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 more than four feet high, with a slightly curved spine, uneven shoulders and eyes, Lady Morgan glided about in a close cropped wig, bound by a fillet of gold, her face all animated, and with a witty word for everyone. I afterwards saw her at the dress circle of the theatre. She was cheered enthusiastically. A red Celtic cloak, fastened by a rich gold fibula or Irish Tara brooch, imparted to her little ladyship a gorgeous and withal a picturesque appearance."

Sir Charles Morgan died in 1843, and she never quite got over her loss. They had their little tiffs, for whenever they went to a party she always wanted to stop longer, and he wanted to come home sooner, but she settled the matter by singing songs in the carriage, and nothing really marred the harmony between them.

At a musical party on St. Patrick's Day, 1859, Lady Morgan waved her green fan for the last time. She caught cold and died on the 16th April in the same year. She is buried in Brompton Cemetery.

Lady Morgan was Irish of the Irish. She never wrote so well as she did about her own people. Her fun was infectious; she thoroughly enjoyed her own jokes. When she was writing "Florence MacCarthy" she laughed so heartily over it, that her husband started up, exclaiming—