Mrs. Jordan - her life.

Chapter XLIX.

Mrs. Jordan.

**Public mis-statements respecting that lady - The author’s long acquaintance with her - Debut of Mrs. Jordan at the Dublin Theatre as Miss Francis - Her incipient talents at that period - Favourite actresses then in possession of the stage - Theatrical jealousy - Mrs. Daly, formerly Miss Barsanti - Curious inversion of characters in the opera of *The Governess *resorted to by the manager to raise the wind - Lieutenant Doyne proposes for Miss Francis - His suit rejected from prudential considerations - Miss Francis departs for England - Mr. Owenson, Lady Morgan’s father - Comparison between that performer and Mr. John, commonly called Irish Johnstone - Introduction of the author to his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence - Reflections on the scurrilous personalities of the English press - Mrs. Jordan in the green-room and on the stage - Her remarks on the theatrical art and on her own style of acting - Her last visit to Dublin, and curious circumstances connected therewith - Mr. Dwyer, the actor, and Mr. Serjeant Gold - Mrs. Jordan in private society - Extracts from her letters - Her retirement from Bushy, and subsequent embarkation for France.

The foregoing short and superficial sketches of the Dublin stage in my juvenile days bring me to a subject more recent and much more interesting to my feelings. I touch it, nevertheless, with pain, and must ever deeply regret the untimely catastrophe of a lady who was at once the highest surviving prop of her profession and a genuine sample of intrinsic excellence. Had her fate descended whilst filling her proper station and in her own country, or had not the circumstances which attended some parts of that lady’s career** **been entirely mistaken-had not the cause of her miseries been grossly misrepresented, and the story of her desertion and embarrassed state at the time of her dissolution altogether false, I probably should never have done more, under the impression of its being intrusive, perhaps indelicate, than mention her professional excellences.

But so much of that lady s life, and so much relating to her death also, has been mis-stated in the public prints (not for the purpose of doing her justice, but of doing another injustice), that I feel myself warranted in sketching some traits and incidents of Mrs. Jordan’s character and life, all of which I know to be true, and a great proportion whereof I was personally acquainted with. Some degree of mystery has doubtless rested, and will probably continue to rest, on the causes which led that lady to repair to a foreign country, where she perished. All I shall say, however, on that score is, that these causes have never yet been known except to a very limited number of individuals, and never had, in any shape or in any degree, bearing or connection with her former situation. The reports current on this head I know to be utterly unfounded, and many of them I believe to be altogether malicious.

I am not Mrs. Jordan’s biographer: my observations only apply to abstract portions of her conduct and abstract periods of her life. I had the gratification of knowing intimately that amiable woman and justly celebrated performer. Her public talents are recorded: her private merits are known to few. I enjoyed a portion of her confidence on several very particular subjects, and had full opportunity of appreciating her character.

It was not by a cursory acquaintance that Mrs. Jordan could be known. Unreserved confidence alone could develop her qualities, and none of them escaped my observation. I have known her when in the busy, bustling exercise of her profession: I have known her when in the tranquil lap of ease, of luxury, and of magnificence. I have seen her in a theatre, surrounded by a crowd of adulating dramatists: I have seen her in a palace, surrounded by a numerous, interesting, and beloved offspring. I have seen her happy I have seen her, alas *miserable; *and I could not help participating in all her feelings.

At the point of time when I first saw Mrs. Jordan she could not be much more, I think, than sixteen years of age, and was making her *debut *as Miss Francis, at the Dublin Theatre. It is worthy of observation that her early appearances in Dublin were not in any of those characters (save one) wherein she afterwards so eminently excelled, but such as, being more girlish, were better suited to her spirits and her age. I was then, of course, less competent than now to exercise the critical art, yet could not but observe that in these parts She *perfect *even on her first appearance ; she had no art, in fact, to study. Nature was her sole instructress. Youthful, joyous, animated, and droll, her laugh bubbled up from her heart, and her tears welled out ingenuously from the deep spring of feeling. Her countenance was all expression, without being all beauty; her form, then light and elastic - her flexible limbs - the juvenile but indescribable graces of her every movement impressed themselves, as I perceived, indelibly upon all who attended even her earliest performances.

Her expressive features and eloquent action at all periods harmonised blandly with each other not by artifice, however skilful, but by intellectual *sympathy; *and when her figure was adapted to the part she assumed, she had only to peak the words of an author to become the very person he delineated. Her voice was clear and distinct, modulating itself with natural and winning ease; and when exerted in song, its gentle, flute-like melody formed the most captivating contrast to the convulsed and thundering *bravura. *She was throughout the untutored child of Nature: she sang without effort, and generally without the accompaniment of instruments, and whoever heard her ” Dead of the Night” and her ” Sweet Bird,” either in public or private, if they had any soul must have surrendered at discretion.

In genuine playful comic characters, such as Belinda, &c she was unique; but in the *formal, dignified, high-bred *parts of genteel comedy, her superiority, although great, was not so decided. Her line, indeed, was distinctly marked out, but within its extent she stood altogether unrivalled, nay, unapproached.

At the commencement of Mrs. Jordan’s theatrical career he had difficulties to encounter which nothing but superiority of talent could so suddenly have surmounted. Both of the Dublin theatres were filled with performers of high popular reputation, and thus every important part in her line of acting was ably pre-occupied. The talent of the female performers, matured by experience and disciplined by practice, must yet have yielded to the fascinating powers of her natural genius, had it been suffered fairly to expand. But the jealousy which never fails to pervade all professions was powerfully excited to restrain the development of her mimic powers and it was reserved for English audiences to give full play and credit to that extraordinary comic genius which soon raised her to the highest pitch at once of popular and critical estimation.

Mrs. Daly, formerly Miss Barsanti, was foremost among the successful occupants of those buoyant characters to** **which Miss Francis was peculiarly adapted. Other actresses had long filled the remaining parts to which she aspired, and thus scarcely one was left open to engage her talents.

Mr. Daly about this time resorted to a singular species of theatrical entertainment, by the novelty whereof he proposed to rival his competitors of Smock Alley

namely, that of *reversing characters, *the men performing the female, and the females the male parts in comedy and opera. The opera of *The Governess *was played in this way for several nights, the part of Lopez by Miss Francis. In this singular and unimportant character the versatility of her talent rendered the piece attractive, and the season concluded with a strong anticipation of her future celebrity.

The company then proceeded to perform in the provinces, and at Waterford occurred the first grave incident in the life of Mrs. Jordan. Lieutenant Charles Doyne, of the 3rd regiment of Heavy Horse (Greens), was then quartered in that city; and struck with the *naivete *and almost irresistible attractions of the young performer, his heart yielded, and he became seriously and honourably attached to her. Lieutenant Doyne was not handsome, but he was a gentleman and a worthy man, and had been my friend and companion some years at the university. I knew him intimately, and he entrusted me with his passion. Miss Francis’s mother was then alive, and sedulously attended her. Full of ardour and thoughtlessness myself, I advised him, if he could win the young lady, to marry her, adding that no doubt fortune must smile on so disinterested a union. Her mother, however, was of a different opinion; and as she had no fortune but her talent, the exercise of which was to be relinquished with the name of Francis, it became a matter of serious consideration from what source they were to draw their support - with the probability too of a family! His commission was altogether inadequate, and his private fortune very small. This obstacle, in short, was insurmountable. Mrs. Francis, anticipating the future celebrity of her child, and unwilling to extinguish in obscurity all chance of fame and fortune by means of the profession she had adopted, worked upon her daughter to decline the proposal. The treaty accordingly ended, and Lieutenant Doyne appeared to me for a little time almost inconsolable. Miss Francis, accompanied by her mother, soon after went over to England, and for nearly 20 years I never saw that unrivalled performer.

Mr. Owenson, the father of Lady Morgan, was at that time highly celebrated in the line of Irish characters, and never did an actor exist so perfectly calculated, in my opinion, to personify that singular class of people. Considerably above six feet in height, remarkably handsome and brave-looking, vigorous and well-shaped, he was not vulgar enough to disgust, nor was he genteel enough to be *out of character: *never did I see any actor so entirely identify himself with the peculiarities of those parts he assumed.

In the higher class of Irish characters - old officers, &c. - he looked well, but did not exhibit sufficient dignity; and in the *lowest, *his humour was scarcely quaint and original enough; but in what might be termed the *middle class of Paddies, *no man ever combined the look and the manner with such felicity as Owenson. Scientific singing is not an Irish quality; and he sang well enough. I have heard Jack Johnstone warble so very skilfully, and act some parts so very like a man of first-rate education, that I almost forgot the nation he was mimicking: that was not the case with Owens on; he acted as if he had not received too much schooling, and sang like a man whom nobody had instructed.

He was, like most of his profession, careless of his concerns, and grew old without growing rich. His last friend was old Fontaine, a very celebrated Irish dancing-master, many years domiciliated and highly esteemed in Dublin. He aided Owenson and his family whilst he had means to do so, and they both died nearly at the same time - instances of talent and improvidence.

This digression I have ventured on, because in the first place it harmonises with the theatrical nature of my subject, and may be interesting because it relates to the father of an eminent and amiable woman; and most particularly, because I was informed that Mr. Owenson took a warm interest in the welfare of Miss Francis, and was the principal adviser of her mother in rejecting Mr. Doyne’s addresses.

After a lapse of many years I chanced to acquire the honour of a very favourable introduction to His Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence, who became the efficient friend of me and of my family - not with that high and frigid mien which so often renders ungracious the favours of authorities in the British Government, but with the frankness and sincerity of a prince. He received and educated my only son with his own, and sent him, as lieutenant of the 5th Dragoon Guards, to make his campaigns in the Peninsula. This introduction to His Royal Highness and his family gave me full and unerring opportunities of knowing, of appreciating, and valuing Mrs. Jordan. In her there was no guile; her heart was conspicuous in every word - her feelings in every action; and never did I find in any character a more complete concentration of every quality that should distinguish a mother, a friend, and a gentlewoman.

The outlines of Mrs. Jordan’s public life, after her connexion of 23 years with that royal personage, are too well known to require recital here. But with respect to her more private memoirs, so much falsehood and exaggeration have gone abroad - so many circumstances have been distorted, and so many *facts *invented, some of the latter possessing sufficient plausibility to deceive even the most wary - that, if not a duty, it appears at least praiseworthy to aim at the refutation of such calumnies.

I have ever felt a great abhorrence of the system or defamation on hearsay. Public men, *as such, *may properly be commented on. It is the birthright of the British people to speak fairly their sentiments of those who rule them; but libel on private reputation is a disgusting excrescence upon the body of political freedom, and has latterly grown to an extent so dangerous to individuals, and so disgraceful to the press at large, that it may hereafter afford plausible pretences for curtailing the liberty of that organ - the pure and legal exercise of which is the proudest and surest guardian of British freedom.

The present lax, unrestrained, and vicious exuberance of the periodical press, stamps the United Kingdom as the very focus of libel and defamation in all their ramifications. No reputation, no rank, no character, public or private, neither the living nor the dead, can escape from its licentiousness. One comfort may be drawn from the reflection, that it can proceed no further; its next movement must be a retrograde one, and I trust the legislature will not permit this retrogression to be long deferred.

That spirit of licentiousness I have been endeavouring to stigmatise was never more clearly instanced than by the indefatigable and reiterated attempts, for several years per severed in, to disparage the private reputation of a royal personage, whose domestic habits and whose wise and commendable abstinence from political party and conflicting factions, should have exempted him from the pen and from the tongue of misrepresentation and rendered sacred a character which only requires development to stand as high in the estimation of every man who regards the general happiness and power of the empire, as that of any member of the illustrious house from which its owner springs. On this point I speak not lightly: that which I state is neither the mere effusion of gratitude nor the meanness of adulation. The royal personage I allude to would not commend me for the one, nor would I demean myself by the other.

I cannot conclude this digression without reprobating in no measured terms that most dangerous of all calumnious tendencies which endeavours systematically to drag down the highest ranks to the level of the lowest, and by labouring to excite a democratic contempt of royal personages, gradually saps the very foundation of constitutional allegiance. Such however has been a practice of the day, exercised with all the rancour, but without any portion of the ability of Junius.

It is deeply to be lamented that this system has been exemplified by some individuals whose literary celebrity might have well afforded them the means of creditable subsistence without endeavouring to force into circulation works of mercenary penmanship by wanton slander of the very highest personage in the united empire. I specify no name, I designate no facts; if they exist not, it is unimportant; if they are notorious, the application will not be difficult. It is true that a libeller cannot fully atone, yet he may repent; and even mortification would be a better penance to any calumniator of distinguished talent than to run the risk of being swamped between the Scylla and Charybdis of frivolity and disaffection.

But to return to the accomplished subject of my sketch. I have seen her, as she called it, on a cruise - that is, at a provincial theatre (Liverpool) - having gone over once from Dublin for that purpose she was not then in high spirits indeed, her tone in this respect was not uniform: in the mornings she usually seemed depressed, at noon she went to rehearsal - came home fatigued, dined at three, and then remained in her chamber till it was time to dress for the performance. She generally went to the theatre low-spirited.

I once accompanied Mrs. Jordan to the green-room at Liverpool. Mrs. Alsop and her old maid assiduously attended her. She went thither languid and apparently reluctant, but in a quarter of an hour her very nature seemed to undergo a metamorphosis The sudden change of her manner appeared to me, in fact, nearly miraculous. She walked spiritedly across the stage two or three times, as if to measure its extent; and the moment her foot touched the scenic boards her spirit seemed to be regenerated. She cheered up, hummed an air, stepped light and quick, and every symptom of depression vanished. The comic eye and cordial laugh returned upon their enchanting mistress, and announced that she felt herself moving in her proper clement. Her attachment to the practice of her profession, in fact, exceeded anything I could conceive.

Mrs. Jordan delighted in talking over past events. She had strong impressions of everything and I could perceive was often influenced rather by her feelings than her judgment.

“How happens it,” said I to her, when last in Dublin, “that you still exceed all your profession, even in characters not so adapted to you now as when I first saw you? How do you contrive to be so buoyant, nay, so childish on the stage, whilst you lose half your spirits and degenerate into gravity the moment you are off it?”

“Old habits,” replied Mrs. Jordan, “old habits. Had I formerly studied my positions, weighed my words, and measured my sentences, I should have been artificial, and they might have hissed me. So, when I had got the words well by heart, I told Nature I was then at *her *service to do whatever she thought proper with my feet, legs, hands, arms, and features. To her I left the whole matter. I became, in fact, merely her puppet, and never interfered further myself in the business. I heard the audience laugh at me, and I laughed at myself. They laughed again, so did I; and they gave me credit for matters I knew very little about, and for which Dame Nature, not I, should have received their approbation.

“The best rule for a performer is to forget, if possible, that any audience is listening. We perform best of all in our closets, and next best to crowded houses. But I scarcely ever saw a good performer who was always eyeing the audience. “If;” continued she, “half the gesticulation half the wit, drollery, and anecdote which I heard among you all at Curran’s Priory, at Grattan’s Cottage, and at your house had been displayed before an audience without your knowing that anybody was listening to you, the performance would have been cheered as one of the finest pieces of comic acting possible, though, in fact, your only *plot *was endeavouring to get tipsy as agreeably as you could.”

This last visit of Mrs. Jordan to the Irish capital took place in the year 1809, and afforded me a still better opportunity of eliciting any trait of her nature or disposition. She was greeted in that metropolis with all the acclamations that her reputation and talent so fully merited. She was well received also amongst some of the best society in Dublin, whose curiosity was excited beyond measure to converse with her in private. Here, however, she disappointed all; for there was about her no display, and the animated, lively, brilliant mimic on the hoards was, in the saloon, retiring, quiet, nay, almost reserved. Mrs. Jordan, in fact, seldom spoke much in company; but then she spoke** **well. She made no exertion to appear distinguished and became more so by the absence of effort. The performer was wholly merged in the gentlewoman; and thus, although on her entrance, this celebrated person failed to *impress *the company, she never failed to retire in possession of their respect.

On that tour she told me she was very ill treated by the manager. The understanding was, that Mrs. Jordan was to receive half the profits; yet, although the houses were invariably crowded, the receipts were quite inadequate. Many of the performers who had been appointed to act with her were below mediocrity, and her presence alone saved them from being scouted. One was forgetful, another drunk. I confess I never myself saw such a crew. All this rendered Mrs. Jordan miserable, and she sought relief in the exercise of her benevolent feelings. Among other objects of her bounty was an old actor called Barrett, who had played on the night of her *debut, *and was then in most indigent circumstances. Him she made comfortable and gave efficient assistance to several others whom she had known in former years.

The managers, I know not why, acted to her without the respect which *everybody, *except themselves, had shewn that most amiable of human beings. She had found it absolutely necessary to refuse acting with one or two vulgar, drunken fellows, belonging to the set whom they had selected to *sustain *her; and she quitted the country at length, having formed a fixed determination never to repeat any engagement with the persons who then *managed *the theatricals of Dublin.

She had scarcely arrived in England when some of the parties, including one Mr. Dwyer, a player, quarrelled; and actions for defamation were brought forward amongst them. A man of the name of Corri also published periodical libels, in one of which he paid Mrs. Jordan the compliment of associating her with the Duchess of Gordon. I and my family had likewise the honour of partaking in the abuse of that libel, and I prosecuted the printer. On the trial of the cause one of the counsel, Mr. Thomas (now Serjeant) Gold, thought proper to indulge himself in language and statements respecting Mrs. Jordan neither founded in fact nor delicate in a gentleman. In cross-examining me as a witness on the prosecution of the printer, he essayed a line of interrogation disparaging to the character of that lady; but that learned person always took care not to go too far with me, or to risk offending me in my presence. A monosyllable, or an intimation even, I ever found quite sufficient to check the exuberance of” my learned friend;” and on this occasion he was not backward in taking my hint. He grew tame. The libeller was found guilty, and justly sentenced to a protracted imprisonment.

I never knew Mrs. Jordan feel so much as at the wanton conduct of Mr. Thomas Gold on that occasion. His speech, as it appeared in the newspapers, was too gross even for the vulgarest declaimer; but when Mrs. Jordan’s situation, her family, and her merits were considered, it was altogether inexcusable. I do not state this feeling of Mrs. Jordan solely from my own impression. I received from her a letter indicative of the anguish which that gentleman had excited in her feelings, and I should do injustice to her memory if I did not publish her justification

“Bushy House, Wednesday.

“My dear Sir,

Not having the least suspicion of the business in Dublin, it shocked and grieved me very much, not only on my own account, but I regret that I should have been the involuntary cause of anything painful to you or to your amiable family. But of Mr. Jones I can think anything; and I beg you will do me the justice to believe that my feelings are not selfish. Why, indeed, should I expect to escape their infamous calumnies? Truth, however, will force its way, and justice exterminate that nest of vipers. I wanted nothing from Mr. Crompton’s generosity, but I had a claim on his justice, his honour

During the two representations of *The Inconstant, *I represented to him the state Mr. Dwyer was in, and implored him, out of respect to the audience, if not in pity to my terrors, to change the play. As to the libel on Mr. Dwyer, charged to me by Mr. Gold, I never directly or indirectly, by words or by writing, demeaned myself by interfering in the most remote degree with so wretched a concern. I knew no editor - I read no newspapers whilst in Dublin. The charge is false and libellous on me, published, I presume, through Mr. Cold’s assistance. Under that view of the case he will feel himself rather unpleasantly circumstanced should I call upon him either to *prove *or *disavow *his assertions. To be introduced any way into such a business shocks and grieves me. He might have pleaded for his companions without calumniating me; but for the present I shall drop an irksome subject, which has already given me more than ordinary uneasiness. - Yours, &c.,

“Dora Jordan.” **

She requested my advice as to bringing an action for defamation. My reply was one that I had heard most adroitly given by Sir John Doyle upon another occasion:-

“If you wrestle with a chimney-sweeper, it is true you may throw your antagonist, but your own coat will certainly be dirtied by the encounter.”

Never was there a better aphorism. Mrs. Jordan took my advice, and satisfied herself with despising instead of punishing her calumniators.

I have seen this accomplished woman at Bushy in the midst of one of the finest families in England, surrounded by splendour, beloved, respected, and treated with all the deference paid to a member of high life. I could perceive, indeed, no offset to her comforts and gratification. She was in my hearing frequently solicited by the royal personage to retire from her profession ; she was *urged *to forego all further emoluments from its pursuit; and this single fact gives the contradiction direct to reports which I should feel it improper even to allude to further. Her constant reply was that she would retire when Mrs. Siddons did; but that her losses by the fire at Covent Garden, together with other incidental outgoings, had been so extensive as to induce her continuance of the profession to replace her finances.

Her promise to retire with Mrs Siddons, however, she did not act up to, but continued to gratify the public, with enormous profit to herself, down to the very last year she remained in England. It is matter of fact, too, though perhaps here out of place, that, so far from a desertion of this lady by that royal personage, as falsely reported, to the last hour of her life his solicitude was undiminished; and though separated by her own desire, for causes not discreditable to either, he never lost sight of her interest or her comforts. It was not the nature of His Royal Highness - he was incapable of that little less than *crime *towards Mrs. Jordan, which had indeed no foundation, save in the vicious representation of hungry or avaricious editors, or in the scurrility of those hackneyed and indiscriminate enemies of rank and reputation, whose aspersions are equally a disgrace and an injury to the country wherein they are tolerated.

To contribute towards the prevention of all further doubt as to Mrs. Jordan’s unmixed happiness at the period of her residence at Bushy, as well as to exhibit the benevolence of her heart and the warmth of her attachments, I will introduce at this point extracts from some other letters addressed to myself:-

“Bushy.

“My dear Sir,

“I cannot resist the pleasure of informing you that your dear boy has not only passed, but passed with great credit, at the Military College. It gives us all the highest satisfaction. My two beloved boys are now at home; they have both gone to South-Hill to see your Edward We shall have a full and merry house at Christmas; ‘tis what the dear duke delights in - a happier set, when altogether, I believe never yet existed. The ill-natured parts of the world never can enjoy the tranquil pleasures of domestic happiness.

“I have made two most lucrative trips since I saw you Adkinson came to see me at Liverpool - quite as poetical as ever, and the best-natured *poet *I believe in the world.

“Yours, ever truly,

“Dora Jordan.” **

“Bushy.

“My dear Sir,

I have returned here on the 7th inst., after a very fatiguing though very prosperous *cruise *of five weeks, and found all as well as I could wish. Your Edward left us this morning for Marlow: I found him improved in everything. I never saw the duke enjoy anything more than the poultry you sent us; they were delicious: he desires me to offer his best regards to yourself and your ladies. Lucy is gone on a visit to Lady De Ross.

“Yours, most truly,

“Dora Jordan.” **

“Bushy.

“My dear Sir,

I have returned here; but, alas! the happiness I had promised to myself has met a cruel check at finding the good duke very unwell. You can scarcely conceive my misery at the cause of such a disappointment, but there is every appearance of a favourable result not being very distant. ‘Tis his old periodical attack, but not near so severe as I have seen it. I shall not write to you as I intended till 1 can announce His Royal Highness’s recovery. I shall have neither head nor nerves to write, or even to think, till I am able to contribute to your pleasure by announcing my own happiness and his recovery.

… . &c.

“Dora Jordan

Sir J. Barrington,

Merrion Square, Dublin

“Bushy

“We have just returned from Maidenhead, and I postponed writing to you till I could give you an account of Edward, who, with Colonel Butler, dined with us there.

He looks wonderfully well, and the uniform becomes him extremely. On the ladies leaving the room Colonel Butler gave the duke a very favourable account of him, and I trust it will give you and Lady Barrington the more satisfaction when I assure you that it is by no means a partial account.

“I am sure you will be pleased to hear that your young friend Lucy is about to be married, much to my satisfaction, to Colonel Hawker, of the 14th Dragoons. He is a most excellent man, and has a very good private property. She will make the best of wives; a better girl never yet lived ; it makes me quite happy, and I intend to give her the value of £10,000.

… . &c.

“Dora Jordan.”

The days of Mrs. Jordan continued to pass on alternately in the exercise of a lucrative profession and the domestic enjoyment of an adoring family, when circumstances (which, because *mysterious, *the public construed necessarily to imply culpability somewhere or other) occasioned a separation, certainly an event most unexpected by those who had previously known the happy state of her connexion. In me it would be worse than presumption to enter into any detail on a subject at once so private, so delicate, and so interesting. Suffice it to say, that of all the accounts and surmises as to that event in which the public prints were pleased to indulge themselves, not one that came under my eye was true; indeed, there was scarcely a single incident whereto that separation was publicly attributed that had any degree of foundation whatsoever. Such circumstances should ever remain known only to those who feel the impropriety of amusing the readers at a newsroom with subjects of domestic pain and family importance. I will, however, repeat that the separation took effect from causes no way dishonourable to either party; that it was not sought for by the royal personage, nor necessary on the part of the lady. It was too hasty to be discreet, and too much influenced by feelings of the moment to be hearty. Though not unacquainted with those circumstances, I never presumed to make an observation upon the subject, save to contradict, in direct terms, statements which, at the time I heard them, I knew to be totally unfounded; and never was the British press more prostituted than in the malicious colouring given upon that occasion to the conduct of His Royal Highness.

General Hawker, one of the late king’s aids-de-camp, had married Miss Jordan; and in the punctilious honour and integrity of this gentleman, everybody who knew and knows him did and does rely with unmixed confidence. Such reliance His Royal Highness evinced by sending, through him, carte blanche to Mrs Jordan when the separation had been determined on, enabling her to dictate whatever she conceived would be fully adequate to her maintenance, without recurrence to her profession, in all the comforts and luxuries to which she had been so long accustomed; and everything she wished for was arranged to her satisfaction. Still, however, infatuated with attachment to theatrical pursuits, she continued to accept of **temporary engagements to her great profit; and it will perhaps scarcely be credited, that so unsated were British audiences with Mrs. Jordan’s unrivalled performances, that even at her time of life, with certainly diminished powers and an altered person, the very last year she remained in England brought her a clear profit of near £7,000. I *cannot *be mistaken in this statement, for my authority could not err on that point. The malicious representations, therefore, of her having been left straitened in pecuniary circumstances were literally fabulous; for to the very moment of her death she remained in full possession of all the means of comfort -nay, if she chose it, of luxury and splendour.

Why, therefore, she emigrated, pined away, and expired in a foreign country, of whose language she was ignorant, and in whose habits she was wholly unversed, with every *appearance *of necessity, is also considered a mystery by those unacquainted with the cruel and disastrous circumstances which caused that unfortunate catastrophe. It is not by my pen that miserable story shall be told. It was a transaction wherein her royal friend had, *directly or indirectly, *no concern, nor did it in any way spring out of that connexion. She had, in fact, only to *accuse *herself of benevolence, confidence, and honour; to those *demerits, *and to the worse than ingratitude of others, she fell a lingering, broken-hearted victim.

When His Royal Highness was informed of the determination that Mrs. Jordan should take up a temporary residence on the Continent, he insisted on her retaining the attendance of Miss Ketchley, who for many years had been attached to the establishment at Bushy, and was superintendent and governess of the duke’s children. This lady, therefore, whose sincere attachment had been so long and truly proved, accompanied Mrs. Jordan as her companion, and to the time of her death continued to administer to her comforts, endeavouring, so far as in her lay, by her society and attentions, to solace the mental misery which pressed upon her friend’s health and had extinguished her spirits.

She was also accompanied by Colonel Hawker, the general’s brother; but as she wished during her residence in France to be totally retired, she took no suite. She selected Boulogne as a place of convenient proximity to England; and in a cottage half a mile from that town awaited with indescribable anxiety the completion of those affairs which had occasioned her departure, rapturously anticipating the happiness of embracing her children afresh after a painful absence.

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