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198 tist, who thus sketches (February, 1793) two persons of no ordinary note in that country, one of whom figures unhappily in the page of history. This was Lord Edward Fitzgerald. He had it appears previous to this time, termed the Lord Lieutenant (Westmoreland), and the majority of the House of Commons, “the worst subjects the king had;” and would make no other apology than that he was sorry he had used words contrary to parliamentary usage. “He is turned,” says Jephson, “a complete Frenchman—crops his hair, despises his title, walks the streets instead of riding, and thence says he feels more pride in being on a level with his fellow citizens.”

I was fortunate enough to get a sight of the celebrated Pamela, as I happened to be sitting with Lord Charlemont when they both came to see his library. She is elegant and engaging I think in the highest degree, and showed the most judicious taste in her remarks upon the library and curiosities. The Dublin ladies, I understand, wish to put her down. . . . She promised Lord Charlemont with great good humour, to assist him in keeping her husband in order. She seems something about the size and figure of Mrs. (Scot?) but rather plumper. She was dressed in a plain riding-habit, and came to the door in a curricle.

Robert Jephson, to whose tragedies he had stood in the position of second parent, now aimed to put his skill and patience to a new test. He was about to launch a poem. To revise the plan, scan the characters, revolve the sentiments, correct the language—in fact, to put that mental machinery into