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Updated: June 26, 2025
Madden, Lady Blessington's literary biographer, has written: Numerous creditors, bill-discounters, money-lenders, jewelers, lace-venders, tax-collectors, gas-company agents, all persons having claims to urge pressed them at this period simultaneously.
From afar the clock recently restored to its coign high above unlovely Greeley Square warned him that his hour was fleeting: in twenty minutes it would be six o'clock; at six, sharp, Blessington's would close its doors.
To-day I dine with Longman, to meet Tom Moore, who is living incog. near this Nestor of publishers, and pegging hard at his History of Ireland.... Lady Blessington's new book makes a great noise. Living as she does twelve hours out of the twenty-four in the midst of the most brilliant and intellectually exhausting circle in London, I only wonder how she found time to write it.
I have heard of women fainting at a song of Moore's; and if the burden of it answered by chance to a secret in the bosom of the listener, I should think that the heart would break with it. After two or three songs of Lady Blessington's choice, he rambled over the keys a while, and then sang 'When first I met thee' with a pathos that beggars description.
Everybody laughed; and at the same moment Blessington came quickly across the room and joined the group. "Hallo!" he said. "Anybody seen Witcheston? He's next on my list for the crystal business." Again the whole party laughed, and Bramfell, stepping forward, touched Blessington's arm in mock seriousness. "Witcheston is playing bridge, like a sensible man," he said. "Leave him in peace, Bobby."
With an effort he pulled out his notes and smoothed them nervously; but though his gaze was fixed on the pages, not a line of Blessington's clear writing reached his mind. He glanced at the face of the Speaker, then at the faces on the Treasury Bench, then once more he leaned back in his seat. The man beside him saw the movement. "Funking the drydock?" he whispered, jestingly.
Hence come those fatal alliances, in which "a six month's acquaintance after marriage, transforms the beau ideal into a fool, or a coxcomb; and the happy couple, to use an expression of Lady Blessington's, have to 'pay for a month of honey, with a life of vinegar." Circumstances should affect a predetermination on this point, yet where they are balanced, she is the wiser, who postpones a matrimonial connection, until her age, and her preparation for it, indicate its propriety.
When they were departed, this woman, the wife of one of Blessington's sergeants, and the same who had been present at the scene between Ellen Halloway and the deceased, cut off a large lock of his beautiful hair, and separating it into small tresses, handed one to each of the officers.
"Your honour you pitiful trading scoundrel how dare you talk to me of your honour? Come, sir, confess at once where you have secreted this fellow, or prepare to die." "If I may be so bold, your Honour," said one of Captain Blessington's men, "the Frenchman lies. When the Ingian fired among us, this fellow was peeping under his shoulder and watching us also.
A gentleman in the County Tipperary had been commissioned to send over to Chambourcy a root of ivy from Lady Blessington's birthplace to plant near her grave. He succeeded in obtaining an off-shoot from the parent stem that grows over the house in which she was born.
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