the joys of the blessed was combated, however, by Lady E——­, who put forth her own theory on the subject as far more genial, saying, “Oh dear, no; she thought it would be all splendid fetes and delightful dinner parties, and charming, clever people; just like the London season, only a great deal pleasanter because there would be no bores.” With reference to Lady Cork’s theory, Lady Harriet said, “I suppose it would be rather tiresome for her, poor thing! for you know she hates music, and there would be nothing to steal but one another’s wings.”

Lady Cork’s great age did not appear to interfere with her enjoyment of society, in which she lived habitually.  I remember a very comical conversation with her in which she was endeavoring to appoint some day for my dining with her, our various engagements appearing to clash.  She took up the pocket-book where hers were inscribed, and began reading them out with the following running commentary:  “Wednesday—­no, Wednesday won’t do; Lady Holland dines with me—­naughty lady!—­won’t do, my dear.  Thursday?” “Very sorry, Lady Cork, we are engaged.”  “Ah yes, so am I; let’s see—­Friday; no, Friday I have the Duchess of C——­, another naughty lady; mustn’t come then, my dear.  Saturday?” “No, Lady Cork, I am very sorry—­Saturday, we are engaged to Lady D——.”  “Oh dear, oh dear! improper lady, too! but a long time ago, everybody’s forgotten all about it—­very proper now! quite proper now!”

Lady Cork’s memory seemed to me to stretch beyond the limits of what everybody had forgotten.  She was quite a young woman at the time of the youth of George III., and spoke of Frederick, Prince of Wales, to whose wife she, then the Honorable Mary Monckton, was maid of honor.  It is a most tantalizing circumstance to me now, to remember a fragment of a conversation between herself and my mother, on the occasion of the first visit I was ever taken to pay her.  I was a very young girl; it was just after my return from school at Paris, and the topics discussed by my mother and her old lady friend interested me so little that I was looking out of the window, and wondering when we should go away, when my attention was arrested by these words spoken with much emphasis by Lady Cork:  “Yes, my dear, I was alone in the room, and the picture turned in its frame, and Lord Bute came out from behind it;” here, perceiving my eyes riveted upon her, she lowered her voice, and I distinctly felt that I was expected to look out of the window again, without having any idea, however, that the question was probably one of the character of a “naughty lady” of higher rank than those so designated to me some years later by old Lady Cork, who, if I may judge by this fragment of gossip, might have cleared up some disputed points as to the relations between the Princess of Wales and the Prime Minister.