[Mary Delany was the daughter of Bernard Granville, younger
brother of George Granville, Baron Lansdowne, the poet and
friend of Wycherley and Pope. She was born on the 14th Of
May, 1700. Her uncle, Lord Lansdowne, was a better friend to
the Muses than to his young niece, for he forced poor Mary
Granville, at the age of seventeen, to marry one Alexander
Pendarves, a coarse, hard drinking Cornish squire, of more
than three times her age. Pendarves died some six years
later, and his widow married, in 1743, Dr. Patrick Delany,
the friend of Swift. With Delany she lived happily for
fifteen years, and after his death in 1768, Mrs. Delany
devoted most of her time to her bosom friend, the dowager
Duchess of Portland (see note [161], ante.), at whose
seat at Bulstrode she usually spent the summer, while during
the winter she resided at her own house in St. James's-
place, where she was constantly visited by the Duchess. On
the death of the Duchess in July, 1785, King George bestowed
upon Mrs. Delany, whose means were not such as to make an
addition to them a matter of indifference, a furnished house
at Windsor and a pension Of 300 pounds a year. These she
enjoyed for less than three years, dying on the 15th of
April, 1788.
The strong attachment which grew up between her and Fanny
renders Mrs. Delany a very interesting figure in the
“Diary.” Nor was Fanny's enthusiasm for her aged friend
misdirected. Speaking of Mrs. Delany, Edmund Burke said:
“She was a perfect pattern of a perfect fine lady: a real
fine lady of other days. Her manners were faultless; her
deportment was of marked elegance; her speech was all
sweetness; and her air and address were all dignity. I have
always looked up to Mrs. Delany, as the model of an
accomplished gentlewoman of former times.”[174]--ED.]
_Sunday, January 19_--And now for Mrs. Delany. I spent one hour with
Mrs. Thrale, and then called for Mrs. Chapone,[175] and we proceeded
together to St. James's-place.
Mrs. Delany was alone in her drawing-room, which is entirely hung round
with pictures of her own painting, and Ornaments of her own designing.
She came to the door to receive us. She is still tall, though some
of her height may be lost: not much, however, for she is remarkably
upright. She has no remains of beauty in feature, but in countenance I
never but once saw more, and that was in my sweet maternal grandmother.
Benevolence, softness, piety, and gentleness are all resident in
her face; and the resemblance with which she struck me to my dear
grandmother, in her first appearance, grew so much stronger from all
that came from her mind, which seems to contain nothing but purity and
native humility, that I almost longed to embrace her; and I am sure if I
had the recollection of that saint-like woman would have been so strong
that I should never have refrained from crying over her.