t the wealth acquired by trade was already
manifesting itself in contrast with the straitened circumstances of some
of the nobility. Mary Brydges's 'poor ffather,' in whose household
economy was necessary, was the King of England's ambassador at
Constantinople; the grandmother, who lived in 'great plenty and
splendour,' was the widow of a Turkey merchant. But then, as now, it
would seem, rank had the power of attracting and absorbing wealth.

At Ashe also Jane became acquainted with a member of the Lefroy family,
who was still living when I began these memoirs, a few months ago; the
Right Hon. Thomas Lefroy, late Chief Justice of Ireland. One must look
back more than seventy years to reach the time when these two bright
young persons were, for a short time, intimately acquainted with each
other, and then separated on their several courses, never to meet again;
both destined to attain some distinction in their different ways, one to
survive the other for more than half a century, yet in his extreme old
age to remember and speak, as he sometimes did, of his former companion,
as one to be much admired, and not easily forgotten by those who had ever
known her.

Mrs. Lefroy herself was a remarkable person. Her rare endowments of
goodness, talents, graceful person, and engaging manners, were sufficient
to secure her a prominent place in any society into which she was thrown;
while her enthusiastic eagerness of disposition rendered her especially
attractive to a clever and lively girl. She was killed by a fall from
her horse on Jane's birthday, Dec. 16, 1804. The following lines to her
memory were written by Jane four years afterwards, when she was thirty-
three years old. They are given, not for their merits as poetry, but to
show how deep and lasting was the impression made by the elder friend on
the mind of the younger:--

TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. LEFROY.

1.

The day returns again, my natal day;
What mix'd emotions in my mind arise!
Beloved Friend; four years have passed away
Since thou wert snatched for ever from our eyes.

2.

The day commemorative of my birth,
Bestowing life, and light, and hope to me,
Brings back the hour which was thy last on earth.
O! bitter pang of torturing memory!

3.

Angelic woman! past my power to praise
In language meet thy talents, temper, mind,
Thy solid worth, thy captivating grace,
Thou friend and ornamen