window. Poor pretty things! how much delight there is in those common objects, if people would but learn to enjoy them; and I really think that the feeling for these simple pleasures is increasing with the increase of education."

SYDNEY, LADY MORGAN.

It is believed that Lady Morgan was born in 1778. Her father, Robert MacOwen, was an Irishman; and her mother, Miss Hill, an Englishwoman. The MacOwens professed to be of Norman descent, and to have settled in Connaught in the reign of Elizabeth. In spite of his high lineage, Sydney's father, a handsome man, with a good deal of Celtic vivacity in his blood,-was only the steward and sub-agent of an Irish landholder, until his theatrical tastes drew him to London, where his kinsman, Oliver Goldsmith, introduced him to Garrick, and softening his name into Owenson, he went on the stage. As an actor, especially in Irish parts, he became popular; while his wit and personal graces recommended him to the favour of Miss Hill, whom he married. Their first child, the future Lady Morgan, received the name of Sydney in honour of Sir Henry Sydney, who was Lord Deputy of Ireland when the MacOwens bestowed upon it the distinction of their residence. The married couple, with their daughter, led for some time a nomadic life, shifting from town to town as engagements offered. At length they appeared in Dublin, where Owenson opened what, with true Irish grandiloquence, he desig

nated the National Theatre, for the special encouragement of native talent. Native talent did not respond to the encouragement; the National Theatre was soon shut up, and its sanguine projector sank into the deputy managership of the Theatre Royal. Afterwards he performed successively at Castlebar, Sligo, and Athlone, together with his diminutive but precocious daughter, who, in 1788, figured in the playbills as the "Infant Prodigy."

"I well remember," writes a certain Dr. Burke, "the pleasure with which I saw Owenson personate Major O'Flaherty in Cumberland's then highly popular comedy the West Indian; and I also well remember that the long afterwards widely famed Lady Morgan performed at the same time with her father, either in the West Indian or an after-piece. This took place at Castlebar, and their reception was enthusiastic in the extreme.”

Mrs. Owenson died while still in her young womanhood, leaving two daughters, Sydney and Olivia, over whom their father watched with the most vigilant care and unremitting tenderness. Twice a day he accompanied them on a walk into the country. At home they were his constant companions; and it is only just to say that they profited much by his conversation, which was that of a man gifted with good natural parts, and possessed of an extensive knowledge of men and manners. Sydney was educated at a respectable school in Dublin, conducted by a Miss Crowe, and afterwards at one of higher pretensions, Clontarf House, superintended by a

Madame Terson.

Of her introduction into the latter

establishment she furnishes a lively account :

"Madame Terson led us into a spacious room of very scholastic appearance, with desks and books and benches,

backboards and stocks.

The windows of the farther

end looked on the sea. except two little girls, the daughters of the illustrious Grattan, apparently about our own age, and curiously dressed, as though they belonged to some order. They sat, with their hands clasped together, at the farthest window.

There was no one in the room

"Madame Terson put our hands into theirs, and told us she would order some fruit and bonbons; she said the young ladies, who were now out walking, would soon be back and cheer us up. She then went away. The two little girls looked at us sulkily and shyly; the eldest haughtily.

"We said nothing because we had nothing to say. "The eldest, at length, broke silence with the simple question, 'What is your name?'

"I answered, Sydney Owenson.'

"My name,' continued my interrogator, 'is Grattan -Mary Anne Grattan-and,' looking very grand, 'my papa is the greatest man in Ireland. What is your papa ? '

On

"The question puzzled me, and I did not reply. her reiteration of the inquiry, I replied, 'My papa is free of the six and ten per cents.'

"The answer stunned her, for she understood it no