And for its last and longest flight prepare.
TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ.
Cheltenham, Nov. 9, 1826.
Yesterday I saw your cousin, Mansergh St. George’s second son. Oh what a rush of past times came with him. Your dear father’s introduction of me to his father all passed before my eyes. We were pacing up and down the beautiful little chapel at Dangan, which was illuminated to show it to me by night for the first time. The twilight was still struggling through the glass of the magnificent east window, and a hand unseen was skilfully touching the fine organ which did honour to the deep taste in music of Lord Wellesley’s father. At that moment Mansergh St. George was announced. Your dear father left me to meet him, and I saw those fine models of courtly grace, and of the grace of chivalry, walk together down a long gallery leading to the chapel. In Mansergh’s countenance, of which the effect was heightened by the black cap his wound obliged him to wear, were written those high thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy, which so distinguished him among men; and as your father introduced me to my new relation with that air of proud pleasure which always accompanied his making me known for the first time, we became friends and for life.
When I saw young St. George, all this passed through my mind. Then the scene changed, and I saw the moment when I gave him back to his father, a smiling child, whom he had brought down in his arms to bid me adieu at the carriage-door at Holyhead; where we parted, never to meet again—he to pass the remainder of his life in endeavouring to serve those very people by whom he was murdered like an Iroquois who falls into the hands of his fellow savages. What a spirit finely touched was there extinguished, what deep affection, what brilliant talents, what refined powers of pleasing!
Jan. 30, 1827, Elm Lodge.—Worse headaches, and general health worse. No power of accepting the kind invitations pressed on me, though they are such as seldom occur to those who withdraw themselves from the world. The kindliness of this neighbourhood must never be forgotten by me, be the time long or short during which I may remember it here.
This last entry is made in a hand very different from the preceding. There is one more brief passage in the journal, relating to some advice given to a son on the choice of a profession. The remainder of the volume is blank. Very shortly after these lines were written, my Mother, who daily grew worse, removed to Cheltenham, presently exchanged this in the restlessness of suffering, and in the hope of some alleviation, for Malvern; and there, on the 27th of May, 1827, the end arrived. Water on the chest was the form her complaint took at the last. She left five sons, of whom one, the youngest, followed her in a few months to the grave.