And if it hap a man be in disease,
She doth her business and her full pain,
With all her might him to comfort and please,
If fro his disease him she might restrain:
In word ne deed, I wis, she woll not faine;
With all her might she doth her business
To bringen him out of his heaviness.

Lo, here what gentleness these women have
If we could know it for our rudéness!
How busy they be us to keep and save
Both in hele and also in sickness,
And always right sorry for our distress!
In every manere thus show they ruth,
That in them is all goodness and all truth.

Chaucer

XXIX

THE TYRANTS

Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough

OLD

LD Marlborough is dying—but who can tell! last year she had lain a great while ill, without speaking; her physicians said, “She must be blistered, or she will die." She called out, "I won't be blistered, and I won't die." If she takes the same resolution now, I don't believe she will.

Lady Cork

I

Horace Walpole

OHNSON was prevailed with to come

JOHNSON

sometimes

into these circles, and did not think himself too grave even for the lively Miss Monckton (now Countess of Cork), who used to have the finest bit of blue at the house of her mother, Lady Galway. Her vivacity enchanted the sage, and they used to talk together with all imaginable ease. A ́ singular instance happened one evening, when she insisted that some of Sterne's

writings were very pathetic. Johnson bluntly denied it. 66 I am sure," said she, "they have affected me." "Why," said Johnson, smiling, and rolling himself about, "that is, because, dearest, you're a dunce." When she some time afterwards mentioned this to him, he said, with equal truth and politeness, "Madam, if I had thought so, I certainly should not have said it."

James Boswell

SHE

II

HE was one of the most curious figures in the London Society of my girlish days. Very aged, yet retaining much of a vivacity of spirit and sprightly wit for which she had been famous as Mary Monckton, she continued till between ninety and a hundred years old to entertain her friends and the gay world, who frequently during the season assembled at her house.

I have still a note begging me to come to one of her evening parties, written under her dictation by a young person who used to live with her and whom she called her " 'memory"; the few concluding lines scrawled by herself are signed "M. Cork, æt. 92." She was rather apt to appeal to her friends to come to her on the score of her age; and I remember Rogers showing me an invitation he had received from her for one of the ancient concert evenings (these were musical entertainments of the highest order, which Mr. Rogers never failed to attend), couched in these terms: "Dear Rogers, leave the ancient music and come to ancient Cork, 93." Lady Cork's drawing-rooms were rather peculiar in their arrangements: they did not contain that very usual piece of furniture, a pianoforte, so that

if she ever especially desired to have music she hired an instrument for the evening; the rest of the furniture consisted only of very large and handsome armchairs placed round the apartments against the walls, to which they were made fast by some mysterious process, SO that it was quite impossible to form a small circle or coterie of one's own at one of her assemblies.

Lady Cork's great age did not appear to interfere with her enjoyment of society, in which she lived habitually. I remember a very comical conversation with her in which she was endeavouring to appoint some day for my dining with her, our various engagements appearing to clash. She took up the pocket-book where hers were inscribed, and began reading them out with the following running commentary: "Wednesday-no, Wednesday won't do; Lady Holland dines with me— naughty lady!-won't do, my dear. Thursday?" "Very sorry, Lady Cork, we are engaged." "Ah yes, so am I; let's see-Friday; no, Friday I have the Duchess of C, another naughty lady; mustn't come then, my dear. Saturday?” "No, Lady Cork, I am very sorry

we are engaged to Lady D———.” "Oh dear, oh dear! improper lady, too! but a long time ago, everybody's forgotten all about it, very proper now! quite proper now!"

The unfortunate propensity of poor Lady Cork to appropriate all sorts of things belonging to other people, valueless quite as often as valuable, was matter of public notoriety, so that the fashionable London tradesmen, to whom her infirmity in this respect was well known, never allowed their goods to be taken to her carriage for inspection, but always exacted that she should come into their shops, where an individual was

immediately appointed to follow her about and watch her during the whole time she was making purchases.

Fanny Kemble

Mrs. Dundas

HERE was

THERE

a singular race of excellent Scotch old ladies. They were a delightful set; strongheaded, warm-hearted, and high-spirited; the fire of their tempers not always latent; merry, even in solitude; very resolute; indifferent about the modes and habits of the modern world; and adhering to their own ways, so as to stand out, like primitive rocks, above ordinary Society. Their prominent qualities of sense, humour, affection, and spirit were embodied in curious outsides; for they all dressed and spoke and did exactly as they chose; their language, their habits, entirely Scotch, but without any other vulgarity than what perfect naturalness is sometimes taken for.

There sits a clergyman's widow, the mother of the first Sir David Dundas, the introducer of our German System of military manoeuvres, and at one time Commander-in-Chief of the British Army. We used to go to her house in Bunker's Hill, when boys, on Sundays between the morning and afternoon sermons, where we were cherished with Scotch broth, and cakes, and many a joke from the old lady. Age had made her incapable of walking even across the room; so, clad in a plain black silk gown, and a pure muslin cap, she sat halfencircled by a high-backed black leather chair, reading; with silver spectacles stuck on her thin nose; and interspersing her studies and her days with much laughter, and not a little sarcasm. What a spirit! There was