e _campagnes_ within ten miles, and in all _petites
soirees_. She begins the day with a dancing-master at
nine o'clock, and never rests till midnight.... At ten
o'clock yesterday morning she called for me, and we never
stopped to take breath till eleven o'clock at night, when
she set me down here more dead than alive, she going to
end the day with the Hollands!"

A life that would have killed nine women out of ten seemed powerless to
touch her. When far advanced in the sixties she was acknowledged to be
still one of the most beautiful women in England, retaining to an
amazing degree the bloom and freshness of youth. And when she appeared
at a fancy-dress ball arrayed as a Sultana, in a robe of sky-blue with
coral embroideries and a turban of gold and white, she was by universal
consent acclaimed as the most beautiful woman there. It may interest my
lady readers to learn that she attributed her perpetual youth to the use
of gruel as a substitute for soap and water.

Although Lady Jersey had admirers by the hundred among the most
fascinating men in Europe, no breath of scandal ever touched her fair
fame. Indeed, she carried her virtue to the verge of prudery, and
repelled with a freezing coldness the slightest approach to familiarity.
So prudish was she that on one occasion she declined to share a carriage
alone with Lord John Russell, one of the least physically attractive of
men, and begged General Alava to accompany them. "Diable!" laughed the
General, "you must be very little sure of yourself if you are afraid to
be alone with little Lord John!"

She was merciless to any of her lady friends who lapsed from virtue, or
in any way, however slight, offended the proprieties. But the vials of
her fiercest anger were reserved for her mother-in-law, the
Dowager-Countess, whose shameless intrigue with the Prince Regent
scandalised the world in an age of lax morals; and the outraged Princess
Caroline had no more valiant champion. She not only declined to have
anything to say to her husband's mother, she carried her disapproval to
the extent of refusing point blank to appear at Court. So furious was
the Regent at this slight that "the dotard with corrupted eye and
withered heart," as Byron calls him, had her portrait removed from the
Palace Gallery of Beauties, and returned to its owner.

A few days later, however, the Countess had her revenge. At a party in
Cavendish Square she was walking alo