It is actually nine months since I received a letter
from dear Lady Morgan. I immediately
conceived a
| 330 | LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR. |
The bantling with bright thoughts is quite decayed, and I remain your stupid old eighty-six, without a second idea.
I should not venture to intrude upon you to-day; but that I really am anxious to be regaled with one of your pretty greetings. Tommy Moore told me my macaw had spoke both witty and clever. Bulwer, &c., &c., said the same, and that they would send it to me. I have never seen it. When can I hear of it—answer this, and tell me, when you come to England. I don’t wish it till April, when I promise you constant, pleasant reunions. I am more chez moi, and go out less than ever. I collect pleasant people, and like this last act of the play as well as any part of my life. I am in good health, and have many kind friends, among whom I trust you’ll allow me to set you down in the first class.
