elf with celebrities of all
nations; and it was at her house that Louis Napoleon was a cherished
guest in his years of exile, and from whence he proceeded to head the
government of France. Here Bulwer came as perhaps her most intimate
friend; here Thackeray was made most welcome, and Lord John Russell
and Lord Palmerston, Canning and Castlereagh were frequent guests.
Dickens,--then a dandy like unto D'Orsay, who seemed to be his
model,--"Rejected Addresses" Smith, the banker-poet Rogers, Kemble,
Wilkie, and Dr. Parr engaged in sparkling converse with their hostess,
who sat in a deep arm-chair while Tom Moore was privileged to perch
himself on a footstool at her feet; and by all these men she was
held in unqualified respect. Her income became impaired and unequal to
the expense of entertaining. She resorted to literature to add to her
resources. She was engaged by Heath, the engraver, to edit a certain
class of annuals popular in those days. For some years her income from
"The Keepsake" and "The Book of Beauty" exceeded one thousand pounds a
year. Her novels, too, were a source of some profit. For "Strathern"
she received about three thousand dollars. These romances were weak in
character and plot, but were fair pictures of society portrayed with
much piquancy. In one, "Grace Cassidy," she describes interestingly
scenes of her youth in Ireland. But interest in her work waned, and as
she seems not to have thought of retrenchment of her expenditure,
disaster rapidly descended. In 1849, she had perforce to sell out, and
then moved to Paris, where she died in the same year. She was buried
at Chambourcy, near St. Germain-en-Laye, the residence of the Duc and
Duchesse de Grammont, the sister and brother-in-law of Count D'Orsay.

She was a woman of great tact, of a sweet delicacy of manner, and of a
chivalrous devotedness to friendship. Her friends were carefully
chosen, and never deserted. Perhaps no woman of the century has had so
many men of mark as her friends and admirers. She had charity towards
others' failings. She gave pleasure where she could. She was elegant
and dignified in her bearing, though possessed of Irish wit withal.
She was very beautiful.

Lord Byron was induced to sing the praise of her picture here
given:--

"Were I now as I was, I had sung
What Lawrence has painted so well;
But the strain would expire on my tongue,
And the theme is too soft for my shell.

"I am ashes where once I was