol,” is the acme of desolation ! — 
 
 I was half inclined to set forth on my long-promised 
 visits to my two sisters. But Ailesfort Castle, at a distance 
 of three hundred miles, presented an alternative of little 
 promise; and as to the Eothesburys, Jane was still so 
 wholly engrossed by her husband and child, that I might 
 
MEMOmS OF A PEERESS. 257 
 
 as well have betaken myself for society to the arm-chair 
 of poor old doting Lady Carleton. 
 
 Such was the desponding state of my feelings, when I 
 received from dear Isabella de Vere one of those letters so 
 full of hope and happiness, which arise out of the abun- 
 dance of a youthful heart, on the eve of accomplishing 
 its destinies. 
 
 “A month more, — only a month more,” — she wrote, 
 and Lord and Lady Kincardine’s answer wdll arrive ! — 
 Already, Addenbrooke and myself are projecting our 
 arrangements. There is a beautiful Marino on the coast of 
 Sussex which he has begged of his father, for our habitation. 
 It was bequeathed to the Kincardines by a maiden aunt ; 
 and being too insignificant to comport with their ideas 
 of family dignity, they have never inhabited the place. — 
 Helena is busy japanning me a set of pannels for a morn- 
 ing-room ; and Adeline and the two girls are toiling away 
 "over their tapestry-frames, for a set of furniture. Think 
 how delightful, to have my new abode adorned by the 
 kindness of my dear sisters ! Addenbrooke is to contri- 
 bute to my new drawing-room, (“ a double cherry seem- 
 ing-parted,” ) himself, and a fine portrait by Hoppner, 
 for which he sat last summer. I begin to long, dear aunt, 
 for this same paradise of Woodbeach ; for I have no great 
 predilection for Vere Court; and mamma is just now 
 depressed in spirits, which does not enhance the charms 
 of the place. Poor Henry has been worse; and his 
 health is beginning to suffer from the disturbance of his 
 mind. Afflicted as he is, and without hope of cure, it 
 might be imagined that my mother would easily resign 
 herself to the prospect of losing him. But this is so far 
 from the case, that, since his illness, she has confined her- 
 self wholly to his apartments ; and appears more attached 
 to this unhappy boy than to any other of her children. 
 As soon as he is able to bear the journey, we shall quit 
 Vere Court; that he may resume his residence at Bright- 
 helmstone. I know not why, but I cannot help fancying 
 that some important change is about to take place in the 
 family ! — 
 
 “ Meanwhile, I doubt whether my dear aunt, who is so 
 partial to the Duke of Sicignano, will be pleased to hear that 
 
258 
 
 MEMOIRS OP A PEERESS. 
 
 Lord Mount-Hardington is not only still here, but has 
 evidently made some progress in the favour of Helena. 
 He has the good sense and good taste to abstain from 
 the most remote allusion to his pretensions. But he is 
 always by her side, — always at her orders, — ready to walk, 
 ride, drive, converse, or be silent, as suits her little lady- 
 ship’s fancy. Altogether, it would not very much surprise 
 me if this generous devotion eventually wrought a change 
 in the sentiments of my sister. And as the positiveness 
 of my mother’s character precludes all chance of her 
 withdrawing an interdiction, in the face of which not one 
 of her daughters would find courage to give way to her 
 inclinations, you may inscribe Helena in your mind as 
 sooner or later Lady Mount-Hardington. 
 
 “ Addenbrooke has been three times into the library to 
 quarrel with me for bestowing ou Mrs. Be Vere so large 
 a portion of the time which already he takes the liberty of 
 considering his own ! Every day increases his attachment ; 
 and were it not for the hazard said by the superstitious to 
 attend such boasts, I should not hesitate to proclaim 
 myself the happiest creature in the world !” 
 
 # # # # 
 
 Be happy, — young and innocent heart !” — was my in- 
 voluntary exclamation, as I perused her letter. “ Be happy, 
 as you deserve.” But the information it afibrded excited 
 many a conjecture in my mind. I could easily under- 
 stand the Duchess’s disquietude for her son. On the 
 death of the young Duke, of whose person and estate she 
 was sole guardian, the De Vere property would pass to a 
 collateral branch, leaving her only Vere Parkas a dower- 
 house, with an inconsiderable income. The girls, too, 
 were slenderly provided for ; and though the marriage of 
 the three elder would lessen her incumbrances, Susan 
 and Maria would remain to diminish her means, without 
 increasing her happiness. No one who had ever seen the 
 Duchess after the fall of the curtain of society, could be 
 deceived into the idea that she derived a moment’s pleasure 
 from the society of her daughters. 
 
 Under these prospects, a scheme presented itself, to 
 which I lost no time in soliciting her sanction. I ofiered 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 259 
 
 myself as guardian and mother to the two younger girls ; 
 offering to divide between them the inheritance I derived 
 from Lord Hugh de Vere. 
 
 “ The world,” said I, wishing to place before her every 
 argument in favour of the plan, — ‘‘ will find no cause to 
 cavil at a domestic arrangement so much in accordance 
 with the will of their poor uncle ; more particularly, as 
 the inadequacy of their fortunes to their condition in life, 
 renders their settlement in life precarious. Admitted as 
 I have been to your Grrace’s confidence, you will pardon 
 me for explicitly adverting to the probability of your 
 marriage with Lord Pembury ; in which event, I cannot 
 imagine that two girls of the age of my young cousins, 
 would be a welcome addition to your privacy. On the 
 eve of accomplishing long-cherished projects of happiness 
 in a marriage with the object of your early affection, I trust 
 my dear aunt will not deny me this compensation for the 
 untimely destruction of my own domestic felicity.” 
 
 That an appeal thus considerately worded, and kindly 
 intended, could excite displeasure on the part of the 
 Duchess of Rochester, did not enter my imagination ; 
 nor can I describe my distress on receiving some days 
 afterwards the following reply : — 
 
 I ought not to feel surprise, perhaps, at any extent of 
 insult offered me by one in whom I have overlooked such 
 monstrous perfidy and ingratitude . — Your treachery was 
 the cause of my husband’s death, and my son’s grievous 
 infirmity. You have supplanted me in the afiection of 
 my daughters. — You have supplanted my daughters in 
 the inheritance of their uncle. Penderels, which you enjoy 
 as the reward of your intrigues, should have been their 
 property. Yet you presume to offer as a benefactress, 
 what you ought to surrender as a restitution ! 
 
 ‘‘ Of the outrage towards myself contained in your letter, 
 I say nothing. If the memory of your mother did not in- 
 terpose to preserve her sister from your insults, my rebuke 
 would little avail. — Henceforward, let me hear no more of 
 you! Whether as my kinswoman, or as the heiress of 
 Lord Hugh de Vere, I banish you from my house and 
 heart.” 
 
 Though accustomed to the caprices of the Duchess, 
 
260 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 this letter appeared inexplicable. But the newspapers of 
 the day soon brought a solution of the enigma, in an an- 
 nouncement, that On Monday, 1st of December, was 
 married, at the parish church of Bally lidwell, in the county 
 of Clare, John Earl of Pembury, to Ellen, youngest daugh- 
 ter of the Eev. William Power, rector of Ballylidwell.” — 
 The Duchess had, therefore, reason to infer that my letter 
 conveyed a wilful and deliberate impertinence. 
 
 Moralists are apt to assert that sin is its own punish- 
 ment, and virtue its own reward. Let them add to these 
 axioms that a fallen woman’s bitterest chastisement is 
 usually inflicted by her lover. Most men revenge the 
 faults committed in their favour. 
 
 It would have been too much to expect of a libertine 
 like Lord Pembury, to sacrifice himself to a woman no 
 longer young or beautiful, — whose youth and beauty had 
 been deformed by the violence of her temper, and weakness 
 of her principles. He had known the Duchess as a bad 
 wife, — a bad mother. His own disgraceful connection with 
 her was cemented by a pledge revolting to the feelings 
 of both ; and I could almost pardon an act for which both 
 feeling and principle suggested so much in extenuation. 
 
 But similar indulgence was not to be expected from the 
 Duchess. Her sacrifices were unrepaid; her expecta- 
 tions frustrated, her pride was incurably wounded. A 
 woman forty years of age is peculiarly sensitive on the 
 score of her personal charms. She espies the first gray 
 hair, — the earliest wrinkle, — the impaired lustre of her 
 beauty, — long before it becomes generally manifest ; and 
 to the decay of her beauty, the Duchess attributed the 
 cruel disappointment of her expectations. 
 
 In pondering over these things, I forgave the petulance 
 of her letter. I saw how easy it was to construe mine into 
 an insult. To her, after the death of her idiotic son, and 
 the marriage of her elder daughters, the company of these 
 younger girls would perhaps become all in all. 
 
 Meanwhile there was a ])right side to the picture. The 
 prospects of the elder girls aflbrded decided cause for 
 exultation. Hot a mother in London but envied her such 
 sons-in-law, as Addenbrooke,Mount-Hardington,and Eaw- 
 borne. With them were Mammon and Lucifer, — riches 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 261 
 
 and pride ; and if driven in her own person from tlie field, 
 she triumphed in the destinies of her offspring. 
 
 The season was now becoming one of general anxiety. 
 The expected birth of an Heir to the throne imparted con- 
 siderable interest in the eyes of the world to those domestic 
 feuds at Carlton House, which, under other circumstances, 
 might have been regarded as the early squabbles of an 
 ill-assorted marriage. But when it reached the public, 
 that the Princess of Wales, about to become a mother, had 
 insisted on the dismissal of Lady Jersey, and insisted in 
 vain, it was pretty generally inferred that the expected 
 offspring would prove the last ; and that on the approach- 
 ing event hung all hope of succession from the elder branch 
 of the House of Brunswick. 
 
 Grreat, therefore, was the disappointment of the public 
 when, early in the month of January, the birth of a Prin- 
 cess dismissed the great officers of state from an attendance, 
 which we had hoped would certify the advent of a Prince 
 George, instead of a Princess Charlotte. Por who was to 
 anticipate the interest eventually excited in the country 
 by the fine frank English character of that 
 Fair-haired daughter of the Isles ^ 
 
 She came unwelcomed. Her birth brought with it no 
 customary promise of “ boys hereafter.” Complete dis- 
 union existed between the parents of a babe whose birth 
 occurred within their first year of wedded union ! The 
 King, when he came to offer his benediction to the cradle 
 of this new generation of his dynasty, was met with tears 
 on the part of a young mother, who ought to have been 
 experiencing the highest womanly triumph : and smiles 
 of cold disdain from his son, in whom indifference was 
 soured into disgust. 
 
 It was from the public papers I was now fated to 
 learn the retirement of Lady Isabella de Vere from the 
 household of the Princess of Wales. However anxious 
 to know whether the measure originated in the approach 
 of her union with Lord Addenbrooke, or was simply an 
 act of her own will, (for Isabella had just attained her 
 majority,) I had no means of ascertaining the truth. In 
 the gay circles of my own neighbourhood, the conversa- 
 
262 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 tion was engrossed by topics connected with the irrita- 
 tion of the public mind : the insult offered to the Queen, 
 by hoisting a tri-coloured flag over the Tower of London 
 during the celebration of her birthday, and by a stone 
 flung into her carriage as she returned from a visit to 
 Drury Lane theatre. Eoyalty was just then under a 
 cloud. The Drench princes had arrived at ITolyrood; 
 unhappy emigrants, with neither means to support their 
 dignity nor dignity to support their means ; while our 
 own Prince, — our own future Sovereign, — laden with the 
 benefactions of the country, was not only involved in 
 ruinous lawsuits with usurious creditors, but imagined 
 himself under the necessity of declining the official con- 
 gratulations of the city of London on the birth of the 
 Heiress Presumptive, on the plea of having an establish- 
 ment insufficient to receive with becoming form the visit 
 of the civic officers. 
 
 On the Continent, too, republicanism was not only 
 gaining strength, but gaining ground. The name of 
 Bonaparte found its way for the first time to England, 
 in connection with the invading army about to pour 
 from the summit of the Alps upon the plains of Italy ; 
 and the intelligence of that prodigious movement brought 
 Avith it a thousand terrors for my family. Hitherto, not- 
 withstanding the gloomy aspect of affairs, Mrs. Mordaunt 
 had refused to quit Italy. But after the address of the 
 Drench Directory to the armies of Drance previous to 
 carrying the AA^ar into Piedmont, Henry became peremp- 
 tory ; and it was settled that Clara and her boy should 
 sail from Genoa by a British merchant vessel. 
 
 The jeopardy of Henry and his family ought, perhaps, 
 to haA^e absorbed my whole interest. Nevertheless, I 
 could not help feeling angry Avith my brother for his 
 unkind silence relative to the position and projects of 
 my cousin Algernon. How could I tell but that Mr. 
 EaAvborne, so long acclimatised in Italy, might feel 
 sufficiently rooted in the soil to enrol himself in her 
 defence ? — How could I feel sure that, Aveary of inaction, 
 he might not take arms under the Austrian banner, 
 against the common foe of Italy and England ? — 
 
 MeariAvhile, the alarmists pursued the ringing of their 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 263 
 
 tocsin; the daily journals contributing to the public 
 panic all the sinister prognostics that the blackest ink 
 could conjui^e up. Though the army of the King of 
 Sardinia amounted to sixty thousand men, while the 
 Papal States and those of the King of Naples were 
 actively embodying their available troops, little doubt 
 was entertained in England that the hardy, resolute, and 
 enthusiastic soldiers of Prance would succeed against the 
 enervated and discontented Italian mercenaries. The 
 Austrians, under the command of a general already 
 unfortunate in the Netherlands, seemed to promise an 
 insufficient support ; and interested as I was in compre- 
 hending every shade and contingency of the affair, I 
 already anticipated for the troops of Bonaparte those 
 fatal triumphs, which formed a basis for the future fame 
 of the arch-enemy of the British nation. 
 
 With the self-consciousness of a woman nourishing at 
 her heart’s core a sentiment contrary to reason, I fancied 
 my friends were watching my countenance and demeanour 
 for indications of the anxiety of my mind. I would not 
 so much as open a nevv^spaper in the presence of my 
 servants, lest they should see written in my inquiring 
 eyes the names of “Venice” — or “Algernon.” And 
 when at length I determined on passing a few days in 
 town for the prosecution of my inquiries, I placed my 
 departure from Penderels to the account of a dentist, — 
 a mantua-maker, — or some such idle pretext ; fearing, as 
 none but a woman would have dreamed of fearing, that 
 my brother and housekeeper were as much occupied as 
 myself with the destinies of the Cisalpine Littoral. 
 
 But accountable as one feels in a circumscribed coun- 
 try-establishment to the little knot of domestic spies 
 called upper-servants, in the publicity of a London hotel 
 I felt privileged to despatch a note to the Duke of Sicig- 
 nano, without fear of the animadversions of my house- 
 keeper’s room; and while his object in hastening to 
 answer it in person was to obtain intelligence respecting 
 Helena and her mother, mine was fulfilled by the readi- 
 ness with which he informed me that Algernon had 
 quitted Venice. The friend whose letter incidentally 
 communicated the fact, added that he had left them on 
 
264i 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 the honourable mission of escorting a defenceless woman 
 to her native country ; and neither the Duke nor myself 
 hesitated to affix to the fair one to whose protection he 
 had devoted himself, the name of Alidea di Visconti ! 
 
 It might be that the vexation with which I lent myself 
 to this supposition, imparted unusual bitterness to my 
 feelings, for it certainly was not my wont to be unmind- 
 ful of the susceptibility of others. But when, after 
 gratifying my curiosity, the Duke proceeded to satisfy 
 his own by a thousand interrogations concerning the 
 Duchess, unwilling to make a merit in his eyes of my 
 championship of his cause, I simply stated that I feared 
 he must resign himself to the decree of the Duchess. 
 
 But, alas ! I had not sufficiently calculated on the 
 intemperate character of Sicignano. I, whose experience 
 of the passions lay chiefly in that class of my countrymen 
 who think so much more deeply than ihej feel, — I, who 
 had seen Bitzirnham for so long a period, and Algernon 
 for a period much longer, impose silence on their senti- 
 ments for myself, while Sir Claude Lovell and Sir Robert 
 Warley had needed only a hint of my indifference to 
 withdraw their suit at once and for ever , — 1 could scarcely 
 enter into the intensity of passion inflaming the soul of 
 the young Neapolitan! Scarcely had I let fall the 
 suggestion that it would be wiser to abandon his preten- 
 sions, when he burst forth into such violence as caused 
 me to repent my indiscretion ; — insisted on knowing the 
 worst, on knowing all; — till I was at last obliged to 
 remedy one rashness by a greater, and admit that the 
 sisters of Lady Helena regarded his cause as lost. 
 
 At that word, the vehemence of the Duke subsided. 
 A deathlike pallor overspread his face, while he interro- 
 gated me anew, with less impetuosity but the deepest 
 feeling. 
 
 “Were I not apprehensive of giving you pain,” I 
 began, — but hesitated, watching his countenance for 
 encouragement. — 
 
 “No fears, I beseech you, on that head !” — interrupted 
 Sicignano. “ I have deceived myself, — it were an act of 
 cruelty did others continue to deceive me ! All I desire 
 now is to see things in their true light. I trust I have 
 
MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 265 
 
 sense and fortitude to bear even a greater misfortune 
 than the loss of a woman’s liking.” 
 
 “ Since you are so reasonable,” I replied, “ I will not 
 hesitate to own that Isabella and Adeline, the confidantes 
 of their sister, are of opinion that she has resigned herself 
 to the authority of her mother ; and that in time she will 
 probably — ” 
 
 “No more!” interrupted the Duke, in a faint voice. 
 “ I have heard enough to undeceive my expectations. 
 Let me not learn w^hat would break my heart.” 
 
 My surprise at this sudden change of tone was painted 
 in my looks. “ It is all for the best 1” he added, with a 
 forced smile. “ I could never have submitted to a mother- 
 in-law so imperious as the Duchess of Kochester.” 
 
 His assumed cheerfulness did not deceive me. I saw 
 that Sicignano was deeply wounded; and after his de- 
 parture, regretted that I had ventured to withdraw” the 
 veil from his eyes. 
 
 But it was not of the Duke of Sicignano I had now to 
 think ; it was of Algernon, — it was of myself. Since my 
 cousin was sufficiently devoted to the Countess Visconti 
 to become her escort in the face of the world, it was clear 
 that his preference was of a higher character than a mere 
 liaison. He must dearly love her. He had altogether 
 forgotten his cousin. 
 
 Becoiling from the notion of shutting myself up at 
 Penderels alone with my tribulation, I resolved to set 
 off immediately for Ailesfort Castle ; for scarcely a week 
 elapsed without my receiving from Helen the most 
 urgent invitations. I was in the act of writing to an- 
 nounce to my sister that I was on the point of departure 
 for the north, when a letter in a handwriting I could 
 scarcely recognise was placed in my hand ; imploring me in 
 the name of all my affection for themselves — all my grati- 
 tude towards their uncle — to proceed to Brighthelmstone. 
 
 It needed not the signatures of Isabella and Helena 
 de Vere to tell me that it was my cousins who needed 
 my good offices ; and at such a suggestion, I was willing 
 to defy even the arrogance of their mother. Laying 
 aside my despatches for Lady Ailesfort, I caused my 
 horses’ heads to be turned towards the Brighton road. 
 
26G 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 This unexpected journey insured a day of perplexed 
 thoughts and painful emotions. My mind wandered hack 
 through the lapse of years to the humiliating period when 
 I had quitted the spot, rescued from the treachery of my 
 aunt by the affectionate interposition of Algernon Eaw- 
 borne ; and the recollection of her unprincipled conduct on 
 that occasion, almost justified the surmises of evil I began 
 to entertain on account of her daughters. I reproached 
 myself for not having more peremptorily exercised the 
 authority bequeathed me by Lord Hugh. 
 
 At first, she had conciliated me by the amendment of 
 her maternal dispositions. But in her recent conduct 
 towards Isabella and Helena, she seemed to have forgotten 
 herself, and me, and them. I prepared myself therefore 
 to find the girls suffering under some new severity ; — to 
 learn perhaps on my arrival, that Lord Addenbrooke had 
 been dismissed with as little ceremony as the Duke of 
 Sicignano ; or that she was insisting on the immediate 
 union of Helena with Lord Mount-Hardington. 
 
 It was evening when I reached Briglithelmstone ; and 
 having taken up my abode at an hotel, I despatched a 
 note to Helena to inquire whether her mother was in a 
 state of mind to admit of my presenting myself at her 
 residence. The poor girl’s reply was contained in the 
 following incoherent lines : — 
 
 “Thank you for coming so soon. We expect you. — 
 My poor mother is not likely even to notice your arrival. 
 
 H. De V.” 
 
 Thus encouraged, I hastened to the house. — Helena, 
 who was in waiting to receive me, threw herself into my 
 arms, mingling tears with her embraces ; and having 
 entered the drawing-room on her arm, I found Lady 
 Isabella reclining on the sofa, in a state of utter prostra- 
 tion, with Adeline sitting by her side, holding in her own 
 the hand of the sufferer. 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 267 
 
 Dearest cliild ! — you have been ill, and without giving 
 me a word of warning said I, bending over Isabella, 
 and imprinting a kiss on her pale cheek. 
 
 I shall be better now you are come !” she faltered, in 
 reply. “ I want some one to inspire me with wisdom and 
 fortitude. These dear sisters of mine give me only such 
 soothing consolation as encourages me to bewail my afflic- 
 tion rather than meet it as I ought.” 
 
 Tour affliction, dear Isabella ?” I exclaimed. “What 
 has befallen you ?” 
 
 “ The extinction of my happiness for life !” replied my 
 young cousin, attempting a melancholy smile. “The 
 answer from India is unfavourable.” 
 
 “Jibr(5than unfavourable!” whispered Lady Adeline, 
 placing her arm round my waist as we stood together 
 beside her sister. “ Lord and Lady Kincardine have ex- 
 pressed themselves in terms so insulting to mamma, that 
 Isabella feels it her duty not even to expose herself to the 
 pain of another interview with Addenbrooke.” 
 
 “ But what could tempt Lord Addenbrooke to exhibit 
 to your sister a letter offensive to her mother ?” 
 
 “ He was with us when the packet reached him ; and 
 his horror in perusing its contents was unconcealable. 
 Addenbrooke was so convinced, too, that certain expres- 
 sions used by Lady Kincardine must originate in some 
 error — some misunderstanding, — that he expressed his 
 conviction to that effect in presence of my mother. But 
 alas ! poor mamma’s emotion clearly proved that she under- 
 stood the purport of the accusation so much a mystery to 
 ourselves.” 
 
 “ Unhappy woman !” 
 
 “ It is surely J who have the best claim to compassion 1” 
 said Isabella, turning her languid face towards me. “ I 
 have never offended Addenbrooke’s family. Judging by 
 Lady Kincardine’s letters to her son, I feel that few 
 persons would have suited her so well as a daughter-in-law. 
 She demanded a submissive disposition, and mine has 
 indeed been tutored to submission 1” 
 
 “ When the Kincardines become personally acquainted 
 with you — ” I began. 
 
 “ We shall never become acquainted 1” said Isabella. 
 
268 
 
 HEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 After the expressions used by them towards my family, 
 I could never love or respect them as parents. — They are 
 not likely to visit England for years. Thank Heaven, we 
 shall never meet.” — 
 
 “And how did poor Addenbrooke support his dis- 
 appointment ?” 
 
 “ He quitted us almost in a state of frenzy. — The blow 
 fell upon him so unexpectedly ! — He had been preparing 
 everything for his marriage ; persuaded that his choice 
 would gratify the fondest expectations of his family.” 
 
 “ And whither is he gone ?” 
 
 “TIis projects are, at present, those of a madman,” 
 faltered Lady Isabella. “ He is bent on sailing for India 
 with the first fleet, to meet by personal argument the 
 opposition of his parents.” 
 
 “It is on this head, dear Mrs. He Vere, we hope for 
 your assistance,” interposed Lady Helena. “ It is you 
 alone who will bring him to reason. Isabella will not 
 hear of his incurring uselessly the peril and annoyance of 
 such a voyage. What arguments could he use to alter 
 the opinions of Lord and Lady Kincardine ? — That he 
 loves Lady Isabella de Vere to distraction! — They know 
 it, and disregard it ! The calumnies they have allowed 
 themselves to utter, he has no means to refute. Circum- 
 stances wliich occurred fifteen years ago, must always be 
 better known to them than to W5.” 
 
 “ And even were we able to prove their falsehood,” 
 added Isabella, “ the harshness shown by Addenbrooke’s 
 family has extinguished all inclination on my part to 
 belong to them. But promise me,” she added, “ to see 
 him ! — Promise me to reconcile him to our change of 
 prospects 1” 
 
 I endeavoured to reassure her by those vague encou- 
 ragements we offer to the unhappy. But they did not 
 deceive Isabella. 
 
 “Ko, no 1” she replied, pressing my hand with grateful 
 tenderness to her lips. “ I admit the kindness of your 
 intention. But you do not deceive me. Deep as is the 
 injury offered to my mother, — bitter the affliction to my- 
 self, — it is time I should nerve myself for the realities of 
 the case.” 
 
MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 2G9 
 
 ‘‘And the Duchess?” I inquired, turning towards 
 Helena. — “ Is she aware of your having written to 
 me ?” 
 
 “ She is aware of nothing ! — Henry is in a hopeless 
 state ; I should say in his last moments, but that for this 
 fortnight past, we have expected every day would end 
 his sufferings.” 
 
 “ He suffers, then ?” 
 
 “ Impossible to see a human creature more miserably 
 afflicted.- — Mamma never leaves his side ; but sits watch- 
 ing his tortures, as if every pang were more agonising to 
 her than to himself.” 
 
 “Have you courage,” said I, to apprise her of my 
 arrival? — I must not be a clandestine inmate of her 
 house.” 
 
 “We have courage to tell her of anything — 
 replied Lady Adeline. “ She is so subdued, that her 
 worst enemy would behold her with compassion.” 
 
 She proceeded accordingly to execute my mission, and 
 instantly brought back from my aunt an earnest entreaty 
 to see me. Even to the girls, I dared not avow my re- 
 pugnance to enter the presence of the young Duke ; still 
 less would I have made it perceptible to his unhappy 
 mother. And when, leaning on the arm of Lady Adeline, 
 I proceeded to his apartments, I paused on the threshold, 
 trembling at the prospect of the spectacle. 
 
 I expected violence — shrieks — outcries. Alas! on 
 entering the room, I beheld only the attenuated form of 
 a fair boy, extended in a state of stupor on a couch. On 
 a chair beside him, sat the Duchess, — motionless, — rigid, 
 — her eyes fixed on the face of the dying child. — As I ap- 
 proached and she became conscious of my presence, she 
 extended her hand aftectionately without turning her 
 looks towards me ; and the words that escaped her lips 
 were scarcely intelligible. I motioned to my companion 
 to leave us ; feeling that the Duchess might wish to re- 
 ceive me alone, at such a crisis of humiliation. 
 
 “ Look at him !” — faltered she, as Helena quitted the 
 room, — pointing to the sharpened features of the ill-fated 
 being before us. “A few hours more, and the object 
 which for twelve long years has engrossed every impulse 
 
270 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEERESS. 
 
 of my soul, will be dust ! — Gou has heavily punished me, 
 Lizzy; — punished me where my heart was sorest. — I 
 ought to have loved those girls ! — They were good, beau- 
 tiful, affectionate. — I have cared only for this afflicted 
 boy.” 
 
 “ You will have the girls to love and to console you, 
 when he is no more,” was all I could utter in reply. 
 
 ‘^JN’o! they are lost to me for ever!” — ejaculated the 
 Duchess. “ That letter from India has revealed all the 
 secrets of the past. They are still dutiful. But they 
 cannot in their hearts feel towards me as before.” 
 
 “ Pardon me 1 — Isabella understands nothing of the 
 Xincardines’ accusations, except that they purport offence 
 to you, and consequently to herself. She assures me that 
 no future concessions would induce her to enter a family, 
 the members of which had spoken iniuriously of her 
 mother.” 
 
 Did she say so ?” demanded the Duchess, turning to- 
 wards me a countenance so changed that I could scarcely 
 recognise the features. 
 
 “ She said more, and was fully supported by her sisters.” 
 
 “ Poor girls 1 — Poor children 1 — They have not yet min- 
 gled indiscriminately with the world, to learn all that wil L 
 be hereafter unfolded to them by malicious tongues. 1 
 have done you grievous wrong, Lizzy. I always fancied 
 you had been more communicative to them of the past 
 than the ties of kindred between us could excuse. I do 
 you justice now. I feel that you have not been my enemy 
 with my daughters. I have been my own, — always my 
 own !” — 
 
 A convulsive start from the young Duke diverted her 
 attention : — a start followed by the recurrence of total 
 insensibility. 
 
 “ Poor, precious, miserable outcast !” — faltered the 
 Duchess, wiping the cold dew from his wasted forehead. 
 “ But for his occasional tortures, I should scarcely know 
 that he still breathed. “ Look at him, — helpless, — almost 
 lifeless ; — and admire how little an all-just Gon has per- 
 mitted him to profit by wealth and titles, his only in 
 virtue of my treacheries. Poor Henry ! — Better to have 
 been born the hardy healthy offspring of some honest 
 
MEMOmS OP A PEEEESS. 271 
 
 labourer, than spring from the gilded couch of sin. — The 
 jealous hand of the Almighty has overtaken us!” 
 
 I strove to divert her attention from herself by inquiries 
 concerning the medical advisers of the young Duke. 
 
 “ They have done nothing for him, — they could do 
 nothing. — They have not spared him a pang!” said she, 
 with a sudden burst of irritation. “ This morning I dis- 
 missed them from their attendance ; — for they came only 
 to pry into my wretchedness. But I was wrong 1” said 
 she, dashing away the tears from her cheek. — This house 
 is marked as their prey. I shall only have to recall them. 
 They must come to dismiss my poor Isabella in due form 
 and ceremony to the grave. — The girl will die, Mrs. De 
 Vere 1 — I know her tenderness of heart. — A few months’ 
 fretting, and all will be over.” 
 
 “Do not anticipate evil. — Ton have only too many 
 misfortunes present with you 1” said I. “ Lady Isabella is 
 the most generous of human beings ; and the happiness of 
 her sisters will restore her peace of mind.” 
 
 “ The happiness of her sisters 1” ejaculated the Duchess. 
 “ Alas ! on how sandy a foundation does it rest 1 — I see 
 things no longer as I once saw them. My pride is crushed 
 — my vanity withered. I would fain bequeath to those 
 children less cause to curse my memory. You, Lizzy, are 
 unbiassed by personal prejudice. While you remain with 
 us, apply your clear judgment to study the feelings of 
 Helena ; and should you find her preference of the Duke 
 of Sicignano what you once believed it, I leave it to your 
 kindness to bring them together.” 
 
 All this I readily promised ; and even comforted her by 
 compliance wfith her entreaties that, for the present, I 
 would remain an inmate under her roof. 
 
 “ The girls stand in need of an adviser and protec- 
 tress 1” said she. “ Dor, alas, I am less than nothing to 
 them now 1” — And leaning over the young sufferer, she 
 impressed a silent kiss on his unconscious forehead. Then 
 suddenly recollecting that I must be tired with my jour- 
 ney, she dismissed me for the night; and seemed to 
 receive as a favour the embrace I did not hesitate to 
 bestow on the humbled and contrite woman. 
 
 Such, then, was the end of all her manoeuvres, — all her 
 
272 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEERESS. 
 
 faults, — all lier follies, — all her sins ! On every side, 
 humiliation — on every side, retribution. My chief anxiety 
 was to preserve the girls from participating more than was 
 inevitable in the harshness of her destinies. Whatever 
 might befall her on the death of the Duke, — and there 
 was reason to fear that her former inconsiderate prodigality 
 would plunge her into immediate difficulties, — I had still 
 a home to shelter them, and tenderness to render it a 
 happier one to them than to myself. I retired to rest, 
 resolving in the first instance to seek a private conference 
 with Lady Helena, and ascertain her present dispositions 
 towards the Duke of Sicignano. 
 
 Very early, however, on the following morning, long 
 before I was restored in either mind or body from the 
 fatigues of the preceding day, I was roused by my attend- 
 ant from a heavy sleep ; and instantly discerned in her 
 countenance tokens of dismay. 
 
 “ Is all over cried I, starting up. 
 
 “ I humbly trust not !” she replied. But there is no 
 hope. — You will scarcely be there in time, Madam, to see 
 him alive.” 
 
 Eeferring her reply to my own question, which regarded 
 the young Duke of Eochester, I threw bn my dressing- 
 gown in haste, and was preparing to follow her to the 
 presence of the Duchess ; when the embarrassment of the 
 poor woman proved that some misunderstanding existed. 
 A sad explanation was soon afforded. 
 
 More troubles, — more perplexities! My poor father 
 was on his death-bed. An express had been despatched 
 to Penderels ; — had followed me to London, — to Brighton. 
 — Mrs. Mordaunt and Eichard entreated my immediate 
 presence. 
 
 “ Go, Lizzy 1” faltered the Duchess, tears streaming 
 down her face when she found me on the point of depar- 
 ture. ‘‘ Fulfil your duties as you have ever fulfilled them ; 
 and reap your reward, as heretofore, in the love of all 
 belonging to you. Leave me to this bed of death and 
 suffering, without a friend or hope to cheer me in my 
 afflictions.” 
 
 In taking leave of the girls, there was no need to im- 
 press upon their minds the necessity of devoting their 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 273 
 
 utmost solicitude to their mother. All the attention 
 that Helena and Adeline could spare from Isabella, would 
 I knew be devoted to the Duchess. The most dutiful 
 of daughters could not be more considerate towards a 
 parent than those neglected girls. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 
 
 I DID not loiter on my journey. The weather, a mild close 
 of the month of March which seemed rather to belong to 
 April, was propitious to my haste ; and, early on the fol- 
 lowing morning, I reached the lodge-gates of Spetchingley. 
 One word from the porter sufficed to reassure me. — The 
 old man my father was yet alive ! 
 
 Happy auspices seemed to influence the season and the 
 scene ! The park lay silent in the sunshine. The leafless 
 avenues apparently waited but a signal to put forth their 
 verdure. The aspect of the old hall was full of venerable 
 sadness, as if conscious that the master-spirit was passing 
 away. No servants were loitering round the house, — no 
 gardeners busy in the shrubberies. I would not suffer 
 the carriage to drive up, lest the noise might disturb my 
 father; but alighting, entered the court-yard on foot. 
 Poor Ladybird, asleep in the sunshine, looked up wistfully 
 as I passed ; apprised by the discomposure of her habits 
 of daily attendance on the ’Squire, that something was 
 amiss. 
 
 The nature of my father’s disorder having produced 
 considerable oppression, he was not able to rest in a re- 
 cumbent position ; but sat propped by pillows, dozing in 
 his arm-chair. When I entered the room with Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt, my cousin Eichard was seated at a little distance, 
 his hands on his knees, and with a face of deep concern ; 
 without a book, Avithout an occupation, save the predomi- 
 nant interest of Avatching the decline of him on Avhose life 
 he had so religiously attended. My brother the Arch- 
 deacon Avas expected every monient from iho Eectory, for 
 
 T 
 
274 . 
 
 IvlEMOIES or A PEERESS. 
 
 his daily visit. But Dick Mordaunt never left the house, 
 — rarely even the chamber of the invalid. 
 
 Having already learned from Mrs. Mordaunt, that my 
 poor father’s hours vrere numbered, (the physicians having 
 decided that he would not survive the day,) I was content 
 to see him slumber on so tranquilly, satisfied that his suf- 
 ferings must be inconsiderable. He woke up refreshed 
 and peaceful, with a smile for Mrs. Mordaunt, — a smile 
 for Dick, — and a burst of afiectionate self-gratulation, 
 when they prepared him for my appearance by informing 
 him that his eldest daughter was come from Penderels to 
 visit him. 
 
 “Welcome, Lizzy, to Spetchingley ; welcome for the 
 last time !” murmured he, as I knelt at his feet. “ I told 
 you when you left us, child, you would have to obey once 
 more the summons of the old man. Lately, however, I 
 had feared never to see you again. A day or two ago, I 
 fancied all was up with me. But these kind souls have 
 been so thoughtful, — so tender, — watching over me as a 
 mother over her infant, — that I am spared to give you 
 my blessing before I die. Where’s young Algernon Mor- 
 daunt ? — Where’s Harry’s boy? — Has his aunt seen 
 him ? — Isn’t he grown, Lizzy ? — Hasn’t he a look of his 
 father about the eyes ? — Do you know, my dear, I’ve been 
 dreaming all night of my son. — I fancied we were walking 
 together over the home-farm, as we did twenty years 
 agone, when Lady Betty used to be angry with me for 
 keeping the lad out in the dew ; — and we went into the 
 paddock where the old bay hunter, and gray Peggy, your 
 poor mother’s favourite mare, were turned out to grass ; 
 and I wanted Harry to ” 
 
 “You must not tire yourself with talking. Sir. The 
 Doctor says we mustn’t let you tire yourself with talking,” 
 — interposed Dick Mordaunt, in whose eyes the tears were 
 gathering, as he listened to the broken voice and oppressed 
 breathing of the ’Squire. “We shall send Mrs. De Vere 
 back to Hertfordshire, if she encourages you to talk.” 
 
 My father placed Ids hand caressingly on the hard brown 
 hand which leant on the arm of his chair. 
 
 “ Call her Lizzy, my boy I” — said he. “ Tour cousin’s 
 your cousin, though not to be your wife. — Lizzy ! I’ve no 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEBESS. 
 
 275 
 
 great fancy for tliat name of De Vere. ’Tis one that never 
 was a credit to the family ; and since you don’t care to 
 take up again with the old one of Mordaunt,” he continued, 
 perceiving that poor Dick, thus abruptly apostrophised, 
 had quitted the room, “ the sooner you fix on that of some 
 honest man who will help you to make an honourable 
 figure in the world, and be a stay and comfort to your 
 declining years, the better. — I would fain have you marry 
 again.” 
 
 Unwilling to thwart my father at such a time, I pro- 
 mised to attend to his advice. And certainly, if an^^thing 
 could advocate the cause of matrimony, it would have been 
 the prevalence of the ruling passion strong in death,” 
 manifested by my father. He could not bear his excellent 
 wife to be out of his sight. He had patience with nothing 
 that was not administered by her hand. In spite of his 
 fond affection for his children and grand-children, and 
 more than kinsmanly attachment to Dick Mordaunt, from 
 the face of his wife only emanated the comfort from which 
 his last moments extracted consolation. 
 
 My brother Eichard came at last ; his attention diverted 
 from his dying father by his ceremonious welcome to 
 myself, — his fears lest I should suffer from fatigue, — his 
 anxiety that I should retire and take some rest ; receiving 
 me not as his sister Lizzy, but as Mrs. De Vere of Pen- 
 derels Park ! I was glad when his mechanical recitation 
 of the daily service was at an end. To me there was more 
 religion in the broken words of patient resignation, uttered 
 by the poor old ’Squire, than in all the studied phraseology 
 of the Archdeacon. 
 
 “ Lizzy,” said my father, when, having dismissed Mrs. 
 Mordaunt and Dick to take some repose, he found him- 
 self alone with me, whom he fancied more intimately the 
 friend of my brother than the rest of the family, — ‘‘ they 
 tell me Harry Mordaunt will soon be coming home, be- 
 cause the French are to be masters in Italy. I could have 
 wished to set eyes on him once more, and give up his boy 
 to his hands. But G-od’s will be done ! — So tell him for 
 me, Lizzy, that I died blessing him, and praying that, 
 even as he did unto me, the Almighty may do unto him, 
 and more also. — May his children prove a joy to him, as 
 
276 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 mine have proved to me. Say, if you think of it, that I 
 recommend to his kindness the old servants and labourers. 
 I have begged to have six of them carry the poor old 
 ’Squire to his grave. 'No display — no fine horses and 
 plumes — for Mordaunt of Spetchingley, that was snatched 
 from beggary by the worthiness of his son. Let my own 
 people attend, and no other. They have been good servants 
 to me ; — God send that I prove not to have been a bad 
 master to tliemP 
 
 I begged him to desist from these trying allusions. But 
 he chose to be heard to the end. 
 
 “ And tell Harry I could wish Bob Addington to get the 
 renewal of his lease, on easy terms. Old Addington was out 
 with me as a boy, my first day’s hunting, sixty year back, 
 the first fence that ever I cleared. — It seems but yester- 
 day! — Don’t forget to say a word for old Addington.” 
 
 Malve yourself easy, dearest father, Henry will take 
 care of him.” 
 
 “ And if my son wouldn’t take it amiss,” he resumed, 
 “ I should like poor Ladybird to go to Dick Mordaunt. 
 She’s not the dog old Ladybird was before her, so that 
 Harry will never miss her. — But Dick’s used to the beast, 
 and the beast to him ; and when September comes, I 
 should like her to be in Spetchingley woods again, though 
 the old man ” 
 
 He paused. — Nature would have its Avay. — The tears 
 long gathered in his eyes, dropped upon my hand. 
 
 “ I know I am wrong to think of such things at such 
 a time,” he resumed at length. ‘‘ My son Bichard would 
 reprove me, if he knew I was thinking of dogs and leases, 
 wben my affections ought to be elsewhere. But one can’t 
 help it, Lizzy. And now, let’s talk of better things.” 
 
 We did talk of better things ; and I found my father’s 
 frame of mind greatly to be envied ; — full of Faith, — Hope, 
 — Charity, — yet humble as became the humility of a 
 Christian. He reviled himself with the oversights which 
 had occasioned his banishment from the house of his ances- 
 tors. But his life had, in fact, been one of as blameless a 
 tenour as is consistent with the frailty of mortal nature. 
 
 Towards evening, he rallied; excited, as it was supposed, 
 by the sight of his daughter Lizzy. He had expressly 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEEEES3. 
 
 277 
 
 desired that Jane and Helen, settled at so great a distance 
 from Spetcliingley, might not be sent for; he had insisted 
 only on seeing the favourite child of Lady Betty. I 
 wrote, however, to apprise my sisters of the change that 
 was taking place, and entertained little doubt they would 
 hold it their duty to hasten to Spetchingley. 
 
 What a touching spectacle was it to behold the 
 labourers crowding to the gate, to inquire after their 
 friend and benefactor! — Not a sound was to be heard in 
 the house, — not a whistle or cry of joy in the fields, — in 
 the fear of creating disquiet for the ’Squire. The second 
 day after my arrival, was the Sabbath ; and when prayers 
 were demanded by my brother of the congregation in 
 Spetchingley church, “ for one labouring under grievous 
 bodily affliction,” not an individual present but bent 
 the knee ; and many a gray head was bowed down with 
 sorrow to know that the snares of death were encompass- 
 ing their good old ’Squire. 
 
 That night was one of exceeding restlessness, — exceed- 
 ing pain. My father dozed at intervals, only to be awoke 
 by distressing dreams ; and careful as we had all been to 
 abstain from referring in his presence to the ^ hazards 
 experienced by Clara and her son, instinct seemed to 
 acquaint him that something was amiss. In his sleep, he 
 constantly murmured the names of Henry and the boys. 
 
 ‘‘ Oh 1 that my eyes could but rest upon him once again! 
 — Oh! that my eyes could rest once more upon my son!” I 
 heard him secretly ejaculate; little dreaming that the last 
 wish of the good old man was about to be fulfilled ! Early 
 on the following day, on hearing the sound of an ap- 
 proaching carriage and seeing from the window a post- 
 chaise-and-four in the avenue, I concluded it was the 
 Bothesburys who, using the utmost speed, might already 
 reach Spetchingley in reply to my letter. 
 
 My father turned his eyes inquiringly towards me, as I 
 returned from the window. 
 
 ‘‘ One of my sisters. Sir, I believe,” said I, in answer to 
 his mute interrogation. 
 
 “ Poor Helen! — Poor Jane! — they ought not to have 
 been disturbed from their happy homes,” he faltered. “I 
 can scarcely see them now, — my eyes are dim.” 
 
278 
 
 MEMOIES OP A PEERESS. 
 
 At that momentjlittle Algernon, who sat reading at his 
 grandfather’s feet, started up exclaiming, I hear Papa’s 
 voice ! — I hear Papa’s footsteps !” 
 
 “ Hush, hush !” said I, perceiving that the mere . conjec- 
 ture had brought a hectic flush into my father’s face, and 
 that his hands trembled with agitation. 
 
 “It is my Papa — I say it is my Papa!” persisted the 
 child, as the door was gently opened, and my brother 
 Henry, his countenance overpowered with emotion, glided 
 towards my father. The old man ought to have been 
 prepared. But it was too late now. — The servants had 
 told my brother that their master was in the agonies of 
 death ; and Henry lost not a second. 
 
 The old man made a last effort to lay his hand upon 
 the head of his idolised son ; and in the attempt, fell back 
 breathless 1 — A smile of inexpressible delight was im- 
 printed on his venerable face as it gave way to the relax- 
 ing touch of death; and when we knelt down around him, 
 and commended his spirit to the Almighty, we felt that 
 he had been summoned away in a moment of unalloyed 
 happiness. 
 
 It needed not the formal exhortation of the Archdeacon 
 to assure us that such is the Death of the Just 1 — 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 All was ordered at Spetchingley after the manner indi- 
 cated by my father ; and his whole family was once more 
 re-united to lay his gray hairs with honour in the grave. 
 His coffin was borne by his own people, — followed by his 
 own children. — But it was followed also by a voluntary 
 procession of the neighbouring gentry, from a distance of 
 thirty miles round. The manner in which Mr. Mordaunt 
 had given himself up to mortification and privation, for 
 the re-establishment of his affairs, had won respect from 
 all classes of his Leicestershire neighbours; and Mrs. 
 Mordaunt had the heartfelt consolation of knowing that, 
 
MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 279 
 
 in spite of intervening clouds, tlie star of her husband’s 
 life had set in greater lustre than it rose. 
 
 Grievous, meanwhile, were the auspices under which 
 my brother succeeded to his inheritance. As soon as we 
 could withdraw our thoughts from our recent affliction, 
 we had to listen to poor Henry’s alarms at the non-arrival 
 of Clara and his son, whom he had expected to find in 
 England ; and whose risks as travellers on the Continent 
 at such a crisis, were of a far from trivial nature. 
 
 “Nevertheless,” observed my brother, “with so kind 
 and wise a protector, I feel my poor wife to be as secure 
 of care and consideration, as though I were by her side.” 
 
 “ I was not aware,” said I, “ that you have been enabled 
 to intrust your family to confidential hands ?” 
 
 “ Have you not heard, then,” cried he, “ that Algy 
 Eawborne, on learning my dilemma set off for Turin 
 and undertook the charge of conveying his cousins to 
 England ?” 
 
 “Just what I should have expected from Algernon!” 
 I exclaimed. “ God send them a safe journey.” 
 
 And thus, on one thorny point, my mind v/as unex- 
 pectedly set at rest. My cousin was returning to his 
 native country in the spontaneous execution of one of 
 those duties to which his generous life had been devoted. 
 It was for a member of the Mordaunt family, too, that he 
 was braving difficulty and danger ; and in the depths of 
 my heart, I could not help flattering myself that “ Lizzy” 
 had some share in securing his good services for Clara and 
 Henry. It is true they, also, were his cousins. — But they 
 were not, like myself, the idols of his youth. 
 
 “Everything has been against me,” said Henry, in a 
 desponding voice, after having recapitulated the difficulties 
 likely to befal these beloved travellers, and the dangers to 
 which he had himself been personally exposed. “ On 
 setting foot yesterday in London, where I expected to find 
 my wife and child established in safety, the first person I 
 encountered at the Eoreign Office was my old friend 
 Castelcicala, come to announce to Government the dread- 
 ful end of poor Sicignano.” 
 
 “ The dreadful end of poor Sicignano ?” I repeated, 
 with a look of horror. “ My dearest Harry ! — You must 
 
280 
 
 MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 be dreaming. Scarcely live days ago, I parted from the 
 Duke in perfect health !” 
 
 Dive days are as five centuries, in such a case. Last 
 night, I saw him in his cof&n ! Unaware of the imminence 
 of my father’s danger, I could not refuse Castelcicala’s 
 request that I would accompany him to the hotel where 
 our unhappy friend put an end to his existence. I assisted 
 him to place seals on the Duke’s efiects, and communicate 
 the sad event to the Sicignano family.” 
 
 “And is no motive assigned?” I exclaimed, scarcely 
 able to breathe when I reflected on the incautiousness 
 of my communications to him respecting Lady Helena 
 de Vere. 
 
 “None! — He transacted business that morning with 
 Lord Grrenville, in a composed and able manner. He 
 was in no personal difficulties ; for bills of five thousand 
 pounds, on London bankers, were found in his desk. 
 Grenier, and the rest of the people at the hotel, give the 
 highest praise to his regular and punctual habits, bewailing 
 him, indeed, as if they had lost a friend.” 
 
 “ Did he leave no letter ?” 
 
 “ None that afforded explanation. Since the case of the 
 unfortunate Duke of Rochester, (which I do not even yet 
 fully understand,) no instance has occurred of a suicide 
 so involved in mystery. Young, handsome, noble, wealthy 
 — happy in his engagement to one of the loveliest and 
 most amiable girls in England — ” 
 
 There ^ I fear, lies the origin of all!” cried I, inter- 
 rupting him in deep affiiction. “The Duchess having 
 peremptorily interdicted their union, has for some time 
 past promoted a match between Helena and Lord Mount- 
 Hardington ; and in my last interview with the Duke, I 
 unluckily admitted my conviction, that all hope of a con- 
 clusion in his favour was at an end.” 
 
 “ You have indeed developed this afflicting mystery,” 
 replied Henry, gravely. 
 
 “But not, alas! my own share in accelerating the 
 catastrophe. Twice, my dear Henry, — twice have 1 been 
 the innocent cause of self-murder 1” cried I, in unspeak- 
 able distress. 
 
 “ My dearest Lizzy 1” 
 
MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 281 
 
 “But for Fitzirnham’s impetuous defence of myself 
 and inculpation of the Duchess, the Duke of Bochester 
 might he yet alive; and on quitting Brighton for Spetch- 
 ingley four days ago, I was commissioned by my aunt to 
 replace things on their former footing between Helena 
 and Sicignano. Engrossed by the perilous condition of 
 my father, I gave no further thought to them. — And be- 
 hold the result!” 
 
 “ You acted, my dear sister, as others Avould have done 
 in your place. A dying father was necessarily your first 
 object. And who could suppose the sensibility of that 
 gay-hearted young man to be so profoundly touched 1” 
 
 “This very day, I purposed writing to him 1” — said I. 
 “And he is already consigned to the grave! — What 
 will become of Helena! — I received a letter yesterday 
 from the poor girl, assuring me of the unaltered state of 
 her afiections, and imploring me to bring about a recon- 
 ciliation between her mother and lover !” 
 
 “ Helena is young. An impression so recently imbibed 
 may be eventually obliterated. My compassion regards 
 rather the mother and sister of Sicignano. He was an 
 only son ; the line of an ancient family is broken by his 
 untimely death ; and how will his lovely sister Leonora* 
 surmount the loss of the companion of her childhood ? — 
 
 * Extract from the Annual Register: — “Died, at Grenier’s hotel, in 
 Jermyn Street, about six o’clock in the evening, the Duke of Sicig- 
 NANO, lately arrived here as Ambassador from Naples, A paper, which 
 was found on the table, in the Duke’s handwriting, declared ‘ that the 
 act was his own free choice ; that no one was to be blamed, nor was any 
 one privy to it.’ He had said to his secretary, about an hour before, that 
 he should dine at the Imperial Ambassador’s ; and expressed a wish that 
 whenever he did not immediately answer a knock at the door, no person 
 should repeat the knocking, or endeavour to come in. The secretary had 
 occasion to call upon him in the evening, and receiving no answer to his 
 rap, went away, according to the wish of the Duke. After a second and 
 third unsuccessM attempt, he was alarmed ; and the door being locked, 
 was burst open by the servants. The body, when found, was still moving, 
 but, as the surgeons declared, merely by the convulsions of death. The 
 ball had passed through his head, and he died a few minutes afterwards. 
 The motive of this violence against himself cannot be discovered. 
 Rills of credit for £5,000 were found in his escritoire. He was not thirty 
 years of age, of a very favourable appearance, and a disposition evenly, 
 and even powerfully cheerful. As soon as the event became known, 
 Prince Castelcicala and some other foreign noblemen went to Grenier’s 
 to view the body, and took charge of his eifects. Next morning, Mr. Bur- 
 gess, one of his Majesty’s Under Secretaries of State, at the request of 
 
282 
 
 MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 Never was man more truly beloved in bis family than 
 tbe poor Duke of Sicignano !” 
 
 “ I have scarcely courage to reflect on tbe aggravated 
 calamities befalling, day after day, tbe bouse of De Vere !” 
 cried I, unable to sympathise as I wished in tbe interest 
 testified by Henry for bis Neapolitan friends. 
 
 “ Providence is just !” replied my brother, gravely. 
 “ Tbe end of our good father was full of consolation. The 
 Duchess, whose life has been one of unmerited and un- 
 improved prosperity, has fallen at length into tbe shade.” 
 
 Before I quitted Spetcbingley, indeed, tbe measure of 
 tbe Duchess’s misfortunes was accomplished ! Tbe 
 newspapers announced in one brief line, tbe decease of 
 Henry Duke of Rochester, a minor and devoted a 
 column to tbe enumeration of tbe high-sounding titles 
 and prodigious property devolving, in consequence of 
 this event, upon “ Henry Wbitebouse de Vere, Esq., of 
 Gartonside, in tbe county of Vrestmoreland, who succeeds 
 to tbe Marquisate of De Vere and all tbe English honours, 
 — the dukedom of Eocbester being extinct. Henry 
 Whitehouse de Vere,” said tbe journals of tbe day, “ now 
 Marquis de Vere, Earl of Penderels, Viscount Colne, 
 Baron Gartonside, Wold, and Wolstenholm, descends in 
 a direct line from John, second son of Lord Erancis, 
 third son of Hugh, second Duke of Eocbester, who was 
 raised to that dignity by King James I. The Marquis 
 was united, on the 3rd of May, 1748, to Mary, only 
 daughter of J obn Doblyns Smith, by whom he has had 
 sixteen children, of whom fifteen survive — seven sons 
 and eight daughters ; the eldest, now Earl of Penderels, 
 having married, in 1770, Miss Grace Wrought on, of 
 Chingle Park, by whom he has a family of ten children. 
 The Marquis comes into immediate possession of Vere 
 Court, in Lancashire ; Castle Wolstenholm, in the county 
 of Monaghan; Beaufort House, inThe county of Middle- 
 
 Lord Grenville, went to the hotel, to make the necessary inquiries con- 
 cerning the suicide, and to give orders for the removal and interment of 
 the corpse ; and an express was sent off to Naples with the melancholy 
 news. The Duke was a young nobleman of one of the best families in 
 Italy, of very amiable manners, and much beloved by those who knew 
 him". A lovely sister is dangerously ill from the melancholy event having 
 been communicated to her in too sudden a manner. 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEERESS. 
 
 283 
 
 sex, besides estates in the counties of York and West- 
 moreland; altogether comprehending a rent-roll of between 
 eighty and ninety thousand pounds per annum.” 
 
 And thus, some forty or fifty obscure individuals 
 received their share in the compensations of Providence ; 
 while the guilty woman, so long triumphant, was dismissed 
 to a humble mediocrity. Instead of Courts and Castles, 
 the small estate of Vere Park, in Berkshire, was to con- 
 stitute her sole possession. Plate, diamonds, all the 
 ducal appanage of the wyvern-volant, were to be given 
 up to strangers ; and the improvident hands which had 
 scarcely found ninety thousand a-year sufficient to supply 
 their prodigality, were hereafter to restrict themselves to 
 two, augmented by about as many more, till the marriage 
 of her daughters. Henceforth, she w^as to become a 
 cypher in that world of wantonness, in 'which she had 
 reigned supreme ! — 
 
 Our little party, meanwhile, readily consented to 
 remove with me from Spetchingley, now so fraught with 
 painful reminiscences, to Penderels, whence the com- 
 munication with London was immediate. My brother 
 proposed to be chiefiy in town till Clara’s arrival ; having 
 law business on his hands connected with the division of 
 family property, as well as with the affairs of the Duke 
 of Sicignano, the arrangement of which he had under- 
 taken. Mrs. Mordaunt and my worthy cousin now 
 became inmates for the first time, of that once disdainful 
 Lizzy, now so deeply conscious of the value of their 
 friendship. The childish sportiveness of little Algernon 
 served to enliven the depression of our spirits ; and, as 
 the spring was breaking, and Hertfordshire assuming 
 that ornate rural elegance for which its trimly parks are 
 so remarkable, I had the pleasure of seeing Penderels in 
 its best array to welcome the travellers. 
 
 The period, however, was one of anxious suspense. 
 Every eye, every thought, was constantly directed towards 
 the lodge-gate opening from the London road ; and wdiea 
 at last the long-expected vehicle came in sight, and Clara, 
 Henry, and their eldest boy made their appearance, 
 unaccompanied, I had no breath to inquire the cause of 
 Algernon’s absence. 
 
284i 
 
 MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 My fears were charitably relieved by my brother. 
 Algernon was safe — well — but detained in St. James’s 
 Square by the serious illness of his brother. A neglected 
 fall the preceding spring at Melton, had produced some 
 inward injury ; and the state of the Earl Avas considered 
 precarious. It was written, in short, that in this, as in all 
 else, the Duchess of Rochester should reap only mortifica- 
 tion in her projects for the establishment of her daughters. 
 
 It was, however, as Algernon EaAvborne — simply as 
 Algernon, — that my dear cousin, during the temporary 
 amendment of his ungracious brother, found his way to 
 Penderels. Confessions and professions followed ; ending 
 in a solemn mutual engagement, ratified at the close of a 
 few months by a still dearer — still closer tie. — My friend 
 and benefactor became at length my husband ! — 
 
 And when the melancholy attendance of this affection- 
 ate brother upon the peevish sick-bed of the Earl, termi- 
 nated in his accession to wealth and distinction, I had 
 the satisfaction of fulfilling a Avish dear to my heart, by 
 installing the unfortunate Duchess and her daughters in 
 the family-estate of Penderels ; as well as of continuing 
 to soothe by the tenderest affection the sorrows of my 
 ill-fated cousins. 
 
 Of my own destinies as a wife, I forbear to speak. 
 Perfect contentment is of so soothing a quality, that I 
 might perhaps lull my readers to a more than desirable 
 mood of quietude by a description of the tranquil desti- 
 nies of the Countess of Eawborne. With my OAvn Algy, 
 I dwelt afar from Avhat was termed by Avitlings ‘‘ the 
 liost of Earo,” and the glittering pleasures of the world. 
 We lived in retirement, surrounded by a few cheerful 
 neighbours, and cheered by frequent visits from those 
 eminent men and illustrious politicians, with wliom the 
 association of mine and my husband’s early life had made 
 us familiar. Eox, Hare, Eitzpatrick, Avere our frequent 
 
 guests. Happy in ourselves — in each other — we 
 
 But of that period no more ! — 
 
 Such reminiscences are too much for my present season 
 of isolation and decrepitude. 
 
285 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 At the commencement of my task as a commemorator of 
 my ‘‘life and times,” I designed to treat of the former 
 as comprehended within the happy spring-time of my 
 years ; and of the latter, as closing with the close of the 
 last century. Eor what is the life of a decayed beauty 
 but a cheerless November day, inspiring only gloomy 
 reflections ; and how can a woman presume to judge dis- 
 passionately of times in which she has ceased to exercise 
 an influence ? — 
 
 How little did I conjecture, when, on witnessing the 
 dawn of a new age, — again a widow, and, alas! still 
 childless, — I exclaimed in bitterness of heart — “ My glory 
 has departed from me, — my days are done 1” that I should 
 survive through so vast a portion of its onward progress ! 
 At five-and-thirty, withered in heart and soul by my 
 double bereavement, I registered a vow to attempt no 
 further realisation of my chimeras of domestic happiness. 
 — I was rich — a Countess Dowager; but ambition de- 
 lighted me not, nor splendour either; and for several 
 years after the loss of Lord Eawborne, I remained 
 stationary at an old manor-house situated in the same 
 county with Eawborne Hall, which, being entailed with 
 the title, was now in the hands of a distant kinsman. 
 
 But this could not last. My nieces, all of whom were 
 happily married, and my tw- o sisters, w^hose children were 
 dear to me as my own, successively drew me from my 
 solitude to become their guest ; till, from one thing to 
 another, motives of health, — motives of convenience, — 
 partly choice, — partly accident, — induced me to provide 
 myself with a house in town. 
 
 Erench w^omen, wEose sayings seldom evince mucli 
 delicacy of sentiment, assert that the perfection of female 
 happiness would be to be born a widow^ These lax 
 talkers must certainly have in view a widowhood such as 
 
286 
 
 MEMOIKS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 mine, — healthy, wealthy, and uncontrolled. I had 
 nothing to do but he happy in my own way. But to 
 preserve that way my own. Love was to he excluded 
 from my comfortable mansion in May Bair. As a nun 
 is said to espouse the cloister on quitting the world, I 
 resolved to espouse the world in quitting my solitude. 
 AVith no intention, however, of becoming a submissive 
 wife. My temper was now a little domineering ; and I 
 resolved to acquire great influence over my new partner. 
 It was something, at least, that I could throw myself into 
 its arms without a feeling of bitterness. The wound 
 arising from disappointed affections inflicts a permanent 
 scar on the character ; and, as a peevish fretful bride, I 
 might have failed to obtain the ascendancy I coveted. 
 But my happiness had been as complete as sublunary 
 happiness can be. I had no quarrel with society ; — no 
 wrongs to avenge upon the world. 
 
 Philosophy too came to my aid. I discovered that, 
 even when a plant has shed its bloom, the foliage may be 
 worth preserving. ]>irature, which provides us with a 
 progressive digestion for every succession of aliment 
 between infancy and old age, provides us also with 
 varying capacities for happiness ; and the childhood, 
 which is “pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw,” 
 becomes, after “ a youth of folly, an old age of cards.” 
 "When young, we despise dowagerly enjoyments. But 
 with dowagerhood, comes the love of scandal, toadies, and 
 lap-dogs ; and I gradually found myself enamoured of a 
 blue macaw and an elegiac preacher. Ten years later, 
 I frequented the Lock Chapel ; and took my airings in 
 the Begent’s Park ! — 
 
 On first settling in London, a few of my friends of 
 former days remained to welcome me ; — the Duke and 
 Duchess of Devonshire, the Melbournes, Bobert Spencer, 
 and others. With St. Anne’s Hill, even in my utmost 
 seclusion, I had kept up continual intercourse; and it 
 was now more delightfal than ever to steal a few days’ 
 respite from the tumult of the metropolis, and enjoy with 
 the best of men the beauties of the sequestered scene to 
 which he was so much attached. Pox was too devoted a 
 husband to admit of any misconstruction of the motives 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 287 
 
 wliich drew me to his side ; and often, wlien Mrs. Fox saw 
 us return together from the favourite tree beneath whose 
 shade it was his delight to watch the animated course of 
 the Thames, she discerned in a moment from my reddened 
 eyelids, that w’e had been dwelling together upon the 
 past, and cherishing the precious memory of those who 
 had been dear to both. 
 
 One day, soon after the proclamation of the peace or 
 rather truce of Amiens, I was surprised in Stanhope 
 Street by a visit from my illustrious friend, who found 
 me musing over Madame Cottin’s last novel. 
 
 Come, come,” cried he, “ my dear Lady Eawborne ! 
 Lay aside these phantoms of the brain, and study human 
 nature. Men and women are best in the original. An 
 excellent opportunity presents itself. Mrs. Fox and I 
 are off for the Continent, where I am anxious to examine 
 the archives of Paris, for my Stuart History. There are 
 precious documents, perhaps still recoverable, which were 
 stolen during the revolution from the Scotch College.” 
 
 “Do not attempt to deceive me with such shallow 
 pretexts,” said I, laughing. “You want to inhale in 
 the republican capital, the incense likely to be burnt 
 before the Champion of Liberty. You care as little as I 
 do for your imbecile James and his intrigues.” 
 
 “ I care, at least, for my nephew Holland, whom I am 
 to meet there. Lord Eobert and Hare too will be in 
 Paris in the autumn, and St. John accompanies us. Our 
 tour commences with Holland. Come! exert yourself. 
 — You are just the person to plead at the consular court, 
 with all the eloquence of beauty and high breeding, the 
 fallen cause of aristocracy.” 
 
 “ No need of all these flatteries !” I replied. “ The 
 first person you meet in Paris will be your faithful 
 humble servant.” 
 
 This promise, I fulfilled. I was in waiting at the 
 Hotel de Eichelieu, when Mr. and Mrs. Fox arrived, in 
 the month of August ; after receiving in their progress 
 through France the homage, I might almost say adula- 
 tion, of all classes of society. For, the worship I had 
 formerly seen offered up in London to my friend, was 
 nothing, compared with that which awaited him on tlie 
 
288 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 Continent. The proverb that no man is a prophet in his 
 own country, was fully exemplified in Eox. In England, 
 he was esteemed an able statesman. But the public 
 rarely think much of a statesman with whom the state 
 can dispense. In Paris, he was idolised as a demi-god. 
 Military serenades, deputations, civic festivals, greeted him 
 in the provinces : and in the capital, he was followed in 
 promenades, applauded in theatres, caressed in society, 
 cheered by the people, flattered by the government. His 
 air, his dress, his very infirmities were imitated. Every- 
 thing was ‘‘a la Eox 1” — the strongest evidence of 
 Parisian enthusiasm ! for were a prophet really to descend 
 among them, their hats and cutlets would instantly be 
 named a la Mdise^'^ or ‘‘a la MaTiomet,^^ 
 
 He bore his honours with the total absence of charla- 
 tanism which distinguished his sterling and truly English 
 character. Aided by Mr. Adair, he pursued his researches 
 in the ably organised Hotel des Archives ; or visited the 
 environs ; or suffered Madame Eecamier to drag him ofl* 
 for exhibition in some public promenade. 
 
 “We must be seen together,” she used to exclaim. 
 “ Before you came, I was the lion in fashion ; and for 
 worlds I would not liave people suppose me jealous of 
 my rival.” 
 
 My own curiosity, meanwhile, was eagerly excited by 
 the first aspect of a city which, for the last ten years, had 
 so engrossed the attention of Europe. How short a time 
 had elapsed since the arrival of every post brought tidings 
 which caused us to thrill with terror! So powerful, 
 indeed, and still so vivid, were the impressions created 
 by the frightful epoch of the Eevolution, that we fancied 
 the blood was scarcely yet dried up, which had deluged 
 the devoted city. The Abbaye, — the Conciergerie, — the 
 Temple, — the Gruillotine, were names retaining all their 
 fearful associations ; and a few days after my arrival, I 
 visited the Place de Louis XV. and the Cimetiere de la 
 Madeleine, prepared for profound emotions. 
 
 But I little knew Paris, — I little knew the Prencli. 
 Already, all was obliterated, — all forgotten! — A few 
 glorious battles had withdrawn every particle of interest 
 from the national tragedy; and the only wounds left 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 289 
 
 bleeding from the wounds of the Eeign of Terror, were 
 concealed by the embroidered uniforms and tricoloured 
 scarves, besetting the levees of the Tirst Consul. 
 
 With respect to the coup d'oeil of Eepublican institu- 
 tions promised me by Fox, if levity had effaced the 
 terrible trophies of the Eevolution, courtiership was 
 beginning to re-regalise the desecrated palace of the 
 Bourbons. Amid the Brutus heads, and j^grippina tunics 
 of the new court, the leaven of chamberlainship and lady- 
 ship-of-the-bedchamber, was rapidly rising. 
 
 There were hosts of English in Paris. We formed a 
 showy corps d'' elite of the fine and fanciful ; and as every 
 little congregation of fashion must have its idolatry and its 
 infidelity, our clique soon divided itself into Bonapartists 
 and Anti-Bonapartists. I could not exactly discover what 
 part the latter faction, (among whom were a few furious 
 Bourbonists,) came to play, just then, in Paris. Perhaps 
 to seek the excitement of disgust, in preference to the 
 lassitude of ennui ; just as others affected to applaud the 
 combination of togas and top-boots ; or raved of Athenian 
 tunics, bare arms, wet drapery, and Madame Eecamier. 
 
 I was inclined to judge all I saw' with rigid impartiality. 
 The campaigns of Italy, as compared with our own recent 
 pigtail-and-pipeclay soldiership in Holland, had kindled 
 my enthusiasm in favour of the young Csesar, whose three- 
 cornered hat was soon to be as well-recognised an emblem 
 of glory as the laurels of many an ancient victor; and 
 having letters of introduction to Madame Bonaparte, from 
 persons who, having adored her as the wife of a legitimate 
 Viscount, detested her as the Calphurnia of the First 
 Consul, my application for an audience was promptly 
 accorded. 
 
 Some saints are elevated to martyrdom by their virtues ; 
 some, by their opportunities. Josephine is one to whom 
 public infatuation has opened a niche in the Kalendar. 
 I saw her near and familiarly. My whole life has been 
 spent among the vain and artificial ; and among the vain- 
 est and most artificial, was the Ex-empress. Neither 
 artiJiciaV^ nor artful however, conveys my exact 
 meaning. Artificieuse is what I would express. Her 
 graciousness, so much lauded, was a grimace ; her elegance, 
 
 u 
 
290 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 of the most frivolous nature. Her charities consisted in a 
 profuse distribution of the money of the nation; and so far 
 from being just, either before or after she was generous, 
 honesty was a virtue so foreign to her system, as frequently 
 to expose her to the rebukes of her more equitable husband. 
 
 Josephine was, in short, the personification of the old 
 Eaubourg St. Germain, — ignorant, dissolute, fickle, vain, 
 unprincipled ; but a proficient in that art of pleasing, 
 which addresses itself to two of the most pitiful tenden- 
 cies of human nature, — vanity and self-interest. She 
 gave largely, she flattered profusely ; and the world, in- 
 stead of admiring the forbearance of Napoleon in support- 
 ing her so long as his partner, reviled him as an ingrate 
 when he put her away. All the wives in Europe took 
 part with the sufiering wife, who fainted so despairingly 
 at the prospect of losing the Imperial crown ; overlook- 
 ing the culpable levities, by the report of which, in Egypt, 
 the young general was nearly deprived of his reason ; and 
 by the sight of which, in Italy, he was again driven to 
 distraction. It is a lesson to those who overlook the ad- 
 vantages of amiability, that even to this day, the prestige 
 created by the graciousness of Josephine still survives. 
 
 The French adduce Napoleon’s desertion of her as the 
 first signal of his decadence, — without perceiving that the 
 same epoch sealed the Emperor’s ruinous connection with 
 the House of Austria ; and stoop to lament the untimely 
 death of one, whom the records of her little court at 
 Navarre describe as receiving with peals of laughter an 
 account of the dimensions of the Duchess of Angouleme’s 
 bonnet, and the clumsiness of Louis XYIII.’s gout ; at the 
 moment the AlKes were setting their triumphant foot on 
 the neck of Napoleon ! — 
 
 At the period of my visit to Paris, however, Josephine 
 was known rather by her levities as Madame Beauharnais, 
 than by her graces as Madame Bonaparte. There could 
 not be a plainer proof that the circle of the Tuileries was 
 gradually forming itself into courtiership, than that the 
 minauderies of a woman, who, in attempting to conceal 
 the blemishes of her front teeth, had acquired an habitual 
 smile, were beginning to find imitators. When the wife 
 of the First Consul appeared in public, ornamented with 
 
MEMOIES or A PEERESS. 
 
 291 
 
 a splendid cameo borrowed from tbe National Museum, 
 the belles of Paris began to ruin themselves by the 
 purchase of antique gems ; and after a tunic of filmy 
 Indian muslin had been assumed by Madame Bonaparte 
 in emulation of her discarded friend Madame Tallien, not 
 all the Consular decrees could restrict them to the pro- 
 duce of the looms of Lyons. A throne was rising un- 
 noticed under the Consular government, as a scaffold had 
 risen unnoticed during the ascendancy of royalty. 
 
 The emotion betrayed by the Pirst Consul at his first 
 interview with Pox, is now as well known as his ignorance 
 of the very name of Lord Erskine ; and the precedency 
 assigned to the family of Charles James Pox over the 
 Duchess of Grordon and her daughter, was a public homage 
 of the most memorable kind. 
 
 One among the many high qualities I recognised in the 
 Pirst Consul has been denied him by his enemies, and not 
 sufficiently vindicated by his friends ; I mean his goodness 
 of heart. A political execution forced upon his concur- 
 rence by a master-spirit of evil, has affixed so vile a stigma 
 on his character, that it has been made an article of reli- 
 gion to anathematise him under the name of the “ assassin 
 of the Due d’Enghien.” Political animosities apart, how- 
 ever, I have no hesitation in asserting the humanity of 
 Napoleon’s disposition. A good son to an imperious 
 mother, — a good brother to men who endangered his 
 sceptre by their intrigues, and sisters who dishonoured him 
 by gallantry and prodigality, — an indulgent husband to 
 a profuse and faithless wife, an uxorious one to the mother 
 of the child he adored, — Napoleon was indulgent with his 
 step-children, equitable with his household, affectionate 
 almost to weakness with his brothers in arms. His good- 
 ness was twice as genuine as that of Josephine. Saga- 
 cious as he was, his goodness often rendered him a dupe. 
 One might as well pronounce Nelson a hard-hearted man 
 from his having permitted the execution of Caraccioli, as 
 write down Bonaparte a monster for having been misled 
 into sanctioning that of the Due d’Enghien. 
 
 ‘‘Ten years hence,” said one of the shrewdest of our 
 English lordlings, to the Luynes, Chevreuses, Noailles, 
 and Bohans, who still receded from democratic contact, 
 
292 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 “ I promise you as thriving a batch of Dukes, Duchesses, 
 and Chamberlains, manufactured out of what you so 
 cavalierly designate canaille, as you would wish to see. 
 You are all courtiers at heart, — yes, all: — and verily 
 your molten calf will speedily be set up.” 
 
 “And can this,” said I, gazing on the splendid restoration 
 of the Carrousel, as I proceeded with the Doxes to a fete 
 given to them by Madame Eecamier, at her villa at Clichy, 
 ^^can this be the Paris of Mirabeau and Eobespierre? 
 — Scarcely ten years ago, one expected to find the city 
 buried under human bones, like Pompeii under its ashes: 
 and already, how resplendently it shines forth !” 
 
 “ Let the dead bury their dead !” replied my friend, 
 gravely. “Would you have the Prench Q-overnment leave 
 incomplete the fine line of Boulevarts we are traversing, 
 because the Cimetiere de la Madeleine lies at one ex- 
 tremity, and the ruins of the Bastille at the other?” 
 
 “I have nothing to say against the Consular legislation,” 
 said I. “ I admire the alacrity which forwards its public 
 works and foreign conquests, and reverence the feeling 
 which has restored its altars — ” 
 
 “ That was inevitable ; since even the arch-priest of its 
 infidelity admitted that ^ 8i Dieu exist ait pas, il faudrait 
 VimenterT ” 
 
 “ — But I can not comprehend that, with the Abbaye 
 still standing, and the guillotine at all hours ready for 
 re-erection, the ambition of these officials should aspire to 
 crowns and coronets !” 
 
 “ I give them five years to make their Consul a King ; 
 — nay, who knows, (for they have lost time to make up 
 in courtiership,) perhaps an Emperor !” 
 
 “ Like the sculptor in the fable, who, having carved a 
 Jupiter out of a block, knelt down, and adored it as a 
 divinity. In the present case, perhaps, a divine spark 
 may have pre-existed in the marble.” 
 
 “ The spark of Grenius ! And the marble itself is only 
 of too fine a grain for the thing into which they would 
 degrade it.” 
 
 In spite, however, of the attentions paid to Eox by the 
 Pirst Consul, in spite of the flattery of the fair and gay, 
 the cajolements of the Eecamier, and the persecutions of 
 
MEMOIllS or A PEEBES3. 
 
 203 
 
 David and other artists, who coolly requested him to 
 desophisticate himself to a state even more natural than 
 that of ‘‘ poor Tom,’' that they might model his person 
 for a statue, my illustrious friend devoted his mornings to 
 the Hotel des Archives, studying and taking notes. In 
 vain I strove to divert his notice from the musty records 
 of an obsolete dynasty, to the curious extravagancies of 
 human nature passing around us ; such as the romantic 
 passions of the grandes dames of our society for ex-bishops, 
 and even cardinals, — the overstrained enthusiasm affected 
 by others for the oracular tone of the Premier Consul, — 
 and the jealousy with which their mines were counter- 
 mined by the household of Josephine. 
 
 Before winter set in. Parliament and fox-hunting 
 thinned the ranks of the English. Eox was among the 
 first to depart; and, with few exceptions, those that 
 remained belonged to the commercial class ; so that when 
 at length the precipitate declaration of hostilities, and the 
 sudden exit of Lord Whitworth, placed eleven thousand 
 of my loving country-people at the mercy of Bonaparte’s, 
 or rather Talleyrand’s bad faith, the French were disap- 
 pointed, on hauling up the net, to perceive that their prey 
 consisted of what La Fontaine calls the menu f retin 
 
 The larger fishes had broken through in haste, and swum 
 across the Channel ; and when I found myself once more 
 safe in Stanhope Street, and learned that the Yarmouths 
 and a few others of our set were netted^ I could scarcely 
 be grateful enough for the anxious letters from St. Anne’s 
 Hill, which, forewarning me of my danger, had recalled 
 my truant steps to my native country. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLI. 
 
 The Pitt-star was now raging again. — Havock !” was 
 once more the cry. The fires smouldering in their embers 
 were fanned into redoubled fury by a diplomatic breeze, 
 and “the dogs of war let slip.” 
 
294 
 
 MEMOIRS or A PEERESS. 
 
 It was a curious crisis. — The national excitement I 
 have seen produced in these latter days by measures of 
 constitutional policy, was then invested in the pride, 
 pomp, and circumstance of glorious war. The gathering 
 cry of “ invasion,’’ once raised, was echoed by millions of 
 tongues ; and “ la raison avec son petit filet de voice'*' became 
 inaudible. Talleyrand, the ablest guesser in Europe, had 
 so admirably conjectured the character of the English, as 
 to know that their attention would be absorbed by the 
 clang of arms, “ and busy hammers closing rivets up,” as 
 a swarm of bees is fascinated by the clashing of a warm- 
 ing-pan ; and while we scuffled away to build our martello 
 towers, sink our military canals, and present colours to 
 our loyal volunteers, the ex-bishop and ex-lieutenant of 
 artillery perfected, unmolested, their plans of continental 
 subjection. 
 
 The English are not essentially a military nation. The 
 insulated position which so auspiciously secures us from 
 wanton attack, relieves us also from the instincts engen- 
 dered by centuries of self-defence. The Poles were said 
 aforetime to be born on horseback. The Hungarians, 
 incessantly harassed by their barbarian neighbours, as- 
 sumed for daily use a national costume, that admitted 
 of vaulting at any time into the saddle for a skirmish. 
 But the English, strong in self-security, have glued them- 
 selves to their beams, treddles, and cutlers’ wheels ; 
 unagitated by the swash-buckler valour which picks a 
 quarrel with its neighbour, in hopes that, in the course of 
 it, something may turn up worth fighting for. They have 
 no ardour for gratuitous quarrels. They do not fire up 
 like a turkey-cock, or a Erenchman, at sight of a red rag. 
 The cause must be a good one that draws them from their 
 fire-sides. But, once astir, they return not till justice has 
 been done, and the sword can be replaced with honour to 
 the scabbard. 
 
 With the exception of the Eastern and Egyptian 
 campaigns, to the heroism of which the populace was 
 never very keenly alive, more ‘than half a century had 
 elapsed since a land victory accredited our soldiership. 
 We seemed to have adopted an opinion, that national 
 quarrels are best decided by those grand national duels 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 295 
 
 called naval engagements. The sea M^as just then John 
 Euli’s favourite field of battle; where the trace of carnage 
 is sooner effaced, and the honour obtained more positive. 
 It became necessary, however, to inspire the nation with 
 enlarged views of heroism. In order to wake the hun- 
 dred-handed Eriareus from his slumber, it was indispen- 
 sable for Grovernment to make believe to believe in the 
 make-believe demonstrations of Talleyrand ! 
 
 ‘‘The country is threatened with invasion!” cried the 
 Ministers. — “Nonsense!” replied the Country. — “Oh! 
 monstrous unbelief!” rejoined Pitt and Lord Hawkesbury. 
 “ If yon won’t take upon our showing the Spanish fleet 
 you cannot see, because ’tis not in sight, — if you have no 
 faith in the flotilla of flat-bottomed boats in Eoulogne 
 Harbour, — believe, at least, in our own martello towers, 
 — our Volunteer -consolidation bill, — our Additional 
 Force bill ; or the First Consul and his troops will be at 
 Canterbury before you have furnished your canteens with 
 milk-and-water. Nay, — for his soldiers, like those of Lear, 
 are shod with felt, — it would not surprise us to fiiid them 
 encamped on Shooter’s Hill, while you are frivolously 
 perplexing us with insurrections in Ireland and Anti- 
 slavery petitions. — Cheapside is in danger ; — Cornhill 
 is shaking on its basis. — Look to the Eank, John. — 
 Look at home !” 
 
 John laughed. — He was reminded that Hanover was 
 gone. — “Joy go with it !” was his reply. “You have 
 secured the state stud and silver tables and chairs of 
 Herrenhausen. As to the rest, what is it but the defalca- 
 tion of a lubberly school-boy, whose pocket-money came 
 out of our purse, and who did us no earthly credit ?” 
 
 John Eull refused, in short, to be frightened out of his 
 wits. 
 
 An appeal was next made to his generosity ; and that 
 weak point in his heart was readily touched. When 
 reminded of the cruel position of the English detenus in 
 France, “their unfortunate countrymen languishing in 
 the power of monsters who poisoned the sick at Jaffa, 
 and were perpetrating barbarities without name on the 
 blacks of St. Domingo,” John Eull laughed no longer. 
 He would not have his fellow-countrymen treated like 
 
296 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 niggers or poisoned like frog-eating Trenchmen. He 
 would sing God save the King, and become a loyal 
 volunteer ! 
 
 The spirit thus roused, it was easy to maintain. Dibdin 
 was salaried to write patriotic songs, — Astley’s to put 
 forth national melodramas. Every sign of every alehouse 
 assumed a military attitude. Eecent annals could furnish 
 little in the way of sign-posts. Kodney or Kelson, Howe 
 or Hood, were not just then to the purpose; and for want 
 of a newer Ciesar, the bald pate of the Marquis of Granby, 
 or the three-cornered hat of the Duke of Cumberland, 
 was re-varnished to preside over the potations of an 
 undaunted militia. Volumes might have been perpetuated 
 out of the harangues made by the new colonels to their 
 new corps. Wormwood Scrubbs were scarcely wide 
 enough for the marchings and counter-marchings of the 
 Bloomsbury with their yellow facings, and the St. James’s 
 with their blue ; and Hyde Park was worn grass-bare, 
 by the caracolings of the Light Horse Volunteers. Even 
 Lord’s cricket-ground seemed ambitious of substituting 
 cannon for cricket balls ; so often were the centurions of 
 Mary-le-bone gathered within its palings, to receive colours, 
 and give pop-gun note of preparation. 
 
 The cause was consecrated by the enthusiasm of royalty 
 itself. The Duke of Clarence enrolled himself in the 
 Teddington Volunteers, on whom the Prince of Wales 
 bestowed their Spital-field banners of glory; while the 
 Prince, debarred by the twaddling interference of Mr. 
 Addington from the military command of which he was 
 ambitious, and which he was qualified to assume, repaired 
 one fine summer day to Brighton, to the head of his 
 regiment of Hussars, in defiance of the assurance of His 
 Majesty’s Ministers that it would be far safer for him to 
 remain in Pall Mall. 
 
 The spark thus blown into a flame, patriotism became 
 your only wear ! The Volunteers were the fashion. The 
 populace, in hourly expectation of seeing Bonaparte over- 
 come them, like a summer cloud, suspended over the 
 metropolis on a fiery dragon, thought, like the Chinese, 
 to drive away the evil spirit by a perpetual drumming of 
 drums. The Seven Dials were ready to fight like lions 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS 
 
 297 
 
 for what Dibdin called “the tight little island while 
 the second gallery of the Circus nightly chorussed the 
 song of “A rope’s end for grim Bonyparty.” — An acorn 
 was rapidly germinating, which grew and grew, till all the 
 nations of Europe took refuge under shelter of the Oak. 
 
 The spirit illegitimately evoked, soon found legitimate 
 objects for its fervour; and the invasion-panic, which 
 diverted the eyes of England from the ambitious prospects 
 of the new Emperor on Prussia and Austria, fortunately 
 served to consolidate the forces which eventually found 
 a mighty leader in Wellington, and a new Agincourt at 
 Waterloo. 
 
 But all this was in embryo. We were still divided 
 between our terror of the tricoloured flag being planted 
 on Eochester Bridge, and our appetite for peace ; and it 
 has since sometimes occurred to me, when waging the 
 polite war of whist with His Excellency Prince Talleyrand, 
 in some dowager coterie, how often his inward man must 
 have laughed, (for his outward. Heaven knows, is little 
 subject to cachinnation !) when contemplating of late 
 years the gigantic force of England and its metropolis ; 
 and remembering that his camp and flotilla had power to 
 agitate the nerves of the great man-mountain, who had 
 only to burst his Lilliputian bondage and overset them by 
 the neighing of his war-horse. 
 
 My own tendencies were, I own, strictly pacific. The 
 sentence of Mr. Eox was for peace : a genuine philan- 
 thropist — (nay, why not lover of his fellow-creatures, for, 
 as De Ligne observes, what need of a heathen word to 
 express the first of Christian precepts ?) his opinion gave 
 the law to mine. 
 
 Our summer, however, was certainly enlivened by the 
 epidemic heroism which dotted every heath with tents, 
 and set up barracks like mile-stones. Bagshot, Hounslow, 
 Coxheath, Warley, and other arid regions prolific of late 
 years only of footpads, and in former of highwaymen, had 
 each its Brigades and Brigadiers. As much pipeclay was 
 sold in England within twelve months of the declaration 
 of hostilities, as had served the vast armies of the Holy 
 Eoman Empire during the thirty years’ war. 
 
 Undismayed by the drums and fifes of Bagshot, I hired 
 
298 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 a small place at Sunning Hill, to be within reach of 
 St. Anne’s and Fitzpatrick, and at no great distance from 
 town. The health of my own and Fitzirnham’s friend 
 was greatly impaired. Hare, our companion in Paris, and 
 the pleasantest and most cheerful of mankind, was no 
 more ; and the witty Bishop of Down, too, was gone. 
 But I felt that a mightier loss was to follow. The next 
 few years were likely to weigh like a century on the head 
 of Fox. — Either he would be called to office, and expire 
 under the press of public business ; or, in the misfortunes 
 of the country under a ruinous administration, find a more 
 ignominious death-blow. 
 
 All seemed going amiss. Independent of the critical 
 position of public afiairs, the aspect of the Eoyal Family 
 was most dispiriting. The health of the King, shaken by 
 domestic afflictions of the most painful kind, as well as by 
 the troubles of Ireland and the menacing attitude of the 
 Continent, was again a matter of national intercession 
 with the great Disposer of events. The Prince of Wales 
 was totally estranged from public life and the society of his 
 political associates ; while the Princess was indulging, in 
 her public privacy at Charlton, in coarse and unbecoming 
 levities. 
 
 By all this, St. James’s was divided against itself ; and 
 there was even a break in London society. The worst taste 
 prevailed. A flashy tone of barouche-driving and disre- 
 putable gallantry, a remote echo of the earlier libertinism 
 of the Prince, discredited those classes which, by their 
 passion for eclat and glaring frivolity, are always most 
 prominent in the eyes of the vulgar. 
 
 Never did I find London so vapid as on the season 
 succeeding my return. There was such want of energy 
 in everybody, — such a terror of innovation, — such a dread 
 that, if the pigtails of the Horse Guards were abridged, 
 or the hoops of the Court ladies abolished, the world 
 might move too fast, and perform its gyration within the 
 twenty-four, hours ! — What is now termed Conservatism, 
 was then first formed into a creed; and unluckily, wit 
 enlisted itself on the stand-still side. Canning and the 
 Anti- Jacobin were doing for Politics what the Quarterly 
 Eeview soon afterwards efiected for Literature. The 
 
MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 299 
 
 grand charm of the State Prosper o was the creation of a 
 circle in which every one was reduced to catalepsy. Even 
 irregularity was obliged to look regular ; and Pitt drank 
 his bottle or bottles of port per diem, as gravely as a judge. 
 
 “ You do not perceive,” Eox used to say to me, after 
 smiling away my murmurs against the routine of English 
 society, ‘‘ that, living in a land of machinery, — of wheels 
 and cylinders, levers and pulleys, — we have gradually 
 assimilated ourselves to these sources of national pros- 
 perity. At all events, console yourself by the certainty 
 that English nature has need of such restraints. Never 
 was there a greater error of judgment than that which 
 first proclaimed us a phlegmatic nation. Were we to 
 indulge in the aberrations of the French, earth would 
 not bound our monstrous irregularities. We put too 
 much heart into all we say and do. We are in earnest. 
 Oiir susceptibility is not skin-deep. I never desire to 
 see an Englishman break bounds.” 
 
 The truth of these remarks did not render them more 
 palatable. A few days afterwards, they received sad con- 
 firmation in the death of Lord Camelford. The same in- 
 temperance which brought both him and Colonel Mont- 
 gomery to the grave, would have ended in a fencing-bout 
 at Paris. Fox was right ; an Englishman will not bear 
 to be emancipated from the influence of routine, or the 
 ponderous machinery (moral code playing into moral code) 
 with which he has laboured to strengthen the restrictive 
 power of his own centre of gravity. 
 
 But it is time I should recur to my own family. I had 
 outlived both my younger sisters, and Lord Ailesfort was 
 even estranged by a second marriage. Sir Henry Mor- 
 daunt occupied, during Mr. Addington’s administration, a 
 post of some eminence, and during my husband’s lifetime, 
 an intimacy between them had been checked by political 
 discords. We moved in different societies ; and our inter- 
 course at length degenerated into a few dinner-parties in 
 town, and a careless week or two spent together at Spetch- 
 ingley or Bawborne Hall, in the course of the year. 
 
 After the death of her daughter Helena, which took 
 place a few weeks after my second marriage, the Duchess 
 re-appeared no more in society. Lady Isabella was for- 
 
300 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEERESS. 
 
 tunately removed to a happier home, by an appointment 
 as lady of the bedchamber to one of the Princesses, whom 
 she has never quitted. Over the last years of her unfor- 
 tunate mother, and her repentant but fearful death-bed, it 
 becomes a surviving relative to draw the veil ! 
 
 As regards my own dowagerhood, though I knew my 
 coterie in Stanhope Street to be stigmatised as an ark-like 
 miscellany, I occupied too elevated a place in society to 
 cringe to its tyranny. The words mauvais genre '"^ — ‘‘ bad 
 set,” or ‘‘shocking company” — had no terrors for my ear. 
 Whom I liked, I liked, — whom I chose to see, I saw ; for 
 “whom I love,” (to borrow the words of Coleridge,) “I 
 love indeed!” 
 
 Without the fear of the fashion-master before my eyes, 
 authors, artists, actors, became my frequent guests. I 
 gave up going to Court ; and all I had to consult in the 
 choice of my society, was my own satisfaction. Pain 
 would I consecrate a page or two of these Memoirs to a few 
 of those who served to brighten my solitude. Pomilly, 
 Whitbread, Windham, Curran, Grattan, Matt. Lewis, 
 William Spencer; — Tom Sheridan, that most buoyant and 
 fascinating of human beings; — Prank Lord Guildford, 
 Jeffrey, Jekyll, Sydney Smith, Moore and Eogers, the 
 Berry sisters. Lady Cork and Lady Charlotte Lindsay; 
 — Mrs. Inchl3ald, whom I sometimes beguiled from her 
 penurious solitude, and Mrs. Weddell, from her golden 
 one ; — Mrs. Siddons, Kemble, Lawrence, — with fifty other 
 talented and charming persons, of less renown but scarcely 
 inferior merit. 
 
 After the fashion of foreign countries, I attempted to 
 give weekly parties. But the thing was a failure. The 
 English are not of a conversational temperament. Except 
 on the chapter of Politics, we cannot turn our minds in- 
 side out for the amusement of the first comer. In talk- 
 ing to an Englishman, his countenance indicates that he 
 has an unexpressed arriere pensee , — usually his best, which 
 he keeps for his bosom friend, his wife, his mistress, or 
 himself. — He seldom bestows it on society. 
 
 I found, indeed, that those who really pleased me, and 
 whom I wished to please, would not so much as enter my 
 drawing-room on the nights set apart for weekly society. 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 301 
 
 I therefore dropped the attempt; restricting myself to 
 dinner-parties ; and mine was perhaps the only table in 
 London which politics did not just then convert into an 
 arena of loud and graceless contention. For I plead 
 guilty to the narrowness of my soul : I never did invite 
 a Pittite within my doors ! Even Canning, by whose 
 brilliancy I was fascinated, did not seduce me into extend- 
 ing my circle for the reception of a man in many respects 
 so liberal, but in more than one, the bitter opponent of 
 my friends. 
 
 It must be owned that politics formed just then a 
 superstition, of which the votaries were scarcely less frantic 
 in their excesses, than the devotees of some Eastern faith. 
 Men wrangled and drank, and drank and wrangled, almost 
 as vehemently as in the era of “ Wilkes and Liberty.” 
 Peace or War stood in place of Whig or Tory; and while 
 Napoleon went conquering on, unimpeded even by his 
 own dignities, Europe suffered its royal lambs to be 
 carried off, one by one, by the Imperial Eagle ! — 
 
 At length, maugre Port wine and its potent influence, 
 even wrangling, even argument, was hushed into solemn 
 silence. Austerlitz was fought, and with Austerlitz came 
 the death of one whom the world, whatever might be its 
 verdict upon his principles as a statesman, was compelled to 
 number among its illustrations. — William Pitt died early 
 in the winter of 1806 ; a man of exemplary integrity and 
 powerful faculties ; and the depression of the public mind, 
 over which, only a few weeks before, the august spectacle of 
 the interment of our great naval warrior had cast a gloom, 
 was thus grievously renewed. — Nelson and Pitt were 
 gone ! — According to the lines of Moore, ‘‘ Star after star 
 was decaying;” — and the evil days upon which we had 
 fallen, or rather to which we had progressed, inspired the 
 friends and adherents of Fox with apprehensions of a 
 still more painful bereavement. 
 
 In the month of February, a crisis long foreseen placed 
 at the head of the new ministry Lord Grenville and 
 Charles James Fox ; when a rainbow instantly expanded 
 in the political sky. Peace and the name of Fox were 
 inseparably connected in the mind of the nation. But a 
 lapse of two-and-twenty years since he formed part of 
 
302 
 
 MEMOIES OF A PEERESS. 
 
 liis Majesty’s councils, had created such more than 
 chaotic confusion in our relations with the Continent, 
 that the task of reconciling interests, far as the poles 
 asunder, was likely to defy even the Herculean efforts of 
 a mind so expansive. The question of the despairing 
 Macduff, “ Stands Scotland where it did ?” might have 
 been parodied by the native of many an European coun- 
 try ; which, if not ‘‘ almost ashamed to know itself,” 
 caused others to blush for its subjection. Still, the 
 necessity for peace was imminent. The monstrous power 
 of France, generated under the system of Pitt, seemed, 
 like the dragon charmed by Jason, susceptible of being 
 crushed only in inaction ; and negotiations were accord- 
 ingly commenced with the French minister for foreign 
 affairs. But the good faith of Fox was not on the look 
 out for pitfalls where an open territory courted- his 
 advance ; and believing the other high contracting 
 party” to be progressing like himself in a right line, he 
 found Talleyrand — no, the Prince de Benevento — at the 
 extremity of a zigzag, when he himself had reached the 
 goal. The name of fiussia was used as a scape-goat ; and 
 the inexperience of Lord Yarmouth as a diplomatist, 
 adduced by the French government as a plea for the 
 protraction of the negotiation. But when the wary, 
 hard-headed Lauderdale blundered over the same ground, 
 it became evident to all the world as it had been from 
 the first to myself, that Talleyrand had achieved his 
 object in gaining time; while we had lost time, and 
 gained nothing. 
 
 At Easter, when roaming with Fox in the shrubberies 
 of St. Anne’s, where, with the Albemarles and Fitzpatrick, 
 I was passing the holidays, I predicted a continuance of 
 the war, with all the laughing obstinacy which is a 
 woman’s substitute for argument ; but I was stopped in 
 a moment by the gravity of countenance with which he^ 
 formerly so playful, rebuked my levity. He bad me 
 reflect on the interests of suffering humanity ; and proved, 
 by a few of those energetic phrases which fell from his 
 lips like the bolt from the thunder-cloud, that his care 
 for his own political triumph, on the occasion, was as a 
 grain of sand weighed against the welfare of the people. 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 303 
 
 Nay,” I remonstrated, “there is surely no such immi- 
 nence in the case? — Pitt is gone, and you have time 
 enough before you.” — 
 
 “ Time ?^^ — reiterated Fox, turning towards me a coun- 
 tenance of mingled majesty and sweetness. “ Who shall 
 say that he has time before him ? — Pitt went in January. 
 I may go in June !” 
 
 I attributed his despondency to the shock he had 
 recently experienced by the death of his friend, the 
 Duchess of Devonshire. But on referring to Mrs. Fox, 
 she admitted that her husband was overtasking his 
 strength, and that symptoms of latent disease were 
 apparent. Scarcely had he returned to Stable Yard, 
 (where the residence of the Duke of Bedford had been 
 appropriated to his use during the absence of his Grrace 
 as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland,) when these symptoms 
 took a still more decided turn. And soon, alas! the 
 secret of Fox’s indisposition transpired to the public. 
 
 Ere it took that fatal form which struck despair into 
 the hearts of all who loved him, a parliamentary triumph 
 was reserved for him, which would suffice to inscribe his 
 name in the Temple of Fame ; — a triumph renounced by 
 Pitt, but appreciated by his great political rival, less as a 
 legislator than as a man. A pledge for the extinction of 
 the Slave Trade, extorted from both houses of Parliament, 
 called forth the last display of those oratorical powers 
 which were never exercised save in the cause of benevo- 
 lence and virtue. 
 
 From that period, though his mind withdrew not from 
 the arbitration of public affairs, he retired almost entirely 
 from the public eye. Lords Fitzwilliam, Grrey, and 
 Bobert Spencer, General Fitzpatrick, and myself, were 
 almost the only persons admitted to his presence, beyond 
 the family circle, comprehending his wife, his nephew, 
 and niece. The whole town came pressing to his door 
 with inquiries. The Prince sent daily messages of the 
 most anxious nature; but the irritating nature of Mr. 
 Fox’s disease rendered quiet too indispensable to admit 
 of visitors. 
 
 “ I cannot talk to you,” murmured he one day, when 
 I took a chair beside his sofa. “But I will think unre- 
 
304 
 
 MEMOIES or A PEEEESS. 
 
 servedly in your presence; — a compliment secondary 
 only to conversation.” 
 
 A smile was upon his lips as he spoke. But those lips 
 were now often livid, — often distorted by suffering. — : 
 Dropsy was one of the painful symptoms of his disease. 
 He underwent an operation ; and in the exhaustion which 
 followed, new terrors presented themselves to our minds. 
 
 It was an admirable thing to behold, in every brief 
 respite from pain, with what zeal this truly great man 
 devoted himself to the regulation of those portions of 
 public business which were likely to suffer by his estrange- 
 ment from office ; and how often, in paroxysms of pain, 
 he strove to subdue the sense of torment by fixing his 
 attention on favourite passages of classic authors, read 
 aloud to him by his secretary or friends. Even myself 
 he sometimes admitted to the happiness of administering 
 to his amusement ; and having acquired from Lord Eaw- 
 borne a fluency in the Italian language, (far inferior, I 
 admit, to that displayed by my auditor,) he would place 
 Tasso, Ariosto, or Metastasio in my hands, and so eagerly 
 follow the meaning of the poet, as often to rectify my 
 blunders. 
 
 One day, when I unexpectedly entered the room where 
 he sat reclining in his easy-chair, I discerned in a moment 
 that his feelings had been excited by some unusual 
 emotion. 
 
 “ Alone said I, — vexed to find him thus left to his 
 
 solitary meditations. 
 
 “ By choice !” was his reply. “ I have persuaded Mrs. 
 Fox to take some air. Holland and his sister are gone 
 home to dinner. I wanted to be alone.” 
 
 “ Ton do not feel worse ?” — 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 “What did Vaughan and Pitcairn say to you this 
 morning ?” — 
 
 “ Assured me I was so much better, that I saw in a 
 moment their opinion was unfavourable. I hastened, 
 therefore, to perform a task which I felt would not bear 
 procrastination.” 
 
 Fancying he alluded to the settlement of his pecuniary 
 affairs, I was silent. 
 
MEMOIES OE A PEEBESS. 
 
 305 
 
 “ I have been to Holland House !” said he, perceiving 
 that I forbore to question him. “ I wished to see the old 
 place once more, as the hare returns to her form. It 
 was in great beauty, — just as I could have desired in 
 bidding it farewell. Those favourite spots, endeared by 
 so many boyish associations, — by recollections of my 
 
 father — mother — brother ! ” He paused. Tor many 
 
 minutes he was silent ; nor did I presume to interrupt 
 his reverie. “Well!” murmured he at last, as if speak- 
 ing to himself, “ their ambition is fulfilled. I die at the 
 post they wished to assign me.” 
 
 To divert his thoughts from these melancholy retro- 
 spections, I adverted to St. Anne’s, a name which pos- 
 sessed peculiar charm for the ear of its partial master ; 
 inquiring whether he did not think of removing thither 
 so soon as his recovery from the effects of the operation 
 would permit. 
 
 “ Such is my earnest desire,” he replied. “ But they 
 will not hear of it. I shall be too far, they think, from 
 medical advice. The Duke of Devonshire has kindly 
 offered me Chiswick; and in a few days I shall be there.” 
 
 I thought the place ill-chosen. With all its beauty and 
 interest, Chiswick was just then saddened to the mind of 
 every friend of the lamented Greorgiana. A spell of evil 
 seemed to be over its walls : how soon, alas! to be attested 
 by the death of Tox ; and more recently, by the death of 
 the only statesman who, from that period till the present, 
 has obtained from the nation the designation of “ great.” 
 
 CHAPTEE XLII. 
 
 It was at the end of July that Tox removed to the villa 
 of the Duke of Devonshire ; and there, a few days after- 
 wards, I visited him, previous to my departure for 
 Sunning Hill. Griadly as I would have remained in town 
 to watcb over the declining days of a friend so venerated, 
 I had no pretext for aspiring to the privilege. With such 
 
 X 
 
806 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 tender nurses as Mrs. Tox and Kis niece, — sucli filial 
 attendance as that of Lord Holland, — and such com- 
 panions as Lord Hobert and Fitzpatrick, I could not 
 presume to fancy myself in request. 
 
 Still less, after I had seen him installed at Chiswick. 
 The excitement arising from change of air and scene 
 effected wonders. He was able to move about again; 
 and when I entered the saloon, of which the blinds were 
 partially closed in consequence of the heat of the day, 
 I found him contemplating the celebrated picture of 
 Belisarius,” which adorns that cabinet of gems. It was 
 impossible not to call to mind the scene recorded by the 
 secretary of the renowned French Minister, — the all- 
 potent Cardinal, — who was found, a few days prior to his 
 death, wandering at day -break through his gorgeous 
 galleries, and bidding a reluctant farewell to their 
 glorious chef-d’ oeuvres of art. Of how different a nature 
 was the interest displayed by Fox in similar objects ; — 
 not as being his property, — but from a sympathy between 
 the poetry of their nature and his own ! — 
 
 “ I am better,” said he, before I could inquire after his 
 health, — for well did he know what feeling was strongest 
 in my mind. “I have still, perhaps, some months to 
 wear out the patience of my friends, and obstruct the 
 march of public business.” 
 
 From public business, however, he was now virtually 
 disconnected. He had almost ceased to interest himself 
 in the crab-like progress of Lord Lauderdale, who was still 
 at Paris. For a quasi new ministry, under the tutelage 
 of that man of method. Lord Grenville, was already 
 taking measures of its own. 
 
 With neither Grenville nor Grey, had Fox, at that 
 moment, much sympathy. With Sheridan, still less; for 
 he saw him but once, after his own accession to power ; 
 and then, on terms of coldness and constraint. Most of 
 his personal and political friends were dispersed for the 
 summer. He was alone with his family and intimates. 
 
 I accompanied him that afternoon in a tour of the 
 grounds, round which he was drawn in a garden-chair by 
 a favourite servant ; pausing, now and then, to point out 
 to me some rare and beautiful flower; and more than once, 
 
MEMOIRS OE A PEERESS. 
 
 307 
 
 to advert to her by wliom the spot bad been favoured, 
 and who occupied so high a place in our common affection. 
 
 “ The kindest of human hearts !” was the expression of 
 Fox, in referring to the late Duchess. “ The best-bred 
 woman in London !” had been the ejaculation of the Prince 
 on learning her death; — in each, how characteristic an 
 encomium ! — 
 
 Had I imagined when, accompanied by Mrs. Pox, I 
 sauntered beside the garden-chair round those green 
 lawns and aromatic shrubberies, that I was looking on the 
 majestic countenance of the feeble invalid for the last 
 time, with what emotion should I have listened to every 
 word that fell from his lips! — But the physicians an- 
 nounced no immediate danger. I promised myself 
 shortly to return and assure myself personally of his 
 progress ; and after an hour or two of bald disjointed chat, 
 took leave of him, wholly unwarned by those presenti- 
 ments, which one sometimes fancies to have been pre- 
 monitory of a last farewell. 
 
 “ When do you go to Sunning?” he inquired, as he held 
 my hand at parting. I have a commission to give you 
 for my part of the world.” 
 
 “ To-morrow. Is there anything I can do for you ? — 
 Do you wish me to drive over to St. Anne’s ?” — 
 
 He replied by an almost playful affirmative movement 
 of the head. “ I want you to say something civil for me 
 to my roses,” said he. I feel as if I had been faithless to 
 St. Anne’s, in coming hither. But St. Anne’s must re- 
 member that it was not the minister who forsook it, — but 
 the dying man!” And in alow voice, whose inflexion I 
 shall never forget, he repeated to me the lines addressed 
 by Tasso, in prison, to a brother poet : — 
 
 “ Tu, che ne vai in Pindo, 
 
 Ove pende mia cetra ad un cipresso, — 
 
 Salutala in mio nome, e dille poi 
 
 Ch.’ 10 son dagli anni e da fortuna oppressa !” 
 
 I promised to do his spiriting as gently as its nature 
 seemed to demand; and on my arrival at home, did indeed 
 drive over, one melancholy morning, to St. Anne’s. It 
 was a heavy sultry day. The roses, to which he had 
 addressed those plaintive adieus, had already shed their 
 
308 
 
 MEMOIES OE A PEEEESS. 
 
 summer bloom. The grass was parched in the pastures. 
 All was sad — all withered. — The place seemed conscious 
 that the master-spirit was passing away. 
 
 And on my return home from that drive, I was sum- 
 moned to Spetchingley, by an earnest letter from Clara, 
 acquainting me with the dangerous illness of my brother. 
 His disorder, a typhus fever, threatened a duration 
 that demanded my aid in nursing him. I went, with- 
 out hesitation. It was only fitting that at an epoch 
 of general desolation, when the death-bell of the great 
 and glorious was never silent, I should have nothing 
 before my eyes but sights of terror and affliction. Harry 
 was insensible when I arrived ; — remained many days in- 
 sensible, — many days in hopeless danger ; and while that 
 misery continued, I had no thought to bestow elsewhere. 
 When my brother was pronounced out of danger, and 
 I recovered sufficiently to examine the newspapers, I 
 found the state of Mr. Fox announced as progressively 
 worse. A second operation was contemplated. 
 
 I now perceived the improbability that I should behold 
 again, on this side the grave, the august friend of Fitzirn- 
 ham, the revered of my own soul ; and wept in bitter self- 
 recrimination that I had not hallowed to myself, by some 
 warmer endearment, our parting interview. Like Michael 
 Angelo grieving after his last interview with Vittoria 
 Colonna, I reproached myself with coldness. I wrote to 
 his secretary, — I wrote to Mrs. Fox. — But alas ! so many 
 were the claimants for intelligence from every quarter of 
 the kingdom, that only a few lines served to confirm my 
 worst apprehensions. The operation had produced no 
 permanent benefit. Lord Holland and General Fitz- 
 patrick had taken up their abode at Chiswick. — The last 
 hour was at hand. 
 
 Still, during his intervals of anguish, his cheerfulness 
 returned. He loved to be read to — talked to. — He loved 
 to look on the faces still so dear to him; though often 
 averted, lest he should read in their sadness his sentence 
 of condemnation. 
 
 My brother, meanwhile, supported by the force of a 
 constitution unbroken by excess, was rapidly recovering ; 
 and great as was the diversity of their political opinions, 
 
MEMOIRS OF A PEERESS. 
 
 309 
 
 it is impossible to describe with what interest he daily- 
 questioned me concerning the state of things at Chiswick. 
 
 “ Grod preserve him! — The country cannot in its present 
 crisis do without him!” — was the adjuration of one who 
 justly anticipated the diversity of councils about to follow 
 his removal. 
 
 ‘‘I trust it will not be long, my dear Lady Eawborne, 
 before you are able to dispose of your time,” wrote 
 Greneral Litzpatrick, a few days after this. “ Our friend 
 has more than once expressed a wish to see you ; and the 
 wishes he has to express upon earth, are already num- 
 bered. — Vaughan admits that we have not many days to 
 keep him with us.” 
 
 The swollen eyes with which I visited my brother after 
 the perusal of this grievous announcement, apprised him 
 that something was amiss ; and on learning the fact, Henry 
 insisted that, without a moment’s delay, I should set off 
 to town. With a heavy heart, I complied ; and early the 
 next day reached London. Within a few miles of town, 
 I passed the Prince of Wales, in an open carriage, on his 
 way, as I afterwards found, to Lord Stafford’s, at Trent- 
 ham ; and at the rapid pace he was proceeding, did not 
 expect to be recognised. To my surprise, however, (for 
 we had not met since the fete at Stowe, three years 
 before,) his Eoyal Highness ordered the carriages to stop ; 
 and, as if aware that a single topic at that moment engaged 
 the minds of both, informed me that the consultation 
 of physicians at Chiswick had tried a new medicine, 
 the digitalis, often used in cases of dropsy; that the 
 effect was most disastrous ; that our beloved friend had 
 barely existed through the preceding night, and could not 
 survive the day ! 
 
 I trembled too much even to reply ; and I proceeded at 
 once to Chiswick. — It was the 13th of September, the 
 ever lamentable 13th of September ! — As I drove through 
 Hyde Park, at that season deserted, I heard the Tower 
 guns firing, and cared not to inquire for what. The cap- 
 ture of Buenos Ayres was nothing to me ! — All I desired 
 was to reach Chiswick ! — 
 
 On turning to the road leading towards the Burlington 
 Villa, a silent crowd evidently collected by the apprehen- 
 
810 
 
 MEMOIllS OF A PEEEESS. 
 
 sion of some mighty calamity, rendered it difficult for the 
 carriage to proceed. Other carriages, too, formed a line 
 towards the house ; and when at last I attained the gates, 
 I noticed the liveries of Lord Fitzwilliam, the Spencers, 
 and all the intimate friends of Fox, in attendance on the 
 carriages drawn up. 
 
 I alighted, and entered the lodge on foot. The porter’s 
 wife was weeping too bitterly to take heed of me. The 
 first person I saw in the grounds was Lord Fitzwilliam, 
 pacing up and down with his eyes fixed upon the ground, 
 under the shade of the very tree beneath which I had 
 taken leave of our beloved friend. — I saw how it was. — 
 That devoted friend had not courage to witness the afflict- 
 ing scene passing within doors ! 
 
 In another moment, I saw a gentleman (Mr. Allen, if 
 I remember) approach, and whisper a few words to Lord 
 Fitzwilliam ; who staggered, and w^ould have fallen, had 
 he not been supported by his companion. 
 
 I rushed to the house. Not a servant was visible, — 
 not a sound audible. — Everything seemed paralysed by 
 the dread event of the day. — Hastening towards the room 
 previously pointed out to me by Mrs. Fox as that of her 
 husband, I found the door slightly ajar. The broken- 
 hearted wife and niece had been that moment led from 
 the chamber of death by his medical attendants ; and 
 Trotter, the Irish secretary of Fox, stood alone by the 
 bedside, while a servant was closing the shutters against 
 the fading sunshine of an autumnal evening. — All was 
 over ! 
 
 I seem to see it now ! — The tent-bed with its coverlid 
 of pale green silk ; above which was the immortalised 
 countenance of one of the first of mortals. The breath 
 appeared to have exhaled in a placid sigh from his scarcely- 
 parted lips ; and the glorious expression of his face pro- 
 claimed that Charles James Fox died, as he had lived, full 
 of resignation to the Almighty, — full of peace and good- 
 will towards mankind. — 
 
 A few weeks more, and the muffled bell of West- 
 minster Abbey proclaimed that its portals were unclosed 
 
MEMOIES OP A PEERESS. 
 
 311 
 
 to welcome another of the great and glorious to its star- 
 crowned caverns. Beside those of his great rival in 
 renown, the remains of Fox were laid to rest. — Peace, 
 peace he with his ashes ! — 
 
 A great multitude filled the aisles and avenues of the 
 church. The whole kingdom bewailed him, not only as 
 the noblest Boman of them all, but as the last. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Thus ends the first portion of my Memoirs. A time 
 may come, hereafter, for the publication of their con- 
 cluding pages. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LOJSfDOIf : KNIGHT AND SON, FEIN TEES, CLEEKENWELL CLOSE. 
 
f; 
 
 7 ‘' ■ 
 
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