e members of her family are continually there, and are supplied
with horses, carriages, &c., from the King's stables. She rides
out with her daughter, but never with the King, who always rides
with one of his gentlemen. They never appear in public together.
She dines there every day. Before the King comes into the room
she and Lady Elizabeth join him in another room, and he always
walks in with one on each arm. She comports herself entirely as
mistress of the house, but never suffers her daughter to leave
her. She has received magnificent presents, and Lady Elizabeth
the same; particularly the mother has strings of pearls of
enormous value. Madame de Lieven said she had seen the pearls of
the Grand Duchesses and the Prussian Princesses, but had never
seen any nearly so fine as Lady Conyngham's. The other night Lady
Bath was coming to the Pavilion. After dinner Lady Conyngham
called to Sir William Keppel and said, 'Sir William, do desire
them to light up the saloon' (this saloon is lit by hundreds of
candles). When the King came in she said to him, 'Sir, I told
them to light up the saloon, as Lady Bath is coming this
evening.' The King seized her arm and said with the greatest
tenderness, 'Thank you, thank you, my dear; you always do what is
right; you cannot please me so much as by doing everything you
please, everything to show that you are mistress here.'

[Page Head: THE DEATH OF LADY WORCESTER.]

May 12th, 1821 {p.047}

I have suffered the severest pain I ever had in my life by the
death of Lady Worcester.[5] I loved her like a sister, and I have
lost one of the few persons in the world who cared for me, and
whose affection and friendship serve to make life valuable to me.
She has been cut off in the prime of her life and in the bloom of
her beauty, and so suddenly too. Seven days ago she was at a ball
at Court, and she is now no more. She died like a heroine, full
of cheerfulness and courage to the last. She has been snatched
from life at a time when she was becoming every day more fit to
live, for her mind, her temper, and her understanding were
gradually and rapidly improving; she had faults, but her mind was
not vicious, and her defects may be ascribed to her education and
to the actual state of the society in which she lived. Her
virtues were inherent in her character; every day developed them
more and more, and they were such as to make the happiness of all
who lived with her and to captivate the affect