ut little to boast. Her principal works are _Phyllis_,
_Molly Bawn_, _Mrs. Geoffrey_, _Portia_, _Rossmoyne_, _Undercurrents_,
_A Life's Remorse_, _A Born Coquette_, _A Conquering Heroine_. She has
written up to this time thirty-two novels, besides uncountable articles
for home and American papers. In the latter country she enjoys an
enormous popularity, and everything she writes is rapidly printed off.
First sheets of the novels in hand are bought from her for American
publications, months before there is any chance of their being
completed. In Australia, too, her books are eagerly looked for, whilst
every story she has ever written can be found in the Tauchnitz series.

She began to write when very young, at school taking always the prize
in composition. As a mere child she could always keep other children
spellbound whilst telling them fairy stories of her own invention. 'I
remember', she says, turning round with a laugh, 'when I was about ten
years old, writing a ghost story which so frightened myself, that when
I went to bed that night, I couldn't sleep till I had tucked my head
under the bedclothes'. 'This', she adds, 'I have always considered my
_chef d'oeuvre_, as I don't believe I have ever succeeded in
frightening anyone ever since'. At eighteen she gave herself up
seriously, or rather, gaily, to literary work. All her books teem with
wit and humor. One of her last creations, the delightful old butler,
Murphy, in _A Born Coquette_, is equal to anything ever written by her
compatriot, Charles Lever. Not that she has devoted herself entirely to
mirth-moving situations. The delicacy of her love scenes, the lightness
of touch that distinguishes her numerous flirtations can only be
equalled by the pathos she has thrown into her work every now and then,
as if to temper her brightness with a little shade. Her descriptions of
scenery are specially vivid and delightful, and very often full of
poetry. She is never didactic or goody-goody, neither does she revel in
risky situations, nor give the world stories which, to quote the
well-known saying of a popular playwright, 'no nice girl would allow her
mother to read'.

Mrs. Hungerford married first when very young, but her husband died in
less than six years, leaving her with three little girls. In 1883 she
married Mr. Henry Hungerford. He also is Irish, and his father's place,
Cahirmore, of about eleven thousand acres, lies nearly twenty miles to
the west of Bandon. 'It