lily of the valley, and they look beautiful, peeping out of the dark evergreen: close to the root of the great elm I have put a patch of lily of the valley."

So the letter proceeds, with the trivial details that go to complete the picture, and the fond personalities of perfect familiarity. There is to be a meeting at Malvern soon, but not yet, and a sketch of the Duchess herself is introduced, tenderly touched in. He wants to be with her, but particularly in the country. "I long for a little walk with you, leaning on me, or to have a long talk with you, sitting out in some pretty spot, of a fine day, with your long cane in your hand, working at some little weed at your feet, and looking down, talking all the time. I won't go on in this way, for I should want to set out directly, and that cannot be." So it goes on, till love from "the dear little pale pretty wife (Pamela had not been well), ends the letter of the future leader of a conspiracy which might, but for his death-such is the opinion of one well qualified to pronounce upon the subject-have involved the greater part of Ireland in bloodshed. Close upon

thirty as he was, he was still a boy at heart, with not a little of the winning grace of childhood, the childhood that to some favoured natures adheres through life, clinging round him.

It was not till the summer of 1794 that the household was finally established in the cottage given by Mr. Conolly. It was in every way conveniently

1 W. E. H. Lecky.

situated, within easy distance of Dublin, and not more than six miles from Lord Edward's own estate, across the Curragh a vicinity which had perhaps suggested to him the plan he entertained of turning farmer on his own land, though not on so large a scale that business should oblige him to remain too long absent from his mother. The small dimensions of the house was another of its advantages in his eyes-he liked a small place so much better than a large one. Altogether his satisfaction in his new acquisition seems to have been complete; and writing to the Duchess in the middle of the business of settling in, and describing the house in detail, he tells her that he feels "pleasant, contented, and happy, and all these feelings and sights never come across me without bringing my dearest mother to my heart's recollection."

Pamela, for her part, is already planting sweet peas and mignonette; and some tiny caps are lying, with her workbox, on the table-preparations for the "little young plant that is coming."

Lord Edward's eldest son, the son he was never to see grow up, was born in Dublin in the autumn. of 1794. It had been decided to migrate to Leinster House for the event-the FitzGeralds seem, as a family, to have had their homes much in common— but it was not without regret that Kildare Lodge had been temporarily abandoned. To Lord Edward's mind his brother's great house was melancholy in comparison, and the country housemaid cried for two days when brought there, and thought herself in a prison.

The baby's arrival brightened the aspect of affairs, and its father was evidently delighted with his new possession. Little Edward Fox was a success in every way. He had Pamela's chin and his father's mouth and nose, and blue eyes that were like nobody else's. At present it was indeed difficult to form any opinion of them, as they were seldom open. He was, at all events, everything that could be wished, and was to have for sponsors his grandmother, his uncle the Duke, and his cousin and namesake, Fox.

Kildare Lodge, too, was rapidly improving. “I think," wrote Lord Edward, "I shall pass a delightful winter there. . . . I have paled in my little flower garden before my hall door, and stuck it full of roses, sweetbrier, honeysuckle, and Spanish broom. I have got all my beds ready for my flowers, so you may guess how I long to be down to plant them. The little fellow will be a great addition to the party. I think, when I am down there with Pam and child, of a blustery evening, with a good turf fire and a pleasant book-coming in, after seeing my poultry put up, my garden settled, flower beds and plants covered for fear of frost-the place looking comfortable and taken care of, I shall be as happy as possible; and sure I am I shall regret nothing but not being nearer my dearest mother, and her not being of the party.'

The realisation of this forecast of a home full of happiness and serene content was destined to be but of short duration.