Infomotions, Inc.The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals, Volume 2 / Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron, 1788-1824

Author: Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron, 1788-1824
Title: The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals, Volume 2
Date: 2003-11-06
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Title: The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals, Volume 2.

Author: Lord Byron

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THE WORKS

OF

LORD BYRON.




A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION,
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.




Letters and Journals. Vol. II.





EDITED BY
ROWLAND E. PROTHERO, M.A.,
FORMERLY FELLOW OF ALL SOULS COLLEGE, OXFORD.





PREFACE


The second volume of Mr. Murray's edition of Byron's 'Letters and
Journals' carries the autobiographical record of the poet's life from
August, 1811, to April, 1814. Between these dates were published 'Childe
Harold' (Cantos I., II.), 'The Waltz', 'The Giaour', 'The Bride of
Abydos', the 'Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte'. At the beginning of this
period Byron had suddenly become the idol of society; towards its close
his personal popularity almost as rapidly declined before a storm of
political vituperation.

Three great collections of Byron's letters, as was noted in the Preface
[1] to the previous volume, are in existence. The first is contained in
Moore's 'Life' (1830); the second was published in America, in
FitzGreene Halleck's edition of Byron's 'Works' (1847); of the third,
edited by Mr. W.E. Henley, only the first volume has yet appeared. A
comparison between the letters contained in these three collections and
in that of Mr. Murray, down to December, 1813, shows the following
results: Moore prints 152 letters; Halleck, 192; Mr. Henley, 231. Mr.
Murray's edition adds 236 letters to Moore, 196 to Halleck, and to Mr.
Henley 157. It should also be noticed that the material added to Moore's
'Life' in the second and third collections consists almost entirely of
letters which were already in print, and had been, for the most part,
seen and rejected by the biographer. The material added in Mr. Murray's
edition, on the contrary, consists mainly of letters which have never
before been published, and were inaccessible to Moore when he wrote his
'Life' of Byron.

These necessary comparisons suggest some further remarks. It would have
been easy, not only to indicate what letters or portions of letters are
new, but also to state the sources whence they are derived. But, in the
circumstances, such a course, at all events for the present, is so
impolitic as to be impossible. On the other hand, anxiety has been
expressed as to the authority for the text which is adopted in these
volumes. To satisfy this anxiety, so far as circumstances allow, the
following details are given.

The material contained in these two volumes consists partly of letters
now for the first time printed; partly of letters already published by
Moore, Dallas, and Leigh Hunt, or in such books as Galt's 'Life of Lord
Byron', and the 'Memoirs of Francis Hodgson'. Speaking generally, it may
be said that the text of the new matter, with the few exceptions noted
below, has been prepared from the original letters, and that it has
proved impossible to authenticate the text of most of the old material
by any such process.

The point may be treated in greater detail. Out of the 388 letters
contained in these two volumes, 220 have been printed from the original
letters. In these 220 are included practically the whole of the new
material. Among the letters thus collated with the originals are those
to Mrs. Byron (with four exceptions), all those to the Hon. Augusta
Byron, to the Hanson family, to James Wedderburn Webster, and to John
Murray, twelve of those to Francis Hodgson, those to the younger
Rushton, William Gifford, John Cam Hobhouse, Lady Caroline Lamb, Mrs.
Parker, Bernard Barton, and others. The two letters to Charles Gordon
(30, 33), the three to Captain Leacroft (62, 63, 64), and the one to
Ensign Long (vol. ii. p. 19, 'note'), are printed from copies only.

The old material stands in a different position. Efforts have been made
to discover the original letters, and sometimes with success. But it
still remains true that, speaking generally, the printed text of the
letters published by Moore, Dallas, Leigh Hunt, and others, has not been
collated with the originals. The fact is important. Moore, who, it is
believed, destroyed not only his own letters from Byron, but also many
of those entrusted to him for the preparation of the 'Life', allowed
himself unusual liberties as an editor. The examples of this licence
given in Mr. Clayden's 'Rogers and his Contemporaries' throw suspicion
on his text, even where no apparent motive exists for his suppressions.
But, as Byron's letters became more bitter in tone, and his criticisms
of his contemporaries more outspoken, Moore felt himself more justified
in omitting passages which referred to persons who were still living in
1830. From 1816 onwards, it will be found that he has transferred
passages from one letter to another, or printed two letters as one, and
'vice versa', or made such large omissions as to shorten letters, in
some instances, by a third or even a half. No collation with the
originals has ever been attempted, and the garbled text which Moore
printed is the only text at present available for an edition of the most
important of Byron's letters. But the originals of the majority of the
letters published in the 'Life', from 1816 to 1824, are in the
possession or control of Mr. Murray, and in his edition they will be for
the first time printed as they were written. If any passages are
omitted, the omissions will be indicated.

Besides the new letters contained in this volume, passages have been
restored from Byron's manuscript notes ('Detached Thoughts', 1821). To
these have been added Sir Walter Scott's comments, collated with the
originals, and, in several instances, now for the first time published.

Appendix VII. contains a collection of the attacks made upon him in the
Tory press for February and March, 1814, which led him, for the moment,
to resolve on abandoning his literary work.

In conclusion, I wish to repeat my acknowledgment of the invaluable aid
of the 'National Dictionary of Biography', both in the facts which it
supplies and the sources of information which it suggests.

R.E. PROTHERO.

September, 1898.



[Footnote 1: Also available from Project Gutenberg in text and html form.]





       *       *       *       *       *





LIST OF LETTERS.

1811.

169. Aug. 23.   To John Murray
170. Aug. 24.   To James Wedderburn Webster
171. Aug. 25.   To R.C. Dallas
172. Aug. 27.       "     "
173. Aug. 30.   To the Hon. Augusta Leigh
174. Aug. 30.       "     "       "
175. Aug. 31.   To James Wedderburn Webster
176. Sept. 2.   To the Hon. Augusta Leigh
177. Sept. 3.   To Francis Hodgson
178. Sept. 4.   To R.C. Dallas
179. Sept. 5.   To John Murray
180. Sept. 7.   To R.C. Dallas
181. Sept. 9.   To the Hon. Augusta Leigh
182. Sept. 9.   To Francis Hodgson
183. Sept. 10.  To R.C. Dallas
184. Sept. 13.  To Francis Hodgson
185. Sept. 14.  To John Murray
186. Sept. 15.  To R.C. Dallas
187. Sept. 16.  To John Murray
188. Sept. 16.  To R.C. Dallas
189. Sept. 17.      "     "
190. Sept. 17.      "     "
191. Sept. 21.      "     "
192. Sept. 23.      "     "
193. Sept. 25.  To Francis Hodgson
194. Sept. 26.  To R.C. Dallas
195. Oct. 10.   To James Wedderburn Webster
196. Oct. 10.   To R.C. Dallas
197. Oct. 11.      "     "
198. Oct. 13.   To Francis Hodgson
199. Oct. 14.   To R.C. Dallas
200. Oct. 16.      "     "
201. Oct. 25.      "     "
202. Oct. 27.   To Thomas Moore
203. Oct. 29.   To R.C. Dallas
204. Oct. 29.   To Thomas Moore
205. Oct. 30.      "     "
206. Oct. 31.  To R.C. Dallas
207. Nov. 1.   To Thomas Moore
208. Nov. 17.  To Francis Hodgson
209. Dec. 4.       "     "
210. Dec. 6.   To William Harness
211. Dec. 7.   To James Wedderburn Webster
212. Dec. 8.   To William Harness
213. Dec. 8.   To Francis Hodgson
214. Dec. 11.  To Thomas Moore
215. Dec. 12.  To Francis Hodgson
216. Undated.  R.C. Dallas
217. Dec. 15.  To William Harness


1812.

218. Jan. 21.  To Robert Rushton
219. Jan. 25.       "     "
220. Jan. 29.  To Thomas Moore
221. Feb. 1.   To Francis Hodgson
222. Feb. 4.   To Samuel Rogers
223. Feb. 12.  To Master John Cowell
224. Feb. 16.  To Francis Hodgson
225. Feb. 21.       "     "
226. Feb. 25.  To Lord Holland
227. March 5.  To Francis Hodgson
228. March 5.  To Lord Holland
229. Undated.  To Thomas Moore
230. Undated.  To William Bankes
231. March 25. To Thomas Moore
232. Undated.  To Lady Caroline Lamb
233. April 20. To William Bankes
234. Undated.  To Thomas Moore
235. May 1.    To Lady Caroline Lamb
236. May 8.    To Thomas Moore
237. May 20.        "     "
238. June 1.   To Bernard Barton
239. June 25.  To Lord Holland
240. June 26.  To Professor Clarke
241. July 6.   To Walter Scott
242. Undated.  To Lady Caroline Lamb
243. Sept. 5.  To John Murray
244. Sept. 10. To Lord Holland
245. Sept. 14. To John Murray
246. Sept. 22. To Lord Holland
247. Sept. 23.      "     "
248. Sept. 24.      "     "
249. Sept. 25.      "     "
250. Sept. 26.      "     "
251. Sept. 27.      "     "
252. Sept. 27.      "     "
253. Sept. 27. To John Murray
254. Sept. 28. To Lord Holland
255. Sept. 28.      "     "
256. Sept. 28. To William Bankes
257. Sept. 29. To Lord Holland
258. Sept. 30.      "     "
259. Sept. 30.      "     "
260. Oct. 2.        "     "
261. Oct. 12.  To John Murray
262. Oct. 14.  To Lord Holland
263. Oct. 18.  To John Hanson
264. Oct. 18.  To John Murray
265. Oct. 18.  To Robert Rushton
266. Oct. 19.  To John Murray
267. Oct. 22.  To John Hanson
268. Oct. 23.  To John Murray
269. Oct. 31.  To John Hanson
270. Nov. 8.        "     "
271. Nov. 16.       "     "
272. Nov. 22.  To John Murray
273. Dec. 26.  To William Bankes


1813.

274.   Jan. 8.         To John Murray
275.   Feb. 3.         To Francis Hodgson
276.   Feb. 3.         To John Hanson
277.   Feb. 20.        To John Murray
278.   Feb. 24.        To Robert Rushton
279.   Feb. 27.        To John Hanson
280.   March 1.           "     "
281.   March 5.        To ____ Corbet
282.   March 6.        To John Hanson
283.   March 24.       To Charles Hanson
284.   March 25.       To Samuel Rogers
285.   March 26.       To the Hon. Augusta Leigh
286.   March 29.       To John Murray
287.   April 15.       To John Hanson
288.   April 17.           "     "
289.   April 21.       To John Murray
290.   May 13.             "     "
291.   May 19.         To Thomas Moore
292.   May 22.         To John Murray
293.   May 23.             "     "
294.   June 2.             "     "
295.   Undated.        To Thomas Moore
296.   June 3.         To John Hanson
297.   June 6.         To Francis Hodgson
298.   June 8.             "      "
299.   June 9.         To John Murray
300.   June 12.            "      "
301.   June 13.            "      "
302.   June 18.            "      "
303.   June 18.        To W. Gifford
304.   June 22.        To John Murray
305.   June 22.        To Thomas Moore
306.   June 26.        To the Hon. Augusta Leigh
307.   Undated.         "     "      "
308.   June 27.         "     "      "
309.   July 1.         To John Murray
310.   July 8.         To Thomas Moore
311.   July 13.            "      "
312.   July 18.        To John Hanson
313.   July 22.        To John Murray
314.   July 25.        To Thomas Moore
315.   July 27.            "      "
316.   July 28.            "      "
317.   July 31         To John Murray
318.   Aug. 2.         To John Wilson Croker
319.   Undated.        To John Murray
320.   Aug. 10.         "     "
321.   Aug. 12.        To James Wedderburn Webster
322.   Aug. 22.        To Thomas Moore
323.   Aug. 26.        To John Murray
324.   Aug. 28.        To Thomas Moore
325.   Sept. 1.         "     "
326.   Sept. 2.        To James Wedderburn Webster
327.   Sept. 5.        To Thomas Moore
328.   Sept. 8.         "     "
329.   Sept. 9.         "     "
330.   Sept. 15.       To James Wedderburn Webster
331.   Sept. 15.       To the Hon. Augusta Leigh
332.   Sept. 15.       To John Murray
333.   Sept. 25.       To James Wedderburn Webster
334.   Sept. 27.       To Sir James Mackintosh
335.   Sept. 27.       To Thomas Moore
336.   Sept. 29.       To John Murray
337.   Sept. 30.       To James Wedderburn Webster
338.   Oct. 1.         To Francis Hodgson
339.   Oct. 2.         To Thomas Moore
340.   Oct. 3.         To John Murray
341.   Oct. 10.        To John Hanson
342.   Oct. 10.        To the Hon. Augusta Leigh
343.   Oct. 12.        To John Murray
344.   Nov. 8.         To the Hon. Augusta Leigh
345.   Nov. 12.        To John Murray
346.   Nov. 12.        To William Gifford
347.   Nov. 12.        To John Murray
348.   Nov. 13.         "     "
349.   Undated.         "     "
350.   Nov. 13.         "     "
351.   Nov. 14.         "     "
352.   Nov. 15.         "     "
353.   Nov. 17.         "     "
354.   Nov. 20.         "     "
355.   Nov. 22.         "     "
356.   Nov. 23.         "     "
357.   Nov. 24.         "     "
358.   Nov. 27.         "     "
359.   Nov. 28.         "     "
360.   Nov. 29.        To John Murray
361.   Nov. 29.         "     "
362.   Nov. 29          "     "
363.   Nov. 30.         "     "
364.   Dec. 1.         To Thomas Moore
365.   Dec. 1.         To Francis Hodgson
366.   Dec. 2.         To John Murray
367.   Dec. 2.         To Leigh Hunt
368.   Dec. 3.         To John Murray
369.   Dec. 3.           "     "
370.   Undated.          "     "
371.   Dec. 4.           "     "
372.   Dec. 6.           "     "
373.   Dec. 8.         To Thomas Moore
374.   Dec. 11.        To John Galt
375.   Dec. 14.        To John Murray
376.   Dec. 14.        To Thomas Ashe
377.   Dec. 15.        To Professor Clarke
378.   Dec. 22.        To Leigh Hunt
379.   Dec. 27.        To John Murray





       *       *       *       *       *





CONTENTS

   V.   CHILDE HAROLD, CANTOS I., II.

  VI.   THE IDOL OF SOCIETY--THE DRURY LANE ADDRESS--SECOND SPEECH IN
        PARLIAMENT

 VII.   THE 'GIAOUR' AND 'BRIDE OF ABYDOS'

VIII.   JOURNAL: NOVEMBER, 14, 1813--APRIL 19, 1814

APPENDIX I.   ARTICLES FROM 'THE MONTHLY REVIEW'

  "     II.   PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES

  "    III.   LADY CAROLINE LAMB AND BYRON

  "     IV.   LETTERS OF BERNARD BARTON

  "      V.   CORRESPONDENCE WITH WALTER SCOTT

  "     VI.   "THE GIANT AND THE DWARF"

  "    VII.   ATTACKS UPON BYRON IN THE NEWSPAPERS FOR FEBRUARY AND
              MARCH, 1814





       *       *       *       *       *





CHAPTER V.


AUGUST, 1811-MARCH, 1812.


'CHILDE HAROLD', CANTOS I., II.




169.--To John Murray. [1]


Newstead Abbey, Notts., August 23, 1811.


Sir,--A domestic calamity in the death of a near relation [2] has
hitherto prevented my addressing you on the subject of this letter. My
friend, Mr. Dallas, [3] has placed in your hands a manuscript poem
written by me in Greece, which he tells me you do not object to
publishing. But he also informed me in London that you wished to send
the MS. to Mr. Gifford. [4] Now, though no one would feel more gratified
by the chance of obtaining his observations on a work than myself, there
is in such a proceeding a kind of petition for praise, that neither my
pride--or whatever you please to call it--will admit.

Mr. G. is not only the first satirist of the day, but editor of one of
the principal reviews. As such, he is the last man whose censure
(however eager to avoid it) I would deprecate by clandestine means. You
will therefore retain the manuscript in your own care, or, if it must
needs be shown, send it to another. Though not very patient of censure,
I would fain obtain fairly any little praise my rhymes might deserve, at
all events not by extortion, and the humble solicitations of a
bandied-about MS. I am sure a little consideration will convince you it
would be wrong.

If you determine on publication, I have some smaller poems (never
published), a few notes, and a short dissertation on the literature of
the modern Greeks (written at Athens), which will come in at the end of
the volume.--And, if the present poem should succeed, it is my
intention, at some subsequent period, to publish some selections from my
first work,--my Satire,--another nearly the same length, and a few other
things, with the MS. now in your hands, in two volumes.--But of these
hereafter. You will apprize me of your determination.

I am, Sir, your very obedient, humble servant,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: For John Murray, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 334, note 1
[Footnote 1 to Letter 167].]


[Footnote 2: Mrs. Byron died August I, 1811.]


[Footnote 3: For R. C. Dallas, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 168, note 1.
[Footnote 1 to Letter 87]]


[Footnote 4: For Gifford, the editor of the 'Quarterly Review', see
'Letters', vol. i. p. 198, note 2. [Footnote 4 of Letter 102]]





       *       *       *       *       *





170.--To James Wedderburn Webster. [1]


Newstead Abbey, August 24th, 1811.


MY DEAR W.,--Conceiving your wrath to be somewhat evaporated, and your
Dignity recovered from the _Hysterics_ into which my innocent note from
London had thrown it, I should feel happy to be informed how you have
determined on the disposal of this accursed Coach, [2] which has driven
us out of our Good humour and Good manners to a complete Standstill,
from which I begin to apprehend that I am to lose altogether your
valuable correspondence. Your angry letter arrived at a moment, to which
I shall not allude further, as my happiness is best consulted in
forgetting it. [3]

You have perhaps heard also of the death of poor Matthews, whom you
recollect to have met at Newstead. He was one whom his friends will find
it difficult to replace, nor will Cambridge ever see his equal.

I trust you are on the point of adding to your relatives instead of
losing them, and of _friends_ a man of fortune will always have a
plentiful stock--at his Table.

I dare say now you are gay, and connubial, and popular, so that in the
next parliament we shall be having you a County Member. But beware your
Tutor, for I am sure he Germanized that sanguinary letter; you must not
write such another to your Constituents; for myself (as the mildest of
men) I shall say no more about it.

Seriously, _mio Caro W._, if you can spare a moment from Matrimony, I
shall be glad to hear that you have recovered from the pucker into which
this _Vis_ (one would think it had been a _Sulky_) has thrown you; you
know I wish you well, and if I have not inflicted my society upon you
according to your own Invitation, it is only because I am not a social
animal, and should feel sadly at a loss amongst Countesses and Maids of
Honour, particularly being just come from a far Country, where Ladies
are neither carved for, or fought for, or danced after, or mixed at all
(publicly) with the Men-folks, so that you must make allowances for my
natural _diffidence_ and two years travel.

But (God and yourself willing) I shall certes pay my promised visit, as
I shall be in town, if Parliament meets, in October.

In the mean time let me hear from you (without a privy Council), and
believe me in sober sadness,

Yours very sincerely,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: James Wedderburn Webster (1789-1840), grandson of Sir A.
Wedderburn, Bart., whose third son, David, assumed the additional name
of Webster, was the author of 'Waterloo, and other Poems' (1816), and 'A
Genealogical Account of the Wedderburn Family' (privately printed,
1819). He was with Byron, possibly at Cambridge, certainly at Athens in
1810. He married, in 1810, Lady Frances Caroline Annesley, daughter of
Arthur, first Earl of Mountnorris and eighth Viscount Valencia. He was
knighted in 1822. Byron, in 1813, lent him L1000. Lady Frances died in
1837, and her husband in 1840.

Moore ('Memoirs, Journals, etc.', vol. iii. p. 112) mentions dining with
Webster at Paris in 1820.

  "He told me," writes Moore, "that, one day, travelling from Newstead
  to town with Lord Byron in his vis-a-vis, the latter kept his pistols
  beside him, and continued silent for hours, with the most ferocious
  expression possible on his countenance.

    'For God's sake, my dear B.,' said W----at last, 'what are you
    thinking of? Are you about to commit murder? or what other dreadful
    thing are you meditating?'

  To which Byron answered that he always had a sort of presentiment that
  his own life would be attacked some time or other; and that this was
  the reason of his always going armed, as it was also the subject of
  his thoughts at that moment."

Moore also adds ('ibid'., p. 292),

  "W. W. owes Lord Byron, he says, L1000, and does not seem to have the
  slightest intention of paying him."

Lady Frances was the lady to whom Byron seriously devoted himself in
1813-4. Subsequently she was practically separated from her husband, and
Byron, in 1823, endeavoured to reconcile them. Moore ('Memoirs,
Journals, etc'., vol. ii. p. 249) writes,

  "To the Devizes ball in the evening; Lady Frances W. there; introduced
  to her, and had much conversation, chiefly about our friend Lord B.
  Several of those beautiful things, published (if I remember right)
  with the 'Bride', were addressed to her. She must have been very
  pretty when she had more of the freshness of youth, though she is
  still but five or six and twenty; but she looks faded already" (1819).

In the Court of Common Pleas, February 16, 1816, the libel action of
'Webster v. Baldwin' was heard. The plaintiff obtained L2000 in
damages for a libel charging Lady Frances and the Duke of Wellington
with adultery.]



[Footnote 2: On his return to London in July, 1811, Byron ordered a
'vis-a-vis' to be built by Goodall. This he exchanged for a
carriage belonging to Webster, who, within a few weeks, resold the
'vis-a-vis' to Byron. The two following letters from Byron to
Webster explain the transaction:--

  "Reddish's Hotel, 29th July, 1811.

  "MY DEAR WEBSTER,--As this eternal 'vis-a-vis' seems to sit heavy
  on your soul, I beg leave to apprize you that I have arranged with
  Goodall: you are to give me the promised Wheels, and the lining, with
  'the Box at Brighton,' and I am to pay the stipulated sum.

  I am obliged to you for your favourable opinion, and trust that the
  happiness you talk so much of will be stationary, and not take those
  freaks to which the felicity of common mortals is subject. I do very
  sincerely wish you well, and am so convinced of the justice of your
  matrimonial arguments, that I shall follow your example as soon as I
  can get a sufficient price for my coronet. In the mean time I should
  be happy to drill for my new situation under your auspices; but
  business, inexorable business, keeps me here. Your letters are
  forwarded. If I can serve you in any way, command me. I will endeavour
  to fulfil your requests as awkwardly as another. I shall pay you a
  visit, perhaps, in the autumn. Believe me, dear W.,

  Yours unintelligibly,

  B."



  "Reddish's Hotel, July 31st, 1811.

  MY DEAR W. W.,--I always understood that the 'lining' was to
  accompany the 'carriage'; if not, the 'carriage' may
  accompany the 'lining', for I will have neither the one nor the
  other. In short, to prevent squabbling, this is my determination, so
  decide;--if you leave it to my 'feelings' (as you say) they are
  very strongly in favour of the said lining. Two hundred guineas for a
  carriage with ancient lining!!! Rags and rubbish! You must write
  another pamphlet, my dear W., before; but pray do not waste your time
  and eloquence in expostulation, because it will do neither of us any
  good, but decide--content or 'not' content. The best thing you
  can do for the Tutor you speak of will be to send him in your Vis
  (with the lining) to 'the U--Niversity of Goettingen.' How can you
  suppose (now that my own Bear is dead) that I have any situation for a
  German genius of this kind, till I get another, or some children? I am
  infinitely obliged by your invitations, but I can't pay so high for a
  second-hand chaise to make my friends a visit. The coronet will not
  'grace' the 'pretty Vis,' till your tattered lining ceases to
  'dis'grace it. Pray favour me with an answer, as we must finish
  the affair one way or another immediately,--before next week.

  Believe me, yours truly,

  BYRON."


  "Byron," says Webster, in a note, "was more than strict about
  trifles."]


[Footnote 3: The death of Mrs. Byron, August 1, 1811.]





       *       *       *       *       *





171.--To R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, August 25, 1811.


Being fortunately enabled to frank, I do not spare scribbling, having
sent you packets within the last ten days. I am passing solitary, and do
not expect my agent to accompany me to Rochdale [1] before the second
week in September; a delay which perplexes me, as I wish the business
over, and should at present welcome employment. I sent you exordiums,
annotations, etc., for the forthcoming quarto, if quarto it is to be:
and I also have written to Mr. Murray my objection to sending the MS. to
Juvenal, [2] but allowing him to show it to any others of the calling.
Hobhouse [3] is amongst the types already: so, between his prose and my
verse, the world will be decently drawn upon for its paper-money and
patience. Besides all this, my 'Imitation of Horace' [4] is gasping for
the press at Cawthorn's, but I am hesitating as to the how and the when,
the single or the double, the present or the future. You must excuse all
this, for I have nothing to say in this lone mansion but of myself, and
yet I would willingly talk or think of aught else.

What are you about to do? Do you think of perching in Cumberland, as you
opined when I was in the metropolis? If you mean to retire, why not
occupy Miss Milbanke's "Cottage of Friendship," late the seat of Cobbler
Joe, [5] for whose death you and others are answerable? His "Orphan
Daughter" (pathetic Pratt!) will, certes, turn out a shoemaking Sappho.
Have you no remorse? I think that elegant address to Miss Dallas should
be inscribed on the cenotaph which Miss Milbanke means to stitch to his
memory.

The newspapers seem much disappointed at his Majesty's not dying, or
doing something better. [6] I presume it is almost over. If parliament
meets in October, I shall be in town to attend. I am also invited to
Cambridge for the beginning of that month, but am first to jaunt to
Rochdale. Now Matthews [7] is gone, and Hobhouse in Ireland, I have
hardly one left there to bid me welcome, except my inviter. At
three-and-twenty I am left alone, and what more can we be at seventy? It
is true I am young enough to begin again, but with whom can I retrace
the laughing part of life? It is odd how few of my friends have died a
quiet death,--I mean, in their beds. But a quiet life is of more
consequence. Yet one loves squabbling and jostling better than yawning.
This 'last word' admonishes me to relieve you from

Yours very truly, etc.



[Footnote 1: For Byron's Rochdale property, which was supposed to
contain a quantity of coal, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 78, 'note' 2.
[Footnote 2 of Letter 34]]


[Footnote 2:  Gifford.]


[Footnote 3:  For John Cam Hobhouse, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 163,
'note' 1. [Footnote 1 of Letter 86]]


[Footnote 4:  The poem remained unpublished till after Byron's death.
(See 'note', p. 23, and 'Poems', ed. 1898, vol. i. pp. 385-450.) ]


[Footnote 5:

  "In Seaham churchyard, without any memorial," says Mr. Surtees, "rest
  the remains of Joseph Blacket, an unfortunate child of genius, whose
  last days were soothed by the generous attention of the family of
  Milbanke."

'Hist. of Durham', vol. i. p. 272. (See also 'Letters', vol. i. p. 314,
'note' 2 [Footnote 2 of Letter 154]. For Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady
Byron, see p. 118, 'note' 4.) [Footnote 1 of Letter 7]]


[Footnote 6: On July 28, 1811, Lord Grenville wrote to Lord Auckland,

  "It is, I believe, certainly true that the King has taken for the last
  three days scarcely any food at all, and that, unless a change takes
  place very shortly in that respect, he cannot survive many days"

('Auckland Correspondence', vol. iv. p. 366). It was, however, the mind,
and not the physical strength that failed.

  "The King, I should suppose," wrote Lord Buckinghamshire, on August
  13, "is not likely to die soon, but I fear his mental recovery is
  hardly to be expected."

('ibid'., vol. iv. p. 367). George III. never, except for brief
intervals, recovered his reason.]


[Footnote 7: For C. S. Matthews, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 150, 'note'
3. [Footnote 2 of Letter 84]]





       *       *       *       *       *





172.--To R. C. Dallas. [1]


Newstead Abbey, Aug. 27, 1811.

I was so sincere in my note on the late Charles Matthews, and do feel
myself so totally unable to do justice to his talents, that the passage
must stand for the very reason you bring against it. To him all the men
I ever knew were pigmies. He was an intellectual giant. It is true I
loved Wingfield [2] better; he was the earliest and the dearest, and one
of the few one could never repent of having loved: but in ability--ah!
you did not know Matthews!

'Childe Harold' may wait and welcome--books are never the worse for
delay in the publication. So you have got our heir, George Anson Byron,
[3] and his sister, with you.

You may say what you please, but you are one of the 'murderers' of
Blackett, and yet you won't allow Harry White's genius. [4]

Setting aside his bigotry, he surely ranks next Chatterton. It is
astonishing how little he was known; and at Cambridge no one thought or
heard of such a man till his death rendered all notice useless. For my
own part, I should have been most proud of such an acquaintance: his
very prejudices were respectable. There is a sucking epic poet at
Granta, a Mr. Townsend, [5] 'protege' of the late Cumberland. Did you
ever hear of him and his 'Armageddon'? I think his plan (the man I don't
know) borders on the sublime: though, perhaps, the anticipation of the
"Last Day" (according to you Nazarenes) is a little too daring: at
least, it looks like telling the Lord what he is to do, and might remind
an ill-natured person of the line,

  "And fools rush in where angels fear to tread."

But I don't mean to cavil, only other folks will, and he may bring all
the lambs of Jacob Behmen about his ears. However, I hope he will bring
it to a conclusion, though Milton is in his way.

Write to me--I dote on gossip--and make a bow to Ju--, and shake George
by the hand for me; but, take care, for he has a sad sea paw.

P.S.--I would ask George here, but I don't know how to amuse him--all my
horses were sold when I left England, and I have not had time to replace
them. Nevertheless, if he will come down and shoot in September, he will
be very welcome: but he must bring a gun, for I gave away all mine to
Ali Pacha, and other Turks. Dogs, a keeper, and plenty of game, with a
very large manor, I have--a lake, a boat, houseroom, and _neat wines_.



[Footnote 1: Dallas, writing to Byron, August 18, 1811, had said,

  "I have been reading the 'Remains' of Kirke White, and find that you
  have to answer for misleading me. He does not, in my opinion, merit
  the high praise you have bestowed upon him."

Writing again, August 26, he objected to the 'note' on Matthews in
'Childe Harold':

  "In your note, as it stands, it strikes me that the eulogy on Matthews
  is a 'little' at the expense of Wingfield and others whom you
  'have' commemorated. I should think it quite enough to say that
  his Powers and Attainments were above all praise, without expressly
  admitting them to be above that of a Muse who soars high in the praise
  of others."]


[Footnote 2: For Wingfield, see 'Letters', vol. i, p. 180, 'note' 1.
[Footnote 2 of Letter 92]]


[Footnote: For George Anson Byron, afterwards Lord Byron, and his sister
Julia, see 'Letters', vol. i, p. 188, 'note' 1.[Footnote 1 of Letter
96]]


[Footnote 4: For H. K. White, see 'Letters', vol. i, p. 336, 'note' 2.
[Footnote 3 of Letter 167]]


[Footnote 5: The Rev. George Townsend (1788-1857) of Trinity College,
Cambridge, published 'Poems' in 1810, and eight books of his
'Armageddon' in 1815. The remaining four books were never published.
Townsend became a Canon of Durham in 1825, and held the stall till his
death in 1857. Richard Cumberland, dramatist, novelist, and essayist
(1732-1811), the "Sir Fretful Plagiary" of 'The Critic', announced the
forthcoming poem in the 'London Review'; but, as Townsend says, in the
Preface to 'Armageddon', praised him "too abundantly and prematurely."
"My talents," he adds, "were neither equal to my own ambition, nor his
zeal to serve me." (See 'Hints from Horace', lines 191-212, and Byron's
'note' to line 191, 'Poems', ed. 1898, vol. i. p. 403.)]





       *       *       *       *       *





173.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [1]

Newstead Abbey, August 30th, 1811.

My Dear Augusta,--The embarrassments you mention in your last letter I
never heard of before, but that disease is epidemic in our family.
Neither have I been apprised of any of the changes at which you hint,
indeed how should I? On the borders of the Black Sea, we heard only of
the Russians. So you have much to tell, and all will be novelty.

I don't know what Scrope Davies [2] meant by telling you I liked
Children, I abominate the sight of them so much that I have always had
the greatest respect for the character of Herod. But, as my house here
is large enough for us all, we should go on very well, and I need not
tell you that I long to see _you_. I really do not perceive any thing so
formidable in a Journey hither of two days, but all this comes of
Matrimony, you have a Nurse and all the etceteras of a family. Well, I
must marry to repair the ravages of myself and prodigal ancestry, but if
I am ever so unfortunate as to be presented with an Heir, instead of a
_Rattle_ he shall be provided with a _Gag_.

I shall perhaps be able to accept D's invitation to Cambridge, but I
fear my stay in Lancashire will be prolonged, I proceed there in the 2d
week in Septr to arrange my coal concerns, & then if I can't persuade
some wealthy dowdy to ennoble the dirty puddle of her mercantile
Blood,--why--I shall leave England and all it's clouds for the East
again; I am very sick of it already. Joe [3] has been getting well of a
disease that would have killed a troop of horse; he promises to bear
away the palm of longevity from old Parr. As you won't come, you will
write; I long to hear all those unutterable things, being utterly unable
to guess at any of them, unless they concern _your_ relative the Thane
of Carlisle, [4] though I had great hopes we had done with him.

I have little to add that you do not already know, and being quite
alone, have no great variety of incident to gossip with; I am but rarely
pestered with visiters, and the few I have I get rid of as soon as
possible. I will now take leave of you in the Jargon of 1794. "Health &
_Fraternity!"_

Yours always, B.



[Footnote 1: For the Hon. Augusta Leigh, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 18,
'note' 1. [Footnote 1 of Letter 7] Byron's letter is in answer to the
following from his half-sister:


  "6 Mile Bottom, Aug. 27th.

  "My Dearest Brother,--Your letter was stupidly sent to Town to me on
  Sunday, from whence I arrived at home yesterday; consequently I have
  not received it so soon as I ought to have done. I feel so very happy
  to have the pleasure of hearing from you that I will not delay a
  moment answering it, altho' I am in all the delights of 'unpacking',
  and afraid of being too late for the Post.

  "I have been a fortnight in Town, and went up on my 'eldest' little
  girl's account. She had been very unwell for some time, and I could
  not feel happy till I had better advice than this neighbourhood
  affords. She is, thank Heaven! much better, and I hope in a fair way
  to be quite 'herself' again. Mr. Davies flattered me by saying she was
  exactly the sort of child 'you' would delight in. I am determined not
  to say another word in her praise for fear you should accuse me of
  partiality and expect too much. The youngest ('little' Augusta) is
  just 6 months old, and has no particular merit at present but a very
  sweet placid temper.

  "Oh! that I could immediately set out to Newstead and shew them to
  you. I can't tell you 'half' the happiness it would give me to see it
  and 'you'; but, my dearest B., it is a long journey and serious
  undertaking all things considered. Mr. Davies writes me word you
  promise to make him a visit bye and bye; 'pray do', you can then so
  easily come here. I have set my heart upon it. Consider how very long
  it is since I've seen you.

  "I have indeed 'much' to tell you; but it is more easily 'said' than
  'written'. Probably you have heard of many changes in our situation
  since you left England; in a 'pecuniary' point of view it is
  materially altered for the worse; perhaps in other respects better.
  Col. Leigh has been in Dorsetshire and Sussex during my stay in Town.
  I expect him at home towards the end of this week, and hope to make
  him acquainted with you ere long.

  "I have not time to write half I have to say, for my letter must go;
  but I prefer writing in a hurry to not writing at all. You can't think
  how much I feel for your griefs and losses, or how much and constantly
  I have thought of you lately. I began a letter to you in Town, but
  destroyed it, from the fear of appearing troublesome. There are times,
  I know, when one cannot write with any degree of comfort or
  satisfaction. I intend to do so again shortly, so I hope yon won't
  think me a bore.

  "Remember me most kindly to Old Joe. I rejoice to hear of his health
  and prosperity. Your letter (some parts of it at least) made me laugh.
  I am so very glad to hear you have sufficiently overcome your
  prejudices against the 'fair sex' to have determined upon marrying;
  but I shall be most anxious that my future 'Belle Soeur' should have
  more attractions than merely money, though to be sure 'that' is
  somewhat necessary. I have not another moment, dearest B., so forgive
  me if I write again very soon, and believe me,

  "Your most affec'tn Sister, A. L.

  "Do write if you can."]


[Footnote 2: For Scrope Berdmore Davies, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 165,
'note' 2.  [Footnote 2 of Letter 86] The following story is told of him
by Byron, in a passage of his 'Detached Thoughts' (Ravenna, 1821):

  "One night Scrope Davies at a Gaming house (before I was of age),
  being tipsy as he usually was at the Midnight hour, and having lost
  monies, was in vain intreated by his friends, one degree less
  intoxicated than himself, to come or go home. In despair, he was left
  to himself and to the demons of the dice-box.

  "Next day, being visited about two of the Clock, by some friends just
  risen with a severe headache and empty pockets (who had left him
  losing at four or five in the morning), he was found in a sound sleep,
  without a night-cap, and not particularly encumbered with
  bed-cloathes: a Chamber-pot stood by his bed-side, brim-full
  of---'Bank Notes!', all won, God knows how, and crammed, Scrope knew
  not where; but THERE they were, all good legitimate notes, and to the
  amount of some thousand pounds."]


[Footnote 3: For Joe Murray, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 21, 'note' 3.
[Footnote 4 of Letter 7]]


[Footnote 4: For the Earl of Carlisle, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 36,
'note' 2.  [Footnote 3 of Letter 13]]





       *       *       *       *       *





174.-To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


Newstead Abbey, Aug'st 30th, 1811.


MY DEAR AUGUSTA,--I wrote to you yesterday, and as you will not be very
sorry to hear from me again, considering our long separation, I shall
fill up this sheet before I go to bed. I have heard something of a
quarrel between your spouse and the Prince, I don't wish to pry into
family secrets or to hear anything more of the matter, but I can't help
regretting on your account that so long an intimacy should be dissolved
at the very moment when your husband might have derived some advantage
from his R. H.'s friendship. However, at all events, and in all
Situations, you have a brother in me, and a home here.

I am led into this train of thinking by a part of your letter which
hints at pecuniary losses. I know how delicate one ought to be on such
subjects, but you are probably the only being on Earth _now_ interested
in my welfare, certainly the only relative, and I should be very
ungrateful if I did not feel the obligation. You must excuse my being a
little cynical, knowing how my _temper_ was tried in my Non-age; the
manner in which I was brought up must necessarily have broken a meek
Spirit, or rendered a fiery one ungovernable; the effect it has had on
mine I need not state.

However, buffeting with the World has brought me a little to reason, and
two years travel in distant and barbarous countries has accustomed me to
bear privations, and consequently to laugh at many things which would
have made me angry before. But I am wandering--in short I only want to
assure you that I love you, and that you must not think I am
indifferent, because I don't shew my affection in the usual way.

Pray can't you contrive to pay me a visit between this and Xmas? or
shall I carry you down with me from Cambridge, supposing it practicable
for me to come? You will do what you please, without our interfering
with each other; the premises are so delightfully extensive, that two
people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting,--but
I can't feel the comfort of this till I marry. In short it would be the
most amiable matrimonial mansion, and that is another great inducement
to my plan,--my wife and I shall be so happy,--one in each Wing. If this
description won't make you come, I can't tell what will, you must please
yourself. Good night, I have to walk half a mile to my Bed chamber.
Yours ever, BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *


175.--To James Wedderburn Webster.


Newstead Abbey, Notts., Aug'st 31st, 1811.


MY DEAR W.,--I send you back your friend's letter, and, though I don't
agree with his Canons of Criticism, they are not the worse for that. My
friend Hodgson [1] is not much honoured by the comparison to the
'Pursuits of L.', which is notoriously, as far as the 'poetry' goes, the
worst written of its kind; the World has been long but of one opinion,
viz. that it's sole merit lies in the Notes, which are indisputably
excellent.

Had Hodgson's "Alterative" been placed with the 'Baviad' the compliment
had been higher to both; for, surely, the 'Baviad' is as much superior
to H.'s poem, as I do firmly believe H.'s poem to be to the 'Pursuits of
Literature'.

Your correspondent talks for talking's sake when he says "Lady J. Grey"
is neither "Epic, dramatic, or legendary." Who ever said it was "epic"
or "dramatic"? he might as well say his letter was neither "epic or
dramatic;" the poem makes no pretensions to either character.
"Legendary" it certainly is, but what has that to do with its merits?
All stories of that kind founded on facts are in a certain degree
legendary, but they may be well or ill written without the smallest
alteration in that respect. When Mr. Hare prattles about the "Economy,"
etc., he sinks sadly;--all such expressions are the mere cant of a
schoolboy hovering round the Skirts of Criticism.

Hodgson's tale is one of the best efforts of his Muse, and Mr. H.'s
approbation must be of more consequence, before any body will reduce it
to a "Scale," or be much affected by "the place" he "assigns" to the
productions of a man like Hodgson.

But I have said more than I intended and only beg you never to allow
yourself to be imposed upon by such "common place" as the 6th form
letter you sent me. Judge for yourself.

I know the Mr. Bankes [2]  you mention though not to that "extreme" you
seem to think, but I am flattered by his "boasting" on such a subject
(as you say), for I never thought him likely to "boast" of any thing
which was not his own. I am not "'melancholish'"--pray what "'folk'"
dare to say any such thing? I must contradict them by being 'merry' at
their expence.

I shall invade you in the course of the winter, out of envy, as Lucifer
looked at Adam and Eve.

Pray be as happy as you can, and write to me that I may catch the
infection.

Yours ever, BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Webster had sent Byron a letter from Naylor Hare, in which
the latter criticized Hodgson's poems, 'Lady Jane Grey, a Tale; and
other Poems (1809)' (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 195, 'note 1' [Footnote 1
of Letter 102]).

In the volume (pp. 56-77) was printed his "Gentle Alterative prepared
for the Reviewers," which Hare apparently compared to 'The Pursuits of
Literature (1794-97)', by T. J. Mathias.

To this criticism Byron objected, saying that the "Alterative" might be
more fairly compared to Gifford's 'Baviad' (1794).]


[Footnote 2: For William John Bankes, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 120,
'note' 1. [Footnote 1 of Letter 67]]





       *       *       *       *       *





176.---To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [1]


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 2d, 1811.


My dear Augusta,--I wrote you a vastly dutiful letter since my answer to
your second epistle, and I now write you a third, for which you have to
thank Silence and Solitude. Mr. Hanson [2] comes hither on the 14th, and
I am going to Rochdale on business, but that need not prevent you from
coming here, you will find Joe, and the house and the cellar and all
therein very much at your Service.

As to Lady B., when I discover one rich enough to suit me and foolish
enough to have me, I will give her leave to make me miserable if she
can. Money is the magnet; as to Women, one is as well as another, the
older the better, we have then a chance of getting her to Heaven. So,
your Spouse does not like brats better than myself; now those who beget
them have no right to find fault, but _I_ may rail with great propriety.

My "Satire!"--I am glad it made you laugh for Somebody told me in Greece
that you was angry, and I was sorry, as you were perhaps the only person
whom I did _not_ want to _make angry_.

But how you will make _me laugh_ I don't know, for it is a vastly
_serious_ subject to me I assure you; therefore take care, or I shall
hitch _you_ into the next Edition to make up our family party. Nothing
so fretful, so despicable as a Scribbler, see what _I_ am, and what a
parcel of Scoundrels I have brought about my ears, and what language I
have been obliged to treat them with to deal with them in their own
way;--all this comes of Authorship, but now I am in for it, and shall be
at war with Grubstreet, till I find some better amusement.

You will write to me your Intentions and may almost depend on my being
at Cambridge in October. You say you mean to be etc. in the _Autumn_; I
should be glad to know what you call this present Season, it would be
Winter in every other Country which I have seen. If we meet in October
we will travel in my _Vis_. and can have a cage for the children and a
cart for the Nurse. Or perhaps we can forward them by the Canal. Do let
us know all about it, your "_bright thought_" is a little clouded, like
the Moon in this preposterous climate.

Good even, Child.

Yours ever, B.



[Footnote 1: The following is Mrs. Leigh's letter, to which the above is
an answer:

  "6 Mile Bottom, Saturday, 31 Aug.

  "My dearest brother,--I hope you don't dislike receiving letters so
  much as writing them, for you would in that case pronounce me a great
  torment. But as I prepared you in my last for its being followed very
  soon by another, I hope you will have reconciled your mind to the
  impending toil. I really wrote in such a hurry that I did not say half
  I wished; but I did not like to delay telling you how happy you made
  me by writing. I have been dwelling constantly upon the idea of going
  to Newstead ever since I had your wish to see me there. At last a
  _bright thought_ struck me.

  "We intend, I believe, to go to Yorkshire in the autumn. Now, if I
  could contrive to pay you a visit _en passant_, it would be
  delightful, and give me the greatest pleasure. But I fear you would be
  obliged to make up your mind to receive my _Brats_ too. As for my
  husband, he prefers the _outside of the Mail_ to _the inside of a
  Post-Chaise_, particularly when partly occupied by Nurse and Children,
  so that we always travel _independent_ of each other.

  "So much for this, my dear B. I can only say I should _much_ like to
  see you at Newstead. The former I hope I shall at all events, as you
  must not be shabby, but come to Cambridge as you promised. Are you
  staying at Newstead now for any time? I saw George Byron in Town for
  one day, and he promised to call or write again, but has not done
  either, so I begin to think he has gone back to Lisbon. I think it is
  impossible not to like him; he is so good-natured and natural. We
  talked much of you; he told me you were grown very thin; as you don't
  complain, I hope you are not the worse for being so, and I remember
  you used to wish it. Don't you think _it a great shame_ that George B.
  is not promoted? I wish there was any possibility of assisting him
  about it; but all I know who _could_ do any good with you _present_
  Ministers, I don't for many reasons like to ask. Perhaps there may be
  a change bye and bye.

  "Fred Howard is married to Miss _Lambton_. I saw them in town in their
  way to Castle Howard. I hope he will be happy with all my heart; his
  kindness and friendship to us last year, when Col. _Leigh_ was placed
  in one of the most perplexing situations that I think anybody could be
  in, is never to be forgotten. I think he used to be a greater
  favourite with you than some others of his family. _Mrs. F.H._ is very
  pretty, _very_ young (not quite 17), and appears gentle and pleasing,
  which is all one can expect [to discover from] a very slight
  acquaintance.

  "Now, my dearest Byron, pray let me hear from you. I shall be daily
  expecting to hear of a _Lady Byron_, since you have confided to me
  your determination of marrying, in which I really hope you are
  serious, being convinced such an event would contribute greatly to
  your happiness, PROVIDED _her Ladyship_ was the sort of person that
  would suit you; and you won't be angry with me for saying that it is
  not EVERY _one_ who would; therefore don't be too _precipitate_. You
  will _wish me hanged_, I fear, for boring you so unmercifully, so God
  bless you, my dearest Bro.; and, when you have time, do write. Are you
  going to amuse us with any more _Satires_? Oh, _English Bards!_ I
  shall make you laugh (when we meet) about it.

  "Ever your most affectionate Sis. and Friend,

  "A. L."]


[Footnote 2: For John Hanson, see Letters, vol. i. p. 8, note 2.
[Footnote 1 of Letter 3]]





       *       *       *       *       *





177.--To Francis Hodgson.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 3, 1811.


MY DEAR HODGSON,--I will have nothing to do with your immortality; [1]
we are miserable enough in this life, without the absurdity of
speculating upon another. If men are to live, why die at all? and if
they die, why disturb the sweet and sound sleep that "knows no waking"?

  "Post Mortem nihil est, ipsaque Mors nihil ... quaeris quo jaceas post
  obitum loco? Quo _non_ Nata jacent." [2]

As to revealed religion, Christ came to save men; but a good Pagan will
go to heaven, and a bad Nazarene to hell; "Argal" (I argue like the
gravedigger) why are not all men Christians? or why are any? If mankind
may be saved who never heard or dreamt, at Timbuctoo, Otaheite, Terra
Incognita, etc., of Galilee and its Prophet, Christianity is of no
avail: if they cannot be saved without, why are not all orthodox? It is
a little hard to send a man preaching to Judaea, and leave the rest of
the world--Negers and what not--_dark_ as their complexions, without a
ray of light for so many years to lead them on high; and who will
believe that God will damn men for not knowing what they were never
taught? I hope I am sincere; I was so at least on a bed of sickness in a
far-distant country, when I had neither friend, nor comforter, nor hope,
to sustain me. I looked to death as a relief from pain, without a wish
for an after-life, but a confidence that the God who punishes in this
existence had left that last asylum for the weary.

  [Greek: Hon ho theos agapaei apothnaeskei neos.] [3]

I am no Platonist, I am nothing at all; but I would sooner be a
Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, than
one of the seventy-two villainous sects who are tearing each other to
pieces for the love of the Lord and hatred of each other. Talk of
Galileeism? Show me the effects--are you better, wiser, kinder by your
precepts? I will bring you ten Mussulmans shall shame you in all
goodwill towards men, prayer to God, and duty to their neighbours. And
is there a Talapoin, [4] or a Bonze, who is not superior to a
fox-hunting curate? But I will say no more on this endless theme; let me
live, well if possible, and die without pain. The rest is with God, who
assuredly, had He _come_ or _sent_, would have made Himself manifest to
nations, and intelligible to all.

I shall rejoice to see you. My present intention is to accept Scrope
Davies's invitation; and then, if you accept mine, we shall meet _here_
and _there_. Did you know poor Matthews? I shall miss him much at
Cambridge.



[Footnote 1: The religious discussion arose out of the opening stanzas
of 'Childe Harold', Canto II., which Hodgson was helping to correct for
the press.

Byron's opinions were not newly formed, as is shown by the following
letter to Ensign Long (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 73, 'note 2'  [Footnote
2 of Letter 31]), which reached the Editor too late for insertion in its
proper place:

  Southwell, Ap: 16th, 1807.

  "Your Epistle, my dear Standard Bearer, augurs not much in favour of
  your new life, particularly the latter part, where you say your
  happiest Days are over. I most sincerely hope not. The past has
  certainly in some parts been pleasant, but I trust will be equalled,
  if not exceeded by the future. You hope it is not so with me.

  "To be plain with Regard to myself. Nature stampt me in the Die of
  Indifference. I consider myself as destined never to be happy,
  although in some instances fortunate. I am an isolated Being on the
  Earth, without a Tie to attach me to life, except a few
  School-fellows, and a 'score of females.' Let me but 'hear my fame on
  the winds' and the song of the Bards in my Norman house, I ask no more
  and don't expect so much. Of Religion I know nothing, at least in its
  'favour'. We have 'fools' in all sects and Impostors in most; why
  should I believe mysteries no one understands, because written by men
  who chose to mistake madness for Inspiration, and style themselves
  'Evangelicals?' However enough on this subject. Your 'piety' will be
  'aghast,' and I wish for no proselytes. This much I will venture to
  affirm, that all the virtues and pious 'Deeds' performed on Earth can
  never entitle a man to Everlasting happiness in a future State; nor on
  the other hand can such a Scene as a Seat of eternal punishment exist,
  it is incompatible with the benign attributes of a Deity to suppose
  so.

  "I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but, as you will
  see, not infected with the mania. I have lived a 'Deist', what I shall
  die I know not; however, come what may, 'ridens moriar'.

  "Nothing detains me here but the publication, which will not be
  complete till June. About 20 of the present pieces will be cut out,
  and a number of new things added. Amongst them a complete Episode of
  Nisus and Euryalus from Virgil, some Odes from Anacreon, and several
  original Odes, the whole will cover 170 pages. My last production has
  been a poem in imitation of Ossian, which I shall not publish, having
  enough without it. Many of the present poems are enlarged and altered,
  in short you will behold an 'Old friend with a new face.' Were I to
  publish all I have written in Rhyme, I should fill a decent Quarto;
  however, half is quite enough at present. You shall have 'all' when we
  meet.

  "I grow thin daily; since the commencement of my System I have lost 23
  lbs. in my weight '(i.e.)' 1 st. and 9 lbs. When I began I weighed 14
  st. 6 lbs., and on Tuesday I found myself reduced to 12 st. 11 lb.
  What sayest thou, Ned? do you not envy?  I shall still proceed till I
  arrive at 12 st. and then stop, at least if I am not too fat, but
  shall always live temperately and take much exercise.

  "If there is a possibility we shall meet in June. I shall be in Town,
  before I proceed to Granta, and if the 'mountain will not come to
  Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the mountain.' I don't mean, by comparing
  you to the mountain, to insinuate anything on the Subject of your
  Size. Xerxes, it is said, formed Mount Athos into the Shape of a
  Woman; had he lived now, and taken a peep at Chatham, he would have
  spared himself the trouble and made it unnecessary by finding a 'Hill'
  ready cut to his wishes.

  "Adieu, dear Mont Blanc, or rather 'Mont Rouge'; don't, for Heaven's
  sake, turn Volcanic, at least roll the Lava of your indignation in any
  other Channel, and not consume Your's ever,

  "BYRON.

  "_Write Immediately_."


Byron lived to modify these opinions, as is shown by the following
passages from his 'Detached Thoughts':


  "If I were to live over again, I do not know what I would change in my
  life, unless it were 'for--not to have lived at all'. All history and
  experience, and the rest, teaches us that the good and evil are pretty
  equally balanced in this existence, and that what is most to be
  desired is an easy passage out of it. What can it give us but years?
  and those have little of good but their ending.

  "Of the immortality of the soul it appears to me that there can be
  little doubt, if we attend for a moment to the action of mind; it is
  in perpetual activity. I used to doubt of it, but reflection has
  taught me better. It acts also so very independent of body--in dreams,
  for instance;--incoherently and 'madly', I grant you, but still it is
  mind, and much more mind than when we are awake. Now that this should
  not act 'separately', as well as jointly, who can pronounce? The
  stoics, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, call the present state 'a soul
  which drags a carcass,'--a heavy chain, to be sure; but all chains
  being material may be shaken off. How far our future life will be
  'individual', or, rather, how far it will at all resemble our
  'present' existence, is another question; but that the mind is eternal
  seems as probable as that the body is not so. Of course I here venture
  upon the question without recurring to Revelation, which, however, is
  at least as rational a solution of it as any other. A 'material'
  resurrection seems strange, and even absurd, except for purposes of
  punishment; and all punishment which is to 'revenge' rather than
  'correct' must be 'morally wrong'; and 'when the world is at an end',
  what moral or warning purpose 'can' eternal tortures answer? Human
  passions have probably disfigured the divine doctrines here;--but the
  whole thing is inscrutable."

  "It is useless to tell me 'not' to 'reason', but to 'believe'. You
  might as well tell a man not to wake, but 'sleep'. And then to 'bully'
  with torments, and all that! I cannot help thinking that the 'menace'
  of hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman
  humanity make villains."

  "Man is born 'passionate' of body, but with an innate though secret
  tendency to the love of good in his main-spring of mind. But, God help
  us all! it is at present a sad jar of atoms."]


[Footnote 2: The lines are quoted from Seneca's 'Troades' (act ii. et
seqq.):

  "Post mortem nihil est, ipsaque mors nihil.
  ........
  ........
  Quaeris, quo jaceas post obitum loco?
  Quo non nata jacent."]


[Footnote 3: The sentiment is found in one of the [Greek: monostichoi]
of Menander ('Menandri et Philemonis reliquiae,' edidit Augustus Meineke,
p. 48). It is thus quoted by Stobaeus ('Florilegium', cxx. 8) as an
iambic:

  [Greek: Hon oi theoi philousin apothnaeskei neos.]

In the 'Comicorum Graecorum Sententiae, id est' [Greek: gnomai](p. 219,
ed, Henricus Stephanus, MDLXIX.) it is quoted as a leonine verse:

  [Greek: Hon gar philei theos apothnaeskei neos.]

Plautus gives it thus ('Bacchides', iv. 7):

  "Quem di diligunt adolescens moritur."]


[Footnote 4: The word is said to be illegible, and the conclusion of the
letter to be lost ('Memoir of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. p.
196). Only the latter statement is correct. The word is perfectly
legible. Talapoin (Yule's 'Glossary of Anglo-Indian Words, sub voce') is
the name used by the Portuguese, and after them by the French writers,
and by English travellers of the seventeenth century (Hakluyt, ed. 1807,
vol. ii. p. 93; and Purchas, ed. 1645, vol. ii. p. 1747), to designate
the Buddhist monks of Ceylon and the Indo-Chinese countries. Pallegoix
('Description du Royaume Thai ou Siam', vol. ii. p. 23) says,

  "Les Europeens les ont appeles 'talapoins', probablement du nom de
  l'eventail qu'ils tiennent a la main, lequel s'appelle 'talapat', qui
  signifie 'feuille de palmier'."

Possibly Byron knew the word through Voltaire ('Dial.' xxii., 'Andre des
Couches a Siam');

  "'A. des C.': Combien avez-vous de soldats?

  'Croutef.':   Quatre-vingt mille, fort mediocrement payes.

  'A. des C.':  Et de talapoins?

  'Cr.':        Cent vingt-mille, tous faineans et tres riches," etc.]





       *       *       *       *       *





178.--To R.C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, September 4th, 1811.


My dear Sir,--I am at present anxious, as Cawthorn seems to wish it, to
have a small edition of the 'Hints from Horace' [1] published
immediately, but the Latin (the most difficult poem in the language)
renders it necessary to be very particular not only in correcting the
proofs with Horace open, but in adapting the parallel passages of the
imitation in such places to the original as may enable the reader not to
lose sight of the allusion. I don't know whether I ought to ask you to
do this, but I am too far off to do it for myself; and if you condescend
to my school-boy erudition, you will oblige me by setting this thing
going, though you will smile at the importance I attach to it.

Believe me, ever yours,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: 'Hints from Horace', written during Byron's second stay at
Athens, March 11-14, 1811, and subsequently added to, had been placed in
the hands of Cawthorn, the publisher of 'English Bards, and Scotch
Reviewers', for publication. Byron afterwards changed his mind, and the
poem remained unpublished till after his death.

The following letter from Cawthorn shows that considerable progress had
been made with the printing of the poem, and that Byron also
contemplated another edition of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'.
The advice of his friends led him to abandon both plans; but his letter
to Cawthorn, printed below, is evidence that in September he was still
at work on 'Hints from Horace':

  "24, Cockspur Street, Aug. 22'd, 1811.

  "My Lord,--Mr. Green the Amanuensis has finished the Latin of the
  Horace, and I shall be happy to do with it as your Lordship may
  direct, either to forward it to Newstead, or keep it in Town. Would it
  not be better to print a small edition seperate ('sic'), and
  afterwards print the two satires together? This I leave to your
  Lordship's consideration. Four Sheets of the 'Travels' are already
  printed, and one of the plates (Albanian Solain) is executed. I sent
  it Capt. H[obhouse] yesterday to Cork, to see if it meets his
  approbation. The work is printed in quarto, for which I may be in some
  measure indebted to your Lordship, as I urged it so strongly. I shall
  be extremely sorry if Capt. H. is not pleased with it, but I think he
  will. Your Lordship's goodness will excuse me for saying how much the
  very sudden and melancholy events that have lately transpired--I
  regret--Capt. Hobhouse has written me since the decease of Mr.
  Mathews. I am told Capt. H. is very much affected at it. I have
  received some drawings of costumes from him, which I am to deliver to
  your Lordship. Is it likely we shall see your Lordship in Town soon?

  "I have the honour to be your Lordship's

  "Most respectful and greatly obliged Servt.,

  "JAMES CAWTHORN.

  "If a small edition is printed of 'Horace' for the first" [words
  erased] "that, and I think in all probability the 'E. Bards' will want
  reprinting about March next, when both could be done together. Do not
  think me too sanguine."

A few days later, Byron writes to Cawthom as follows:

  "Newstead Abbey, September 4th, 1811.

  "More notes for the 'Hints'! You mistake me much by thinking me
  inattentive to this publication. If I had a friend willing and able to
  correct the press, it should be out with my good will immediately.
  Pray attend to annexing additional notes in their proper places, and
  let them be added immediately.

  "Yours, etc.,

  "BYRON."]





       *       *       *       *       *





179.--To John Murray. [1]

Newstead Abbey, Notts., Sept. 5, 1811.

SIR,--The time seems to be past when (as Dr. Johnson said) a man was
certain to "hear the truth from his bookseller," for you have paid me
so many compliments, that, if I was not the veriest scribbler on earth,
I should feel affronted. As I accept your compliments, it is but fair I
should give equal or greater credit to your objections, the more so as I
believe them to be well founded. With regard to the political and
metaphysical parts, I am afraid I can alter nothing; but I have high
authority for my Errors in that point, for even the 'AEneid' was a
_political_ poem, and written for a _political_ purpose; and as to my
unlucky opinions on Subjects of more importance, I am too sincere in
them for recantation. On Spanish affairs I have said what I saw, and
every day confirms me in that notion of the result formed on the Spot;
and I rather think honest John Bull is beginning to come round again to
that Sobriety which Massena's retreat [2] had begun to reel from its
centre--the usual consequence of _un_usual success. So you perceive I
cannot alter the Sentiments; but if there are any alterations in the
structure of the versification you would wish to be made, I will tag
rhymes and turn stanzas as much as you please. As for the "_Orthodox_,"
let us hope they will buy, on purpose to abuse--you will forgive the
one, if they will do the other. You are aware that any thing from my pen
must expect no quarter, on many accounts; and as the present publication
is of a nature very different from the former, we must not be sanguine.

You have given me no answer to my question--tell me fairly, did you show
the MS. to some of your corps? [3]

I sent an introductory stanza to Mr. Dallas, that it might be forwarded
to you; the poem else will open too abruptly. The Stanzas had better be
numbered in Roman characters, there is a disquisition on the literature
of the modern Greeks, and some smaller poems to come in at the close.
These are now at Newstead, but will be sent in time. If Mr. D. has lost
the Stanza and note annexed to it, write, and I will send it
myself.--You tell me to add two cantos, but I am about to visit my
_Collieries_ in Lancashire on the 15th instant, which is so _unpoetical_
an employment that I need say no more.

I am, sir, your most obedient, etc., etc.,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: The following is Murray's letter, to which Byron replies:

  "London, Sept. 4, 1811, Wednesday.

  "MY LORD,--An absence of some days, passed in the country, has
  prevented me from writing earlier in answer to your obliging letter. I
  have now, however, the pleasure of sending under a separate cover, the
  first proof sheet of your Lordship's 'Poem', which is so good as to be
  entitled to all your care to render perfect. Besides its general
  merit, there are parts, which, I am tempted to believe, far excel
  anything that your Lordship has hitherto published, and it were
  therefore grievous indeed, if you do not condescend to bestow upon it
  all the improvement of which your Lordship's mind is so capable; every
  correction already made is valuable, and this circumstance renders me
  more confident in soliciting for it your further attention.

  "There are some expressions, too, concerning Spain and Portugal,
  which, however just, and particularly so at the time they were
  conceived, yet as they do not harmonize with the general feeling,
  would so greatly interfere with the popularity which the poem is, in
  other respects, so certainly calculated to excite, that, in compassion
  to your publisher, who does not presume to reason upon the subject,
  otherwise than as a mere matter of business, I hope your Lordship's
  goodness will induce you to obviate them, and, with them, perhaps,
  some religious feelings which may deprive me of some customers amongst
  the 'Orthodox'.

  "Could I flatter myself that these suggestions were not obtrusive, I
  would hazard another, in an earnest solicitation that your Lordship
  would add the two promised Cantos, and complete the 'Poem'. It were
  cruel indeed not to perfect a work which contains so much that is
  excellent; your Fame, my Lord, demands it; you are raising a Monument
  that will outlive your present feelings, and it should therefore be so
  constructed as to excite no other associations than those of respect
  and admiration for your Lordship's Character and Genius.

  "I trust that you will pardon the warmth of this address when I assure
  your Lordship that it arises, in the greatest degree, in a sincere
  regard for your lasting reputation, with, however, some view to that
  portion of it, which must attend the Publisher of so beautiful a Poem,
  as your Lordship is capable of rendering

  "'The Romaunt of Childe Harold'.

  "I have the honour to be, My Lord,

  "Your Lordship's

  "Obedient and faithful servant,

  "JOHN MURRAY."]


[Footnote 2: On the night of March 5, 1811, Massena retreated from his
camp at Santarem, whence he had watched Wellington at Torres Vedras, and
on April 4 he crossed the Coa into Spain.]


[Footnote 3: Murray had shown the MS. to Gifford for advice as to its
publication. Byron seems to have resented this on the ground that it
might look like an attempt to propitiate the 'Quarterly Review'.]





       *       *       *       *       *





180.--To R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, September 7, 1811.


As Gifford has been ever my "Magnus Apollo," any approbation, such as
you mention, would, of course, be more welcome than "all Bocara's
vaunted gold", than all "the gems of Samarcand." [1] But I am sorry the
MS. was shown to him in such a manner, and had written to Murray to say
as much, before I was aware that it was too late.

Your objection to the expression "central line" I can only meet by
saying that, before Childe Harold left England, it was his full
intention to traverse Persia, and return by India, which he could not
have done without passing the equinoctial.

The other errors you mention, I must correct in the progress through the
press. I feel honoured by the wish of such men that the poem should be
continued, but to do that I must return to Greece and Asia; I must have
a warm sun, a blue sky; I cannot describe scenes so dear to me by a
sea-coal fire. I had projected an additional canto when I was in the
Troad and Constantinople, and if I saw them again, it would go on; but
under existing circumstances and 'sensations', I have neither harp,
"heart, nor voice" to proceed, I feel that 'you are all right' as to the
metaphysical part; but I also feel that I am sincere, and that if I am
only to write "ad captandum vulgus," I might as well edit a magazine at
once, or spin canzonettas for Vauxhall. [2]

My work must make its way as well as it can; I know I have every thing
against me, angry poets and prejudices; but if the poem is a 'poem', it
will surmount these obstacles, and if 'not', it deserves its fate. Your
friend's Ode [3] I have read--it is no great compliment to pronounce it
far superior to Smythe's on the same subject, or to the merits of the
new Chancellor. It is evidently the production of a man of taste, and a
poet, though I should not be willing to say it was fully equal to what
might be expected from the author of "'Horae Ionicae'." [4] I thank you
for it, and that is more than I would do for any other Ode of the
present day.

I am very sensible of your good wishes, and, indeed, I have need of
them. My whole life has been at variance with propriety, not to say
decency; my circumstances are become involved; my friends are dead or
estranged, and my existence a dreary void. In Matthews I have lost my
"guide, philosopher, and friend;" in Wingfield a friend only, but one
whom I could have wished to have preceded in his long journey.

Matthews was indeed an extraordinary man; it has not entered into the
heart of a stranger to conceive such a man: there was the stamp of
immortality in all he said or did;--and now what is he? When we see such
men pass away and be no more--men, who seem created to display what the
Creator 'could make' his creatures, gathered into corruption, before the
maturity of minds that might have been the pride of posterity, what are
we to conclude? For my own part, I am bewildered. To me he was much, to
Hobhouse every thing. My poor Hobhouse doted on Matthews. For me, I did
not love quite so much as I honoured him; I was indeed so sensible of
his infinite superiority, that though I did not envy, I stood in awe of
it. He, Hobhouse, Davies, and myself, formed a coterie of our own at
Cambridge and elsewhere. Davies is a wit and man of the world, and feels
as much as such a character can do; but not as Hobhouse has been
affected. Davies, who is not a scribbler, has always beaten us all in
the war of words, and by his colloquial powers at once delighted and
kept us in order. Hobhouse and myself always had the worst of it with
the other two; and even Matthews yielded to the dashing vivacity of
Scrope Davies. But I am talking to you of men, or boys, as if you cared
about such beings.

I expect mine agent down on the 14th to proceed to Lancashire, where I
hear from all quarters that I have a very valuable property in coals,
etc. I then intend to accept an invitation to Cambridge in October, and
shall, perhaps, run up to town. I have four invitations--to Wales,
Dorset, Cambridge, and Chester; but I must be a man of business. I am
quite alone, as these long letters sadly testify. I perceive, by
referring to your letter, that the Ode is from the author; make my
thanks acceptable to him. His muse is worthy a nobler theme. You will
write as usual, I hope. I wish you good evening, and am, etc.



[Footnote 1: The lines, which are parodied in Byron's unpublished
'Barmaid', are from Sir W. Jones's translation of a song by Hafiz
('Works, vol. x. p. 251):

  "Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight,
  And bid these arms thy neck infold;
  That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
  Would give thy poet more delight,
  Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
  Than all the gems of Samarcand."]


[Footnote 2: Vauxhall Gardens (1661 to July 25, 1859) were still not
only a popular but a fashionable resort, though fireworks and
masquerades threatened to expel musicians and vocalists. At this time
the principal singers were Charles Dignum (1765-1827); Maria Theresa
Bland (1769-1838), a famous ballad-singer; Rosoman Mountain, 'nee'
Wilkinson (1768-1841), whose husband was a violinist and leader at
Vauxhall.--('The London Pleasure Gardens', pp. 286-326.)]


[Footnote 3: On June 29, 1811, the Duke of Gloucester was installed as
Chancellor of the University of Cambridge. The Installation Ode, written
by W. Smyth, of Peterhouse (1765-1849), Professor of Modern History at
Cambridge, and author of 'English Lyrics' (1797) and other works, was
set to music by Hague, and performed in the Senate House, Braham and
Ashe, it is said, particularly distinguishing themselves among the
performers. The Ode is given in the 'Annual Register' for 1811, pp.
593-596. The rival Ode, which Byron preferred, was by Walter Rodwell
Wright.]


[Footnote 4: For Walter Rodwell Wright, author of 'Horae Ionicae' (1809),
see Letters, vol. i. p. 336, 'note' 1. [Footnote 2 of Letter 167]]





       *       *       *       *       *





181.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


[Six Mile Bottom, Newmarket.]


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 9th, 1811.

My Dear Augusta,--My Rochdale affairs are understood to be settled as
far as the Law can settle them, and indeed I am told that the most
valuable part is that which was never disputed; but I have never reaped
any advantage from them, and God knows if I ever shall. Mr. H., my
agent, is a good man and able, but the most dilatory in the world. I
expect him down on the 14th to accompany me to Rochdale, where something
will be decided as to selling or working the Collieries. I am Lord of
the Manor (a most extensive one), and they want to enclose, which cannot
be done without me; but I go there in the worst humour possible and am
afraid I shall do or say something not very conciliatory. In short all
my affairs are going on as badly as possible, and I have no hopes or
plans to better them as I long ago pledged myself never to sell
Newstead, which I mean to hold in defiance of the Devil and Man.

I am quite alone and never see strangers without being sick, but I am
nevertheless on good terms with my neighbours, for I neither ride or
shoot or move over my Garden walls, but I fence and box and swim and run
a good deal to keep me in exercise and get me to sleep. Poor Murray is
ill again, and one of my Greek servants is ill too, and my valet has got
a pestilent cough, so that we are in a peck of troubles; my family
Surgeon sent an Emetic this morning for _one_ of them, I did not very
well know _which_, but I swore _Somebody_ should take it, so after a
deal of discussion the Greek swallowed it with tears in his eyes, and by
the blessing of it, and the _Virgin_ whom he invoked to assist _it_ and
_him_, I suppose he'll be well tomorrow, if not, _another_ shall have
the _next_. So your Spouse likes children, _that_ is lucky as he will
have to bring them up; for my part (since I lost my Newfoundland dog,) I
like nobody except his successor a Dutch Mastiff and three land
Tortoises brought with me from Greece.

I thank you for your letters and am always glad to hear from you, but if
you won't come here before Xmas, I very much fear we shall not meet
_here_ at all, for I shall be off somewhere or other very soon out of
this land of Paper credit (or rather no credit at all, for every body
seems on the high road to Bankruptcy), and if I quit it again I shall
not be back in a hurry.

However, I shall endeavour to see you somewhere, and make my bow with
decorum before I return to the Ottomans, I believe I shall turn
Mussulman in the end.

You ask after my health; I am in tolerable leanness, which I promote by
exercise and abstinence. I don't know that I have acquired any thing by
my travels but a smattering of two languages and a habit of chewing
Tobacco. [1]

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1: To appease the pangs of hunger, and keep down his fat,
Byron was in the habit of chewing gum-mastic and tobacco. For the same
reason, at a later date, he took opium. The mistake which he makes in
his letter to Hodgson (December 8,1811), "I do nothing but eschew
tobacco," is repeated in 'Don Juan' (Canto XII. stanza xiiii.)--

  "In fact, there's nothing makes me so much grieve,
  As that abominable tittle-tattle,
  Which is the cud eschewed by human cattle."]





       *       *       *       *       *





182.--To Francis Hodgson.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 9, 1811.


Dear Hodgson,--I have been a good deal in your company lately, for I
have been reading 'Juvenal' and 'Lady Jane', [1] etc., for the first
time since my return. The Tenth Sat'e has always been my favourite, as I
suppose indeed of everybody's. It is the finest recipe for making one
miserable with his life, and content to walk out of it, in any language.
I should think it might be redde with great effect to a man dying
without much pain, in preference to all the stuff that ever was said or
sung in churches. But you are a deacon, and I say no more. Ah! you will
marry and become lethargic, like poor Hal of Harrow, [2] who yawns at 10
o' nights, and orders caudle annually.

I wrote an answer to yours fully some days ago, and, being quite alone
and able to frank, you must excuse this subsequent epistle, which will
cost nothing but the trouble of deciphering. I am expectant of agents to
accompany me to Rochdale, a journey not to be anticipated with pleasure;
though I feel very restless where I am, and shall probably ship off for
Greece again; what nonsense it is to talk of Soul, when a cloud makes it
_melancholy_ and wine makes it _mad_.

Collet of Staines, your "most kind host," has lost that girl you saw of
his. She grew to five feet eleven, and might have been God knows how
high if it had pleased Him to renew the race of Anak; but she fell by a
ptisick, a fresh proof of the folly of begetting children. You knew
Matthews. Was he not an intellectual giant? I knew few better or more
intimately, and none who deserved more admiration in point of ability.

Scrope Davies has been here on his way to Harrowgate; I am his guest in
October at King's, where we will "drink deep ere we depart." "Won't you,
won't you, won't you, won't you come, Mr. Mug?" [3] We did not
amalgamate properly at Harrow; it was somehow rainy, and then a wife
makes such a damp; but in a seat of celibacy I will have revenge. Don't
you hate helping first, and losing the wings of chicken? And then,
conversation is always flabby. Oh! in the East women are in their proper
sphere, and one has--no conversation at all. My house here is a
delightful matrimonial mansion. When I wed, my spouse and I will be so
happy!--one in each wing.

I presume you are in motion from your Herefordshire station, [4] and
Drury must be gone back to Gerund Grinding. I have not been at Cambridge
since I took my M.A. degree in 1808. _Eheu fugaces!_ I look forward to
meeting you and Scrope there with the feelings of other times. Capt.
Hobhouse is at Enniscorthy in Juverna. I wish he was in England.

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 195, 'note' I. [Footnote 1 of
Letter 102]]


[Footnote 2: For Henry Drury, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 41, 'note' 2.
[Footnote 1 of Letter 14]]


[Footnote 3: Byron may possibly allude to "Matthew Mug," a character in
Foote's 'Mayor of Garratt', said to be intended for the Duke of
Newcastle. In act ii. sc. 2 of the comedy occurs this passage--

  "'Heel-Tap'. Now, neighbours, have a good caution that this Master Mug
  does not cajole you; he is a damn'd palavering fellow."

But there is no passage in the play which exactly corresponds with
Byron's quotation.]


[Footnote 4: Hodgson was staying with his uncle, the Rev. Richard Coke,
of Lower Moor, Herefordshire.]





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183.--To R.C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 10, 1811.


Dear Sir,--I rather think in one of the opening stanzas of 'Childe
Harold' there is this line:

  'Tis said at times the sullen tear would start.

Now, a line or two after, I have a repetition of the epithet "_sullen_
reverie;" so (if it be so) let us have "speechless reverie," or "silent
reverie;" but, at all events, do away the recurrence.

Yours ever,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





184.--To Francis Hodgson.


Newstead Abbey, September 13, 1811.


My Dear Hodgson,--I thank you for your song, or, rather, your two
songs,--your new song on love, and your _old song_ on _religion_. [1] I
admire the _first_ sincerely, and in turn call upon you to _admire_ the
following on Anacreon Moore's new operatic farce, [2] or farcical
opera--call it which you will:

  Good plays are scarce,
  So Moore writes _Farce_;
      Is Fame like his so brittle?
  We knew before
  That "_Little's" Moore_,
      But now _'tis Moore_ that's _Little_.

I won't dispute with you on the Arcana of your new calling; they are
Bagatelles like the King of Poland's rosary. One remark, and I have
done; the basis of your religion is _injustice_; the _Son_ of _God_, the
_pure_, the _immaculate_, the _innocent_, is sacrificed for the
_Guilty_. This proves _His_ heroism; but no more does away _man's_ guilt
than a schoolboy's volunteering to be flogged for another would
exculpate the dunce from negligence, or preserve him from the Rod. You
degrade the Creator, in the first place, by making Him a begetter of
children; and in the next you convert Him into a Tyrant over an
immaculate and injured Being, who is sent into existence to suffer death
for the benefit of some millions of Scoundrels, who, after all, seem as
likely to be damned as ever. As to miracles, I agree with Hume that it
is more probable men should _lie_ or be _deceived_, than that things out
of the course of Nature should so happen. Mahomet wrought miracles,
Brothers [3] the prophet had _proselytes_, and so would Breslaw [4] the
conjuror, had he lived in the time of Tiberius.

Besides I trust that God is not a _Jew_, but the God of all Mankind; and
as you allow that a virtuous Gentile may be saved, you do away the
necessity of being a Jew or a Christian.

I do not believe in any revealed religion, because no religion is
revealed: and if it pleases the Church to damn me for not allowing a
_nonentity_, I throw myself on the mercy of the "_Great First Cause,
least understood_," who must do what is most proper; though I conceive
He never made anything to be tortured in another life, whatever it may
in this. I will neither read _pro_ nor _con_. God would have made His
will known without books, considering how very few could read them when
Jesus of Nazareth lived, had it been His pleasure to ratify any peculiar
mode of worship. As to your immortality, if people are to live, why die?
And our carcases, which are to rise again, are they worth raising? I
hope, if mine is, that I shall have a better _pair of legs_ than I have
moved on these two-and-twenty years, or I shall be sadly behind in the
squeeze into Paradise. Did you ever read "Malthus on Population"? If he
be right, war and pestilence are our best friends, to save us from being
eaten alive, in this "best of all possible Worlds." [5]

I will write, read, and think no more; indeed, I do not wish to shock
your prejudices by saying all I do think. Let us make the most of life,
and leave dreams to Emanuel Swedenborg. Now to dreams of another
genus--Poesies. I like your song much; but I will say no more, for fear
you should think I wanted to scratch you into approbation of my past,
present, or future acrostics. I shall not be at Cambridge before the
middle of October; but, when I go, I should certes like to see you there
before you are dubbed a deacon. Write to me, and I will rejoin.

Yours ever, BYRON.



[Footnote 1: The lines in which Hodgson answered Byron's letter on his
religious opinions are quoted in the 'Memoir of the Rev. F. Hodgson',
vol. i. pp. 199, 200.]


[Footnote 2: Moore's 'M.P., or The Bluestocking', was played at the
Lyceum, September 9, 1811, but was soon withdrawn.]



[Footnote 3: Richard Brothers (1757-1824) believed that, in 1795, he was
to be revealed as Prince of the Hebrews and ruler of the world. In that
year he was arrested, and confined first as a criminal lunatic,
afterwards in a private asylum, where he remained till 1806. A portrait
of "Richard Brothers, Prince of the Hebrews," was engraved, April, 1795,
by William Sharp, with the following inscription:

  "Fully believing this to be the Man whom God has appointed, I engrave
  this likeness. William Sharp."]


[Footnote 4: See 'Breslaw's Last Legacy; or, the Magical Companion'.
Including the various exhibitions of those wonderful Artists, Breslaw,
Sieur Comus, Jonas, etc. (1784).]



[Footnote 5: 'Candide, ou l'Optimisms' (chapitre xxx.):

  "et Pangloss disait quelquefois a Candide; Tous les evenements sont
  enchaines dans le meilleur des mondes possibles," etc.

Hodgson replies (September 18, 1811):

  "Your last letter has unfeignedly grieved me. Believing, as I do from
  my heart, that you would be better and happier by thoroughly examining
  the evidences for Christianity, how can I hear you say you will not
  read any book on the subject, without being pained? But God bless you
  under all circumstances. I will say no more. Only do not talk of
  'shocking my prejudices,' or of 'rushing to see me 'before' I am a
  Deacon.' I wish to see you at all times; and as to our different
  opinions, we can easily keep them to ourselves."

The next day he writes again:

  "Let me make one other effort. You mentioned an opinion of Hume's
  about miracles. For God's sake,--hear me, Byron, for God's
  sake--examine Paley's answer to that opinion; examine the whole of
  Paley's 'Evidences'. The two volumes may be read carefully in less
  than a week. Let me for the last time by our friendship, implore you
  to read them."]





       *       *       *       *       *





185.--To John Murray. [1]


Newstead Abbey, Notts., Sept. 14, 1811.


Sir,--Since your former letter, Mr. Dallas informs me that the MS. has
been submitted to the perusal of Mr. Gifford, most contrary to my
wishes, as Mr. D. could have explained, and as my own letter to you did,
in fact, explain, with my motives for objecting to such a proceeding.
Some late domestic events, of which you are probably aware, prevented my
letter from being sent before; indeed, I hardly conceived you would have
so hastily thrust my productions into the hands of a Stranger, who could
be as little pleased by receiving them, as their author is at their
being offered, in such a manner, and to such a Man.

My address, when I leave Newstead, will be to "Rochdale, Lancashire;"
but I have not yet fixed the day of departure, and I will apprise you
when ready to set off.

You have placed me in a very ridiculous situation, but it is past, and
nothing more is to be said on the subject. You hinted to me that you
wished some alterations to be made; if they have nothing to do with
politics or religion, I will make them with great readiness.

I am, Sir, etc., etc., BYRON.



[Footnote 1: As soon as Byron came to town, he was a frequent visitor at
32, Fleet Street, while the sheets of 'Childe Harold' were passing
through the press.

  "Fresh from the fencing rooms of Angelo and Jackson, he used to amuse
  himself by renewing his practice of 'Carte et Tierce', with his
  walking-cane directed against the bookshelves, while Murray was
  reading passages from the poem with occasional ejaculations of
  admiration, on which Byron would say, 'You think that a good idea, do
  you, Murray?' Then he would fence and lunge with his walking-stick at
  some special book which he had picked out on the shelves before him.
  As Murray afterwards said, 'I was often very glad to get rid of him!'"

(Smiles's 'Memoir of John Murray', vol. i. p. 207).]





       *       *       *       *       *





186.--To R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 15, 1811.


My dear Sir,--My agent will not he here for at least a week, and even
afterwards my letters will be forwarded to Rochdale. I am sorry that
Murray should _groan_ on my account, tho' _that_ is better than the
anticipation of applause, of which men and books are generally
disappointed.

The notes I sent are _merely matter_ to be divided, arranged, and
published for _notes_ hereafter, in proper places; at present I am too
much occupied with earthly cares to waste time or trouble upon rhyme, or
its modern indispensables, annotations.

Pray let me hear from you, when at leisure. I have written to abuse
Murray for showing the MS. to Mr. G., who must certainly think it was
done by my wish, though you know the contrary.--Believe me, Yours ever,
B--





       *       *       *       *       *





187.--To John Murray.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 16, 1811.


DEAR SIR,--I return the proof, which I should wish to be shown to Mr.
Dallas, who understands typographical arrangements much better than I
can pretend to do. The printer may place the notes in his _own way_, or
any _way_, so that they are out of _my way_; I care nothing about types
or margins.

If you have any communication to make, I shall be here at least a week
or ten days longer. I am, Sir, etc., etc.,

BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *





188--To R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 16, 1811.


DEAR SIR,--I send you a 'motto':

  "L'univers est une espece de livre, dont on n'a lu que la premiere
  page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuillete un assez grand
  nombre, que j'ai trouve egalement mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point
  ete infructueux. Je haissais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des
  peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vecu, m'ont reconcilie avec elle.
  Quand je n'aurais tire d'autre benefice de mes voyages que celui-la,
  je n'en regretterais ni les frais, ni les fatigues."

"Le Cosmopolite." [1]

If not too long, I think it will suit the book. The passage is from a
little French volume, a great favourite with me, which I picked up in
the Archipelago. I don't think it is well known in England; Monbron is
the author; but it is a work sixty years old.

Good morning! I won't take up your time.

Yours ever,
BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Fougeret de Monbron, born at Peronne, served in the 'Gardes
du Corps', but abandoned the sword for the pen, and published 'Henriade
Travestie' (1745); 'Preservatif Centre l'Anglomanie' (1787); and 'Le
Cosmopolite' (1750). His novels, 'Margot la Ravaudeuse, Therlse
Philosophe', and others, appeared under the name of Fougeret. He died in
1761. In that year was published in London an edition of 'Le
Cosmopolite, ou le Citoyen du Monde', par Mr. de Monbron, with the
motto, "Patria est ubicunque est bene" (Cic. 5, Tusc. 37).

Byron's quotation is the opening paragraph of the book. The author, who
had travelled in England, returns to France a complete "Jacques
Rot-de-Bif." He then visits Holland, the Low Countries, Constantinople,
Italy, Spain, Portugal, and England a second time. He finds that the
charm has vanished, and that the English are no better than their
neighbours. It is a cynical little book, abounding in such sayings as.
"Make acquaintances, not friends; intimacy breeds disgust;" "The best
fruit of travelling is the justification of instinctive dislikes."
Monbron, like Byron, ridicules the traveller's passion for collecting
broken statues and antiques.]





       *       *       *       *       *





189.--To R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 17, 1811.


I can easily excuse your not writing, as you have, I hope, something
better to do, and you must pardon my frequent invasions on your
attention, because I have at this moment nothing to interpose between
you and my epistles.

I cannot settle to any thing, and my days pass, with the exception of
bodily exercise to some extent, with uniform indolence, and idle
insipidity. I have been expecting, and still expect, my agent, when I
shall have enough to occupy my reflections in business of no very
pleasant aspect. Before my journey to Rochdale, you shall have due
notice where to address me--I believe at the post-office of that
township. From Murray I received a second proof of the same pages, which
I requested him to show you, that any thing which may have escaped my
observation may be detected before the printer lays the corner-stone of
an _errata_ column.

I am now not quite alone, having an old acquaintance and school-fellow
[1] with me, so _old_, indeed, that we have nothing _new_ to say on any
subject, and yawn at each other in a sort of _quiet inquietude_. I hear
nothing from Cawthorn, or Captain Hobhouse; and _their quarto_--Lord
have mercy on mankind! We come on like Cerberus with our triple
publications. [2] As for _myself_, by _myself_, I must be satisfied with
a comparison to _Janus_.

I am not at all pleased with Murray for showing the MS.; and I am
certain Gifford must see it in the same light that I do. His praise is
nothing to the purpose: what could he say? He could not spit in the face
of one who had praised him in every possible way. I must own that I wish
to have the impression removed from his mind, that I had any concern in
such a paltry transaction. The more I think, the more it disquiets me;
so I will say no more about it. It is bad enough to be a scribbler,
without having recourse to such shifts to extort praise, or deprecate
censure. It is anticipating, it is begging, kneeling, adulating,--the
devil! the devil! the devil! and all without my wish, and contrary to my
express desire. I wish Murray had been tied to _Payne's_ neck when he
jumped into the Paddington Canal, [3] and so tell him,--_that_ is the
proper receptacle for publishers. You have thought of settling in the
country, why not try Notts.? I think there are places which would suit
you in all points, and then you are nearer the metropolis. But of this
anon.

I am, yours, etc.,
BYRON.



[Footnote 1: John Claridge. (See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 267, 'note' 2.)
[Footnote 4 of Letter 136]]


[Footnote 2: i. e. 'Childe Harold', 'Hints from Horace', and 'Travels in
Albania.']


[Footnote 3: Mr. Payne, of the firm of Payne and Mackinlay, the
publishers of Hodgson's 'Juvenal', committed suicide by drowning himself
in the Paddington Canal. Byron, in a note to 'Hints from Horace', line
657, thus applies the incident:

  "A literary friend of mine, walking out one lovely evening last
  summer, on the eleventh bridge of the Paddington canal, was alarmed by
  the cry of 'one in jeopardy:' he rushed along, collected a body of
  Irish haymakers (supping on buttermilk in an adjacent paddock),
  procured three rakes, one eel spear and a landing-net, and at last
  ('horresco referens') pulled out--his own publisher. The unfortunate
  man was gone for ever, and so was a large quarto wherewith he had
  taken the leap, which proved, on inquiry, to have been Mr. Southey's
  last work. Its 'alacrity of sinking' was so great, that it has never
  since been heard of; though some maintain that it is at this moment
  concealed at Alderman Birch's pastry-premises, Cornhill. Be this as it
  may, the coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of ''Felo de
  Bibliopola'' against a quarto unknown,' and circumstantial evidence
  being since strong against the 'Curse of Kehama' (of which the above
  words are an exact description), it will be tried by its peers next
  session, in Grub Street--Arthur, Alfred, Davideis, Richard Coeur de
  Lion, Exodus, Exodiad, Epigoniad, Calvary, Fall of Cambria, Siege of
  Acre, Don Roderick, and Tom Thumb the Great, are the names of the
  twelve jurors. The judges are Pye, Bowles, and the bell-man of St.
  Sepulchre's."





       *       *       *       *       *





190.--To R.C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 17, 1811.


Dear Sir,--I have just discovered some pages of observations on the
modern Greeks, written at Athens by me, under the title of 'Noctes
Atticae'. They will do to _cut up_ into notes, and to be _cut up_
afterwards, which is all that notes are generally good for. They were
written at Athens, as you will see by the date.

Yours ever,
B.





       *       *       *       *       *





191.--To R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Sept, 21, 1811.


I have shown my respect for your suggestions by adopting them; but I
have made many alterations in the first proof, over and above; as, for
example:


  Oh Thou, in _Hellas_ deem'd of heavenly birth,
  etc., etc.

  Since _shamed full oft_ by _later lyres_ on earth,
  Mine, etc.

  Yet there _I've wandered_ by the vaunted rill;


and so on. So I have got rid of Dr. Lowth and "drunk" to boot, and very
glad I am to say so. I have also sullenised the line as heretofore, and
in short have been quite conformable.

Pray write; you shall hear when I remove to Lancashire. I have brought
you and my friend Juvenal Hodgson upon my back, on the score of
revelation. You are fervent, but he is quite _glowing_; and if he take
half the pains to save his own soul, which he volunteers to redeem mine,
great will be his reward hereafter. I honour and thank you both, but am
convinced by neither. Now for notes. Besides those I have sent, I shall
send the observations on the Edinburgh Reviewer's remarks on the modern
Greek, an Albanian song in the Albanian (_not Greek_) language,
specimens of modern Greek from their New Testament, a comedy of
Goldoni's translated, _one scene_, a prospectus of a friend's book, and
perhaps a song or two, _all_ in Romaic, besides their Pater Noster; so
there will be enough, if not too much, with what I have already sent.
Have you received the "Noctes Atticae"?

I sent also an annotation on Portugal. Hobhouse is also forthcoming. [1]



[Footnote 1: That is, with his 'Travels in Albania', in part of which
Byron and his Greek servant, Demetrius, were assisting him with notes
and other material.]





       *       *       *       *       *





192.--TO R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 23, 1811.


_Lisboa_ [1] is the Portuguese word, consequently the very best.
Ulissipont is pedantic; and as I have _Hellas_ and _Eros_ not long
before, there would be something like an affectation of Greek terms,
which I wish to avoid, since I shall have a perilous quantity of
_modern_ Greek in my notes, as specimens of the tongue; therefore Lisboa
may keep its place. You are right about the _Hints_; they must not
precede the _Romaunt_; but Cawthorn will be savage if they don't;
however, keep _them_ back, and _him_ in _good humour_, if we can, but do
not let him publish.

I have adopted, I believe, most of your suggestions, but "Lisboa" will
be an exception to prove the rule. I have sent a quantity of notes, and
shall continue; but pray let them be copied; no devil can read my hand.
By the by, I do not mean to exchange the ninth verse of the "Good
Night." [2] I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother
brutes, mankind; and _Argus_ we know to be a fable. The _Cosmopolite_
was an acquisition abroad. I do not believe it is to be found in
England. It is an amusing little volume, and full of French flippancy. I
read, though I do not speak the language.

I _will_ be angry with Murray. It was a bookselling, back-shop,
Paternoster-row, paltry proceeding; and if the experiment had turned out
as it deserved, I would have raised all Fleet Street, and borrowed the
giant's staff from St. Dunstan's church, [3] to immolate the betrayer of
trust. I have written to him as he never was written to before by an
author, I'll be sworn, and I hope you will amplify my wrath, till it has
an effect upon him. You tell me always you have much to write about.
Write it, but let us drop metaphysics;--on that point we shall never
agree. I am dull and drowsy, as usual. I do nothing, and even that
nothing fatigues me.

Adieu.



[Footnote 1: See 'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanza xvi., and Byron's
'note'.]


[Footnote 2: See 'Childe Harold', Canto I. The "Good Night" is placed
between stanzas xiii. and xiv.

  "And now I'm in the world alone,
    Upon the wide, wide sea;
  But why should I for others groan,
    When none will sigh for me?
  Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
    Till fed by stranger hands;
  But long ere I come back again
    He'd tear me where he stands."]


[Footnote 3: St. Dunstan's in the West, before its rebuilding by Shaw
(1831-33), was one of the oldest churches in London. The clock, which
projected over the street, and had two wooden figures of wild men who
struck the hours with their clubs, was set up in 1671. Unless there was
a similar clock before this date, as is not improbable, Scott is wrong
in 'The Fortunes of Nigel', where he makes Moniplies stand "astonished
as old Adam and Eve ply their ding-dong." The figures, the removal of
which, it is said, brought tears to the eyes of Charles Lamb, were
bought by the Marquis of Hertford to adorn his villa in Regent's Park,
still called St. Dunstan's. Murray's shop at 32, Fleet Street, stood
opposite the church, the yard of which was surrounded with stationers'
shops, where many famous books of the seventeenth century were
published.]





       *       *       *       *       *





193.--To Francis Hodgson.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 25, 1811.


MY DEAR HODGSON,--I fear that before the latest of October or the first
of November, I shall hardly be able to make Cambridge. My everlasting
agent puts off his coming like the accomplishment of a prophecy.
However, finding me growing serious he hath promised to be here on
Thursday, and about Monday we shall remove to Rochdale. I have only to
give discharges to the tenantry here (it seems the poor creatures must
be raised, though I wish it was not necessary), and arrange the receipt
of sums, and the liquidation of some debts, and I shall be ready to
enter upon new subjects of vexation. I intend to visit you in Granta,
and hope to prevail on you to accompany me here or there or anywhere.

I am plucking up my spirits, and have begun to gather my little sensual
comforts together. Lucy is extracted from Warwickshire; some very bad
faces have been warned off the premises, and more promising substituted
in their stead; the partridges are plentiful, hares fairish, pheasants
not quite so good, and the Girls on the Manor * * * * Just as I had
formed a tolerable establishment my travels commenced, and on my return
I find all to do over again; my former flock were all scattered; some
married, not before it was needful. As I am a great disciplinarian, I
have just issued an edict for the abolition of caps; no hair to be cut
on any pretext; stays permitted, but not too low before; full uniform
always in the evening; Lucinda to be commander--'vice' the present,
about to be wedded ('mem'. she is 35 with a flat face and a squeaking
voice), of all the makers and unmakers of beds in the household.

My tortoises (all Athenians), my hedgehog, my mastiff and the other live
Greek, are all purely. The tortoises lay eggs, and I have hired a hen to
hatch them. I am writing notes for 'my' quarto (Murray would have it a
'quarto'), and Hobhouse is writing text for 'his' quarto; if you call on
Murray or Cawthorn you will hear news of either. I have attacked De
Pauw, [1] Thornton, [1] Lord Elgin, [2] Spain, Portugal, the 'Edinburgh
Review', [3] travellers, Painters, Antiquarians, and others, so you see
what a dish of Sour Crout Controversy I shall prepare for myself. It
would not answer for me to give way, now; as I was forced into
bitterness at the beginning, I will go through to the last. 'Vae Victis'!
If I fall, I shall fall gloriously, fighting against a host.

'Felicissima Notte a Voss. Signoria,'

B.



[Footnote 1: 'Childe Harold', Canto II. note D, part ii.]


[Footnote 2: 'Ibid'., note A.]


[Footnote 3: 'Ibid'., note D, part iii.]





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194.--To R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Sept. 26, 1811.


MY DEAR SIR,-In a stanza towards the end of canto 1st, there is in the
concluding line,

  Some bitter bubbles up, and e'en on roses stings.

I have altered it as follows:

  Full from the heart of joy's delicious springs
  Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

If you will point out the stanzas on Cintra [1] which you wish recast, I
will send you mine answer. Be good enough to address your letters here,
and they will either be forwarded or saved till my return. My agent
comes tomorrow, and we shall set out immediately.

The press must not proceed of course without my seeing the proofs, as I
have much to do. Pray, do you think any alterations should be made in
the stanzas on Vathek? [2]

I should be sorry to make any improper allusion, as I merely wish to
adduce an example of wasted wealth, and the reflection which arose in
surveying the most desolate mansion in the most beautiful spot I ever
beheld.

Pray keep Cawthorn back; he was not to begin till November, and even
that will be two months too soon. I am so sorry my hand is
unintelligible; but I can neither deny your accusation, nor remove the
cause of it.--It is a sad scrawl, certes.--A perilous quantity of
annotation hath been sent; I think almost _enough_, with the specimens
of Romaic I mean to annex.

I will have nothing to say to your metaphysics, and allegories of rocks
and beaches; we shall all go to the bottom together, so "let us eat and
drink, for tomorrow, etc." I am as comfortable in my creed as others,
inasmuch as it is better to sleep than to be awake.

I have heard nothing of Murray; I hope he is ashamed of himself. He sent
me a vastly complimentary epistle, with a request to alter the two, and
finish another canto. I sent him as civil an answer as if I had been
engaged to translate by the sheet, declining altering anything in
sentiment, but offered to tag rhymes, and mend them as long as he liked.

I will write from Rochdale when I arrive, if my affairs allow me; but I
shall be so busy and savage all the time with the whole set, that my
letters will, perhaps, be as pettish as myself. If so, lay the blame on
coal and coal-heavers. Very probably I may proceed to town by way of
Newstead on my return from Lancs. I mean to be at Cambridge in November,
so that, at all events, we shall be nearer. I will not apologise for the
trouble I have given and do give you, though I ought to do so; but I
have worn out my politest periods, and can only say that I am much
obliged to you.

Believe me, yours always,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1:  'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanza xviii.]


[Footnote 2: 'i.e.' on Bedford (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 228, 'note' 1
[Footnote 2 of Letter 125]; and 'Childe Harold', Canto I, stanza
xxii.).]





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195.-To James Wedderburn Webster.


Newstead Abbey, Oct. 10th, 1811.


DEAR WEBSTER,--I can hardly invite a gentleman to my house a second time
who walked out of it the first in so singular a mood, but if you had
thought proper to pay me a visit, you would have had a "Highland
Welcome."

I am only just returned to it out of Lancashire, where I have been on
business to a Coal manor of mine near Rochdale, and shall leave it very
shortly for Cambridge and London. My companions, or rather companion,
(for Claridge alone has been with me) have not been very amusing, and,
as to their "_Sincerity_," they are doubtless sincere enough for a man
who will never put them to the trial. Besides you talked so much of your
conjugal happiness, that an invitation from home would have seemed like
Sacrilege, and my rough Bachelor's Hall would have appeared to little
advantage after the "Bower of Armida" [1] where you have been reposing.

I cannot boast of my social powers at any time, and just at present they
are more stagnant than ever. Your Brother-in-law [2] means to stand for
Wexford, but I have reasons for thinking the Portsmouth interest will be
against him; however I wish him success. Do _you_ mean to stand for any
place next election? What are your politics? I hope Valentia's Lord is
for the Catholics. You will find Hobhouse at Enniscorthy in the
contested County.

Pray what has seized you? your last letter is the only one in which you
do not rave upon matrimony. Are there no symptoms of a young W.W.? and
shall I never be a Godfather? I believe I must be married myself soon,
but it shall be a secret and a Surprise. However, knowing your exceeding
discretion I shall probably entrust the secret to your silence at a
proper period. You have, it is true, invited me repeatedly to Dean's
Court [3] and now, when it is probable I might adventure there, you wish
to be off. Be it so.

If you address your letters to this place they will be forwarded
wherever I sojourn. I am about to meet some friends at Cambridge and on
to town in November.

The papers are full of Dalrymple's Bigamy [4] (I know the man). What the
Devil will he do with his _Spare-rib_? He is no beauty, but as lame as
myself. He has more ladies than legs, what comfort to a cripple! _Sto
sempre umilissimo servitore_.

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Armida is the Sorceress, the niece of Prince Idreotes, in
Tasso's 'Jerusalem Delivered', in whose palace Rinaldo forgets his vow
as a crusader. Byron, in 'Don Juan' (Canto I. stanza lxxi.), says:

  "But ne'er magician's wand
  Wrought change, with all Armida's fairy art,
  Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart."

In the Catalogue of Byron's books, sold April 5, 1816, appear four
editions of Tasso's 'Gerusalemme Liberata', being those of 1776, 1785,
1813, and one undated.]


[Footnote 2: For George Annesley, Lord Valentia, afterwards Earl of
Mountnorris (1769-1844), see 'Poems', ed. 1898, vol. i. p. 378, and
'note 5'.]


[Footnote 3: Near Wimborne, Dorset.]


[Footnote 4: The suit of 'Dalrymple' v. 'Dalrymple' was tried before Sir
William Scott, in the Consistory Court, Doctors' Commons, July 16, 1811.
The suit was brought by Mrs. Dalrymple ('nee' Joanna Gordon) against
Captain John William Henry Dalrymple. By Scottish law he was held to
have been married to Miss Gordon, and his subsequent marriage with Miss
Manners, sister of the Duchess of St. Albans, was held to be illegal.]





       *       *       *       *       *





196.--To R.C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, October 10th, 1811.


DEAR SIR,--Stanzas 24, 26, 29, [1] though _crossed_ must _stand_, with
their _alterations_. The other three [2] are cut out to meet your
wishes. We must, however, have a repetition of the proof, which is the
first. I will write soon.

Yours ever,

B.

P.S.--Yesterday I returned from Lancs.



[Footnote 1: The stanzas are xxiv., xxv., xxvi. of Canto I.]


[Footnote 2: The following are the three deleted stanzas:


XXV.

  "In golden characters, right well designed,
  First on the list appeareth one 'Junot;'
  Then certain other glorious names we find;
  (Which rhyme compelleth me to place below--)
  Dull victors! baffled by a vanquished foe,
  Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due,
  Stand, worthy of each other, in a row
  Sirs Arthur, Harry, and the dizzard Hew
  Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dupe of 'tother tew."


XXVII.

  "But when Convention sent his handy work,
  Pens, tongues, feet, hands, combined in wild uproar;
  Mayor, Alderman, laid down th' uplifted fork;
  The bench of Bishops half forgot to snore;
  Stern Cobbett, who for one whole week forbore
  To question aught, once more with transport leapt,
  And bit his dev'lish quill agen, and swore
  With foe such treaty never should be kept.
  Then burst the blatant beast, and roared and raged and--slept!!!"


XXVIII.

  "Thus unto heaven appealed the people; heaven,
  Which loves the lieges of our gracious King,
  Decreed that ere our generals were forgiven,
  Inquiry should be held about the thing.
  But mercy cloaked the babes beneath her wing;
  And as they spared our foes so spared we them.
  (Where was the pity of our sires for Byng?)
  Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn.
  Then live ye, triumph gallants! and bless your judges' phlegm."]





       *       *       *       *       *





197.--To R.C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811.


I have returned from Lancashire, and ascertained that my property there
may be made very valuable, but various circumstances very much
circumscribe my exertions at present. I shall be in town on business in
the beginning of November, and perhaps at Cambridge before the end of
this month; but of my movements you shall be regularly apprised. Your
objections I have in part done away by alterations, which I hope will
suffice; and I have sent two or three additional stanzas for both
_"Fyttes."_ I have been again shocked with a _death_, and have lost one
very dear to me in happier times [1]; but "I have almost forgot the
taste of grief," and "supped full of horrors" [2] till I have become
callous, nor have I a tear left for an event which, five years ago,
would have bowed down my head to the earth. It seems as though I were to
experience in my youth the greatest misery of age. My friends fall
around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I am withered. Other
men can always take refuge in their families; I have no resource but my
own reflections, and they present no prospect here or hereafter, except
the selfish satisfaction of surviving my betters. I am indeed very
wretched, and you will excuse my saying so, as you know I am not apt to
cant of sensibility.

Instead of tiring yourself with _my_ concerns, I should be glad to hear
_your_ plans of retirement. I suppose you would not like to be wholly
shut out of society? Now I know a large village, or small town, about
twelve miles off, where your family would have the advantage of very
genteel society, without the hazard of being annoyed by mercantile
affluence; where _you_ would meet with men of information and
independence; and where I have friends to whom I should be proud to
introduce you. There are, besides, a coffee-room, assemblies, etc.,
etc., which bring people together. My mother had a house there some
years, and I am well acquainted with the economy of Southwell, the name
of this little commonwealth. Lastly, you will not be very remote from
me; and though I am the very worst companion for young people in the
world, this objection would not apply to _you_, whom I could see
frequently. Your expenses, too, would be such as best suit your
inclinations, more or less, as you thought proper; but very little would
be requisite to enable you to enter into all the gaieties of a country
life. You could be as quiet or bustling as you liked, and certainly as
well situated as on the lakes of Cumberland, unless you have a
particular wish to be _picturesque_.

Pray, is your Ionian friend in town? You have promised me an
introduction. You mention having consulted some friend on the MSS. Is
not this contrary to our usual way? Instruct Mr. Murray not to allow his
shopman to call the work _Child of Harrow's Pilgrimage_!!!!! [3] as he
has done to some of my astonished friends, who wrote to inquire after my
_sanity_ on the occasion, as well they might. I have heard nothing of
Murray, whom I scolded heartily. Must I write more notes? Are there not
enough? Cawthorn must be kept back with the _Hints_. I hope he is
getting on with Hobhouse's quarto. Good evening.

Yours ever, etc.



[Footnote 1: The reference is to Edleston (see 'Letters', vol. i. p.
130, note 3 [Footnote 2 of Letter 74]), of whose death Miss Edleston had
recently sent Byron an account.]


[Footnote 2:

  "I have almost forgot the taste of fears:
  ...
  I have supp'd full with horrors."

'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5.]


[Footnote 3: Francis Hodgson, writing to Byron, October 8, 1811, says,

  "Murray's shopman, taught, I presume, by himself, calls 'Psyche'
  'Pishy,' 'The Four Slaves of Cythera' 'The Four do. of Cythera,' and
  'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' 'Child of Harrow's Pilgrimage.' This
  misnomering Vendor of Books must have been misbegotten in some
  portentous union of the Malaprops and the Slipslops."]





       *       *       *       *       *





198.--To Francis Hodgson.


Newstead Abbey, Oct. 13, 1811.


You will begin to deem me a most liberal correspondent; but as my
letters are free, you will overlook their frequency. I have sent you
answers in prose and verse to all your late communications; and though I
am invading your ease again, I don't know why, or what to put down that
you are not acquainted with already. I am growing _nervous_ (how you
will laugh!)--but it is true,--really, wretchedly, ridiculously,
fine-ladically _nervous_. Your climate kills me; I can neither read,
write, nor amuse myself, or any one else. My days are listless, and my
nights restless; I have very seldom any society, and when I have, I run
out of it. At "this present writing," there are in the next room three
_ladies_, and I have stolen away to write this grumbling letter.--I
don't know that I sha'n't end with insanity, for I find a want of method
in arranging my thoughts that perplexes me strangely; but this looks
more like silliness than madness, as Scrope Davies would facetiously
remark in his consoling manner. I must try the hartshorn of your
company; and a session of Parliament would suit me well,--any thing to
cure me of conjugating the accursed verb "_ennuyer_."

When shall you be at Cambridge? You have hinted, I think, that your
friend Bland [1] is returned from Holland. I have always had a great
respect for his talents, and for all that I have heard of his character;
but of me, I believe he knows nothing, except that he heard my sixth
form repetitions ten months together at the average of two lines a
morning, and those never perfect. I remembered him and his _Slaves_ as I
passed between Capes Matapan, St. Angelo, and his Isle of Ceriga, and I
always bewailed the absence of the _Anthology_. I suppose he will now
translate Vondel, the Dutch Shakspeare, and _Gysbert van Amsteli_ [2]

will easily be accommodated to our stage in its present state; and I
presume he saw the Dutch poem, where the love of Pyramus and Thisbe is
compared to the passion of Christ; also the love of Lucifer for Eve, and
other varieties of Low Country literature.

No doubt you will think me crazed to talk of such things, but they are
all in black and white and good repute on the banks of every canal from
Amsterdam to Alkmaar.

Yours ever,

B.

My poesy is in the hands of its various publishers; but the _Hints from
Horace_ (to which I have subjoined some savage lines on Methodism, [3]
and ferocious notes on the vanity of the triple Editory of the _Edin.
Annual Register_ [4]), my _Hints_, I say, stand still, and why?--I have
not a friend in the world (but you and Drury) who can construe Horace's
Latin or my English well enough to adjust them for the press, or to
correct the proofs in a grammatical way. So that, unless you have bowels
when you return to town (I am too far off to do it for myself), this
ineffable work will be lost to the world for--I don't know how many
_weeks_.

_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_ must wait till _Murray's_ is finished. He
is making a tour in Middlesex, and is to return soon, when high matter
may be expected. He wants to have it in quarto, which is a cursed
unsaleable size; but it is pestilent long, and one must obey one's
bookseller. I trust Murray will pass the Paddington Canal without being
seduced by Payne and Mackinlay's example,--I say Payne and Mackinlay,
supposing that the partnership held good. Drury, the villain, has not
written to me; "I am never (as Mrs. Lumpkin [5] says to Tony) to be
gratified with the monster's dear wild notes."

So you are going (going indeed!) into orders. You must make your peace
with the Eclectic Reviewers--they accuse you of impiety, I fear, with
injustice. Demetrius, the "Sieger of Cities," is here, with "Gilpin
Horner." [6]

The painter [7] is not necessary, as the portraits he already painted
are (by anticipation) very like the new animals.--Write, and send me
your "Love Song"--but I want _paulo majora_ from you. Make a dash before
you are a deacon, and try a _dry_ publisher.

Yours always,

B.



[Footnote 1: For Robert Bland, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 271, 'note' 1
[Footnote 2 of Letter 137]. In his 'Four Slaves of Cythera' (1809),
Canto I., occur the following lines:

  "Now full in sight the Paphian gardens smile,
  And thence by many a green and summer isle,
  Whose ancient walls and temples seem to sleep,
  Enshadowed on the mirror of the deep,
  They coast along Cythera's happy ground,
  Gem of the sea, for love's delight renown'd."]


[Footnote 2: Bland had been acting as English Chaplain in Holland. Joost
Van Vondel (1587-1679), born at Cologne of Anabaptist parents, became a
Roman Catholic in 1641. Most of his thirty-two tragedies are on
classical or religious subjects, and in the latter may be traced his
gradual change of faith. 'Gysbrecht van Amstel'(1637) is a play, the
action of which takes place on Christmas Day in the thirteenth century.
The scene is laid at Amsterdam, which is captured by a ruse like that of
the Greeks at Troy. The play appealed strongly to the patriotic
instincts of the Dutch by its prophecy of the future greatness of
Amsterdam. Vondel's 'Lucifer' (1654) has been often compared to
'Paradise Lost'. It also bears some affinities to 'Cain'. In it the
Archangel Lucifer rebels against God on learning the Divine intention to
take on Himself the nature, not of Angels, but of Man.]


[Footnote 3: 'Hints from Horace', lines 371-382.]


[Footnote 4: 'The Edinburgh Annual Register' (1808-26) was published by
John Ballantyne and Co. The prospectus promised a general history of
Europe; a collection of State papers; a chronicle of events; original
essays on morality, literature, and science; and articles on biography,
the useful arts, and meteorology. The Editor was Scott, and Southey was
responsible for the historical department. The first two parts, giving
the history of 1808, did not appear till July, 1810, and then with an
editorial apology for the omission of the articles on biography, the
useful arts, and meteorology; also with an explanation that the idea of
original essays on morality, literature, and science had been abandoned.
The venture, thus unfortunately launched, never succeeded. For Byron's
attack, see 'Hints from Horace', line 657, and his 'note'.]


[Footnote 5: This is an obvious slip for "Mrs. Hardcastle," who, in 'She
Stoops to Conquer' (act ii.), says,

  "I'm never to be delighted with your agreeable wild notes, unfeeling
  monster!"]


[Footnote 6: Probably Demetrius, his Greek servant, whom he nicknames
after Demetrius Poliorcetes, and Claridge, who had bored Byron during a
long stay of three weeks.]


[Footnote 7: Barber, whom he had brought down to Newstead to paint his
wolf and his bear.]





       *       *       *       *       *





199.--To R. C. Dallas.


Oct. 14, 1811.


DEAR SIR,--Stanza 9th, for Canto 2nd, somewhat altered, to avoid
recurrence in a former stanza.


STANZA 9.

  There, thou! whose love and life together fled,
    Have left me here to love and live in vain:--
  Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead,
    When busy Memory flashes o'er my brain?
  Well--I will dream that we may meet again,
    And woo the vision to my vacant breast;
  If aught of young Remembrance then remain,
    Be as it may
    Whate'er beside Futurity's behest;

or,--

  Howe'er may be
  For me 'twere bliss enough to see thy spirit blest!


I think it proper to state to you, that this stanza alludes to an event
which has taken place since my arrival here, and not to the death of any
_male_ friend.

Yours,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





200.--To R. C. Dallas.


Newstead Abbey, Oct. 16, 1811.


I am on the wing for Cambridge. Thence, after a short stay, to London.
Will you be good enough to keep an account of all the MSS. you receive,
for fear of omission? Have you adopted the three altered stanzas of the
latest proof? I can do nothing more with them. I am glad you like the
new ones. Of the last, and of the _two_, I sent for a new edition,
to-day a _fresh note_. The lines of the second sheet I fear must stand;
I will give you reasons when we meet.

Believe me, yours ever,

BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *





201.--To R. C. Dallas.


Cambridge, Oct. 25, 1811.


DEAR SIR,--I send you a conclusion to the _whole_. In a stanza towards
the end of Canto I. in the line,

  Oh, known the earliest and _beloved_ the most,

I shall alter the epithet to "_esteemed_ the most." The present stanzas
are for the end of Canto II. For the beginning of the week I shall be at
No. 8, my old lodgings, in St. James' Street, where I hope to have the
pleasure of seeing you.

Yours ever,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





202.--To Thomas Moore. [1]


Cambridge, October 27, 1811.


SIR,--Your letter followed me from Notts, to this place, which will
account for the delay of my reply.

Your former letter I never had the honour to receive;--be assured in
whatever part of the world it had found me, I should have deemed it my
duty to return and answer it in person.

The advertisement you mention, I know nothing of.--At the time of your
meeting with Mr. Jeffrey, I had recently entered College, and remember
to have heard and read a number of squibs on the occasion; and from the
recollection of these I derived all my knowledge on the subject, without
the slightest idea of "giving the lie" to an address which I never
beheld. When I put my name to the production, which has occasioned this
correspondence, I became responsible to all whom it might concern,--to
explain where it requires explanation, and, where insufficiently or too
sufficiently explicit, at all events to satisfy. My situation leaves me
no choice; it rests with the injured and the angry to obtain reparation
in their own way.

With regard to the passage in question, _you_ were certainly _not_ the
person towards whom I felt personally hostile. On the contrary, my whole
thoughts were engrossed by one, whom I had reason to consider as my
worst literary enemy, nor could I foresee that his former antagonist was
about to become his champion. You do not specify what you would wish to
have done: I can neither retract nor apologise for a charge of falsehood
which I never advanced.

In the beginning of the week, I shall be at No. 8, St. James's
Street.--Neither the letter nor the friend to whom you stated your
intention ever made their appearance.

Your friend, Mr. Rogers, [2] or any other gentleman delegated by you,
will find me most ready to adopt any conciliatory proposition which
shall not compromise my own honour,--or, failing in that, to make the
atonement you deem it necessary to require.

I have the honour to be, Sir,

Your most obedient, humble servant,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Thomas Moore (1779-1852), by his literary and social gifts,
had made his name several years before 1811, when he first became
personally acquainted with Byron. His precocity was as remarkable as his
versatility. The son of a Dublin grocer, for whom his political interest
secured the post of barrack-master, he went, like Sheridan, to Samuel
Whyte's school, and was afterwards at Trinity College, Dublin. Before he
was fifteen he had written verses, including lines to Whyte, himself a
poet, the publication of which, in the 'Anthologia Hibernica' (October,
1793; February, March, and June, 1794), gained him a local reputation.
Coming to London in 1799, he read law at the Middle Temple. His 'Odes'
translated from Anacreon (1800), dedicated to the Prince of Wales,
opened to him the houses of the Whig aristocracy; and his powers as a
singer, an actor, a talker, and, later, as a satirist, made him a
favourite in society. In 1801 appeared his 'Poems: by the late Thomas
Little', amatory verses which Byron read, and imitated in some of the
silliest of his youthful lines.

The review of Moore's 'Odes, Epistles, and Other Poems' (1806), which
appeared in the 'Edinburgh Review' for July, 1806, provoked Moore to
challenge Jeffrey. Their duel with "leadless pistols" led, not only to
Moore's friendship with Jeffrey, but, indirectly, as is seen from the
following letters, to Moore's acquaintance with Byron. Moore himself
contributed to the 'Edinburgh', between the years 1814 and 1834, essays
on multifarious subjects, from poetry to German Rationalism, from the
Fathers to French official life. In 1807 the first of the 'Irish
Melodies' was published; they continued to appear at irregular intervals
till 1834, when 122 had been printed. A master of the art of
versification, Moore sings, with graceful fancy, in a tone of mingled
mirth and melancholy, his love of his country, of the wine of other
countries, and the women of all countries. But, except in his
patriotism, he shows little depth of feeling. The 'Melodies' are the
work of a brilliantly clever man, endowed with an exquisite musical ear,
and a temperament that is rather susceptible than intense. With them may
be classed his 'National Airs' (1815) and 'Sacred Song' (1816).

Moore had already found one field in which he excelled; it was not long
before he discovered another. His serious satires, 'Corruption' (1808),
'Intolerance' (1808), and 'The Sceptic' (1809), failed. His nature was
neither deep enough nor strong enough for success in such themes. In the
ephemeral strife of party politics he found his real province. Nothing
can be better of their kind than the metrical lampoons collected in
'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag, by Thomas Brown the
Younger' (1813). In his hands the bow and arrows of Cupid become
formidable weapons of party warfare; nor do their ornaments impede the
movements of the archer. The shaft is gaily winged and brightly
polished; the barb sharp and dipped in venom; and the missile hums music
as it flies to its mark. Moore's satire is the satire of the Clubs at
its best; but it is scarcely the satire of literature. 'The Twopenny
Post-bag' was the parent of many similar productions, beginning with
'The Fudge Family in Paris' (1818), and ending with 'Fables for the Holy
Alliance' (1823), which he dedicated to Byron.

As a serious poet, and the author of 'Lalla Rookh' (1817), 'The Loves of
the Angels' (1823), and 'Alciphron' (1839), Moore was perhaps overrated
by his contemporaries. In spite of their brightness of fancy, metrical
skill, and brilliant cleverness, they lack the greater elements of the
highest poetry.

Moore's prose work begins, apart from his contributions to periodical
literature, with the 'Memoirs of Captain Rock' (1824), 'The Epicurean'
(1827), 'The Travels of an Irish Gentleman in Search of a Religion'
(1834), 'The History of Ireland' (1846); and a succession of
biographies--the life of 'Sheridan' (1825), of 'Byron' (1830), and 'Lord
Edward Fitzgerald' (1831)--complete the list. In the midst of his
biographical work, Moore was advised by Lord Lansdowne to write nine
lives at once, and print them together under the title of 'The Cat'.

In 1811 Moore married Miss Elizabeth Dyke (born 1793), an actress who
fascinated him at the Kilkenny private theatricals in 1809. To the outer
world, Mrs. Moore's bird, as she called him, was a sprightly little
songster, who lived in a whirl of dinners, suppers, concerts, and
theatricals. These, as well as his private anxieties and misfortunes,
are recorded in the eight volumes of his 'Memoirs, Journals, and
Correspondence', which were edited by Lord John Russell, in 1853. Moore
was an excellent son, a good husband, an affectionate father, and to
Byron a loyal friend, neither envious nor subservient. Clare, Hobhouse,
and Moore were (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', 2nd edition, 1850,
pp. 393, 394) the only persons whose friendship Byron never disclaimed.
He spoke of Moore ('ibid'., pp. 322, 323) as "a delightful companion,
gay without being boisterous, witty without effort, comic without
coarseness, and sentimental without being lachrymose. He reminds one of
the fairy who, whenever she spoke, let diamonds fall from her lips. My
'tete-a-tete' suppers with Moore are among the most agreeable
impressions I retain of the hours passed in London."

In July, 1806, in consequence of the article in the 'Edinburgh Review'
on his recent volume of 'Poems', Moore sent, through his friend Hume, a
challenge to Jeffrey, who was seconded by Francis Horner, and a meeting
was arranged. Moore, who had only once in his life discharged a firearm
of any kind, and then nearly blew his thumb off, borrowed a case of
pistols from William Spencer, and bought in Bond Street enough powder
and bullets for a score of duels. The parties met at Chalk Farm; the
seconds loaded the pistols, placed the men at their posts, and were
about to give the signal to fire, when the police officers, rushing upon
them from behind a hedge, knocked Jeffrey's weapon from his hand,
disarmed Moore, and conveyed the whole party to Bow Street. They were
released on bail; but, on Moore returning to claim the borrowed pistols,
the officer refused to give them up, because only Moore's pistol was
loaded with ball. Horner, however, gave evidence that he had seen both
pistols loaded; and there, but for the reports circulated in the
newspapers, the affair would have ended. But the joke was too good to be
allowed to drop, and, in spite of Moore's published letter, he was for
months a target for the wits ('Memoirs, Journals, and Correspondence',
vol. i. pp. 199-208).

In 'English Bards, etc.', lines 466, 467, and his 'note', Byron made
merry over "Little's leadless pistol," with the result that, when the
second edition oL the satire was published, with his name attached,
Moore sent him the following letter:--

"Dublin, January 1, 1810.

"My Lord,--Having just seen the name of 'Lord Byron' prefixed to a work
entitled 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', in which, as it appears
to me, 'the lie is given' to a public statement of mine, respecting an
affair with Mr. Jeffrey some years since, I beg you will have the
goodness to inform me whether I may consider your Lordship as the author
of this publication.

"I shall not, I fear, be able to return to London for a week or two;
but, in the mean time, I trust your Lordship will not deny me the
satisfaction of knowing whether you avow the insult contained in the
passages alluded to.

"It is needless to suggest to your Lordship the propriety of keeping our
correspondence secret.

"I have the honour to be,

"Your Lordship's very humble servant,

"THOMAS MOORE.

"22, Molesworth Street."

Owing to Byron's absence abroad, the letter never reached him; it was,
in fact, kept back by Hodgson. On his return to England, Moore, who in
the interval had married, sent him a second letter, restating the nature
of the insult he had received in 'English Bards'.

"'It is now useless,' I continued ('Life', p. 143), 'to speak of the
steps with which it was my intention to follow up that letter. The time
which has elapsed since then, though it has done away neither the injury
nor the feeling of it, has, in many respects, materially altered my
situation; and the only object which I have now in writing to your
Lordship is to preserve some consistency with that former letter, and to
prove to you that the injured feeling still exists, however
circumstances may compel me to be deaf to its dictates, at present. When
I say "injured feeling," let me assure your Lordship that there is not a
single vindictive sentiment in my mind towards you. I mean but to
express that uneasiness, under (what I consider to be) a charge of
falsehood, which must haunt a man of any feeling to his grave, unless
the insult be retracted or atoned for; and which, if I did 'not' feel, I
should, indeed, deserve far worse than your Lordship's satire could
inflict upon me.' In conclusion I added, that so far from being
influenced by any angry or resentful feeling towards him, it would give
me sincere pleasure if, by any satisfactory explanation, he would enable
me to seek the honour of being henceforward ranked among his
acquaintance."

Byron's letter of October 27, 1811. was written in reply to this second
letter from Moore.]


[Footnote 2: For Samuel Rogers, see p. 67, note 1.]





       *       *       *       *       *





203.--To R. C. Dallas.


8, St. James's Street, 29th October, 1811.


DEAR SIR,--I arrived in town last night, and shall be very glad to see
you when convenient.

Yours very truly,

BYRON.



204.--To Thomas Moore. [1]


8, St. James's Street, October 29, 1811.

SIR,--Soon after my return to England, my friend, Mr. Hodgson, apprised
me that a letter for me was in his possession; but a domestic event
hurrying me from London immediately after, the letter (which may most
probably be your own) is still _unopened in his keeping_. If, on
examination of the address, the similarity of the handwriting should
lead to such a conclusion, it shall be opened in your presence, for the
satisfaction of all parties. Mr. H. is at present out of town;--on
Friday I shall see him, and request him to forward it to my address.

With regard to the latter part of both your letters, until the principal
point was discussed between us, I felt myself at a loss in what manner
to reply. Was I to anticipate friendship from one, who conceived me to
have charged him with falsehood? Were not _advances_, under such
circumstances, to be misconstrued,--not, perhaps, by the person to whom
they were addressed, but by others? In _my_ case such a step was
impracticable. If you, who conceived yourself to be the offended person,
are satisfied that you had no cause for offence, it will not be
difficult to convince me of it. My situation, as I have before stated,
leaves me no choice. I should have felt proud of your acquaintance, had
it commenced under other circumstances; but it must rest with you to
determine how far it may proceed after so _auspicious_ a beginning.

I have the honour to be, etc.



[Footnote 1: Moore had replied, accepting Byron's explanation, and
adding,

  "As your Lordship does not show any wish to proceed beyond the rigid
  formulary of explanation, it is not for me to make any further
  advances. We Irishmen, in businesses of this kind, seldom know any
  medium between decided hostility and decided friendship; but, as any
  approaches towards the latter alternative must now depend entirely on
  your Lordship, I have only to repeat that I am satisfied with your
  letter, and that I have the honour to be," etc., etc.]





       *       *       *       *       *





205.--To Thomas Moore. [1]


8, St. James's Street, October 30, 1811.

SIR,--You must excuse my troubling you once more upon this very
unpleasant subject. It would be a satisfaction to me, and I should think
to yourself, that the unopened letter in Mr. Hodgson's possession
(supposing it to prove your own) should be returned _in statu quo_ to
the writer; particularly as you expressed yourself "not quite easy under
the manner in which I had dwelt on its miscarriage."

A few words more, and I shall not trouble you further. I felt, and still
feel, very much flattered by those parts of your correspondence, which
held out the prospect of our becoming acquainted. If I did not meet them
in the first instance as perhaps I ought, let the situation I was placed
in be my defence. You have _now_ declared yourself _satisfied_, and on
that point we are no longer at issue. If, therefore, you still retain
any wish to do me the honour you hinted at, I shall be most happy to
meet you, when, where, and how you please, and I presume you will not
attribute my saying thus much to any unworthy motive.

I have the honour to remain, etc.



[Footnote 1:

  "Piqued," says Moore ('Life', 144), "at the manner in which my efforts
  towards a more friendly understanding were received,"

he had briefly expressed his satisfaction at Byron's explanation, and
added that the correspondence might close.]





       *       *       *       *       *





206.--To R. C. Dallas.


8, St. James's Street, October 31, 1811.

DEAR SIR,--I have already taken up so much of your time that there needs
no excuse on your part, but a great many on mine, for the present
interruption. I have altered the passages according to your wish. With
this note I send a few stanzas on a subject which has lately occupied
much of my thoughts. They refer to the death of one to whose name you
are a _stranger_, and, consequently, cannot be interested. I mean them
to complete the present volume. They relate to the same person whom I
have mentioned in Canto 2nd, and at the conclusion of the poem.

I by no means intend to identify myself with 'Harold', but to _deny_ all
connection with him. If in parts I may be thought to have drawn from
myself, believe me it is but in parts, and I shall not own even to that.
As to the _Monastic dome_, etc., [1] I thought those circumstances would
suit him as well as any other, and I could describe what I had seen
better than I could invent. I would not be such a fellow as I have made
my hero for all the world.

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1: 'Childe Harold', Canto II. stanza xlviii.]





       *       *       *       *       *





207.--To Thomas Moore.


8, St. James's Street, November 1, 1811.

Sir,--As I should be very sorry to interrupt your Sunday's engagement,
if Monday, or any other day of the ensuing week, would be equally
convenient to yourself and friend, I will then have the honour of
accepting his invitation. [1]

Of the professions of esteem with which Mr. Rogers [2] has honoured me,
I cannot but feel proud, though undeserving. I should be wanting to
myself, if insensible to the praise of such a man; and, should my
approaching interview with him and his friend lead to any degree of
intimacy with both or either, I shall regard our past correspondence as
one of the happiest events of my life. I have the honour to be,

Your very sincere and obedient servant,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Rogers has left an account of this dinner.

  "Neither Moore nor myself had ever seen Byron when it was settled that
  he should dine at my house to meet Moore; nor was he known by sight to
  Campbell, who, happening to call upon me that morning, consented to
  join the party. I thought it best that I alone should  be in the
  drawing-room when Byron entered it; and Moore and Campbell accordingly
  withdrew. Soon after his arrival, they returned; and I introduced them
  to him severally, naming them as Adam named the beasts. When we sat
  down to dinner, I asked Byron if he would take soup? 'No; he never
  took soup.' 'Would he take some fish?' 'No; he never took fish.'
  Presently I asked if he would eat some mutton? 'No; he never ate
  mutton.' I then asked if he would take a glass of wine? 'No; he never
  tasted wine.' It was now necessary to inquire what he 'did' eat and
  drink; and the answer was, 'Nothing but hard biscuits and soda-water.'
  Unfortunately, neither hard biscuits nor soda-water were at hand; and
  he dined upon potatoes bruised down on his plate and drenched with
  vinegar. My guests stayed very late, discussing the merits of Walter
  Scott and Joanna Baillie. Some days after, meeting Hobhouse, I said to
  him, 'How long will Lord Byron persevere in his present diet? 'He
  replied, 'Just as long as you continue to notice it.' I did not then
  know, what I now know to be a fact, that Byron, after leaving my
  house, had gone to a Club in St. James's Street and eaten a hearty
  meat-supper"

('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', pp. 231, 232). Moore's ('Life', p. 145)
first impressions of Byron were

  "the nobleness of his air, his beauty, the gentleness of his voice and
  manners, and--what was naturally not the least attraction--his marked
  kindness to myself. Being in mourning for his mother, the colour, as
  well of his dress, as of his glossy, curling, and picturesque hair,
  gave more effect to the pure, spiritual paleness of his features, in
  the expression of which, when he spoke, there was a perpetual play of
  lively thought, though melancholy was their habitual character when in
  repose."]


[Footnote 2: Samuel Rogers (1763-1855), the third son of a London
banker, was born at Stoke Newington. Shortly after his father's death,
in 1793, he withdrew from any active part in the management of the bank,
and devoted himself for the rest of his long life to literature, art,
and society. In 1803 he moved from chambers in the Temple to a house in
St. James's Place, overlooking the Green Park. Here he lived till his
death, in December, 1855, and here he gathered round him, at his
celebrated breakfasts, the most distinguished men and women of his time.
An excellent account of the "Town Mouse" entertaining the "Country
Mouse" is given by Dean Stanley ('Life', vol. i. p. 298), who met
Wordsworth at breakfast with Rogers, in 1841, and describes

  "the town mouse a sleek, well-fed, sly, 'white' mouse, and the
  country mouse with its rough, weather-worn face and grey hairs; the
  town mouse displaying its delicate little rolls and pyramids of
  glistening strawberries, the country mouse exulting in its hollow
  tree, its crust of bread and liberty, and rallying its brother on his
  late hours and frequent dinners."

One of his earliest recollections was the sight of a rebel's head  upon
a pole at Temple Bar. He had talked with a Thames boatman who remembered
Pope; had seen Garrick in 'The Suspicious Husband'; had heard Sir Joshua
Reynolds deliver his last lecture as President of the Royal Academy; had
seen John Wesley "lying in state" in the City Road; had gone to call on
Dr. Johnson, but, when his hand was on the knocker, found his courage
fled. He lived to be offered the laureateship in 1850, on the death of
Wordsworth, and to decline it in favour of Tennyson.

  "Time was," wrote Mathias ('Pursuits of Literature', note, p. 360, ed.
  1808), "when bankers were as stupid as their guineas could make them;
  they were neither orators, nor painters, nor poets. But now. .. Mr.
  Rogers dreams on Parnassus; and, if I am rightly informed, there is a
  great demand among his brethren for the 'Pleasures of Memory'."

Rogers began to write poetry at an early age, and continued to write it
all his life. His 'Ode to Superstition' was published in 1786; the
'Pleasures of Memory', in 1792; the 'Epistle to a Friend', in 1798;
'Columbus', in 1812; 'Jacqueline', in 1813; 'Human Life', in 1819;
'Italy', in 1822-34. His later years were occupied in revising,
correcting, or amplifying his published poems, and in preparing the
notes to 'Italy', which are admirable studies in compactness and
precision of language. A disciple of Pope, an imitator of Goldsmith,
Rogers was rather a skilful adapter than an original poet. His chief
talent was his taste; if he could not originate, he could appreciate.
The fastidious care which he lavished on his work has preserved it. In
his commonplace-book he has entered the number of years which he spent
in composing and revising his poems. His 'Pleasures of Memory' occupied
seven years, 'Columbus' fourteen, and 'Italy' fifteen. An excellent
judge of art, he employed Flaxman, Stothard, and Turner at a time when
their powers were little appreciated by his fellow-countrymen. Of his
taste Byron speaks enthusiastically in his Journal (see p. 331). But the
following passage (hitherto unpublished) from his 'Detached Thoughts'
(Ravenna, 1821) gives his later opinion of the man:

  "When Sheridan was on his death-bed, Rogers aided him with purse and
  person. This was particularly kind of Rogers, who always spoke ill of
  Sheridan (to me, at least), but, indeed, he does that of everybody to
  anybody. Rogers is the reverse of the line:

    'The _best good man_ with the _worst_ natured Muse,'

  being:

    'The _worst_ good man with the _best_ natured Muse.'

  His Muse being all Sentiment and Sago and Sugar, while he himself is a
  venomous talker. I say 'worst good man' because he is (perhaps) a
  'good' man; at least he does good now and then, as well he may,
  to purchase himself a shilling's worth of salvation for his slanders.
  They are so 'little', too--small talk--and old Womanny, and he is
  malignant too--and envious--and--he be damned!"

In a manuscript note to these passages Sir Walter Scott writes,

  "I never heard Rogers say a single word against Byron, which is rather
  odd too. Byron wrote a bitter and undeserved satire on Rogers. This
  conduct must have been motived by something or other."

Speaking of Rogers and Sheridan, he says,

  "He certainly took pennyworths out of his friend's character. I sat
  three hours for my picture to Sir Thomas Lawrence, during which the
  whole conversation was filled up by Rogers with stories of Sheridan,
  for the least of which, if true, he deserved the gallows. One
  respected his committing a rape on his sister-in-law on the day of her
  husband's funeral. Others were worse."

In politics Rogers was a Whig, in religion a Presbyterian. But
he meddled little with either. In private life he was as kindly in
action as he was caustic in speech. A sensitive man himself, he
studied to be satirical to others. When Ward condemned 'Columbus'
in the 'Quarterly Review', Rogers repaid his critic in the stinging
epigram:

  "Ward has no heart, they say; but I deny it;
  He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it."

Byron warmly admired Rogers's poetry. To him he dedicated 'The Giaour',
in

  "admiration for his genius, respect for his character, and gratitude
  for his friendship."

The 'Quarterly Review', in an article on 'The Corsair' and 'Lara',
mentions

  "the highly refined, but somewhat insipid, pastoral tale of
  'Jacqueline'."

Byron, on reading the review, said to Lady Byron,

  "The man's a fool. 'Jacqueline' is as superior to 'Lara' as Rogers is
  to me"

('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', p. 154, 'note').

  "The 'Pleasures of Memory'," he said (Lady Blessington's
  'Conversations', p. 153), "is a very beautiful poem, harmonious,
  finished, and chaste; it contains not a single meretricious ornament.
  If Rogers has not fixed himself in the higher fields of Parnassus, he
  has, at least, cultivated a very pretty flower-garden at its base."
  But he goes on to speak of the poem (p. 354) as "a 'hortus siccus' of
  pretty flowers," and an illustration of "the difference between
  inspiration and versification."

If Rogers ever saw Byron's 'Question and Answer' (1818), he was
generous enough to forget the satire. In 'Italy' he paid a noble
tribute to the genius of the dead poet:

  "He is now at rest;
  And praise and blame fall on his ear alike,
  Now dull in death. Yes, Byron, thou art gone,
  Gone like a star that through the firmament
  Shot and was lost, in its eccentric course
  Dazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks,
  Was generous, noble--noble in its scorn
  Of all things low or little; nothing there
  Sordid or servile. If imagined wrongs
  Pursued thee, urging thee sometimes to do
  Things long regretted, oft, as many know,
  None more than I, thy gratitude would build
  On slight foundations; and, if in thy life
  Not happy, in thy death thou surely wert,
  Thy wish accomplished; dying in the land
  Where thy young mind had caught ethereal fire,
  Dying in Greece, and in a cause so glorious!
    They in thy train--ah, little did they think,
  As round we went, that they so soon should sit
  Mourning beside thee, while a Nation mourned,
  Changing her festal for her funeral song;
  That they so soon should hear the minute-gun,
  As morning gleamed on what remained of thee,
  Roll o'er the sea, the mountains, numbering
  Thy years of joy and sorrow.
                                Thou art gone;
  And he who would assail thee in thy grave,
  Oh, let him pause! For who among us all,
  Tried as thou wert--even from thy earliest years,
  When wandering, yet unspoilt, a Highland boy--
  Tried as thou wert, and with thy soul of flame;
  Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek,
  Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine,
  Her charmed cup--ah, who among us all
  Could say he had not erred as much, and more?"]





       *       *       *       *       *





208.--To Francis Hodgson.


8, St. James's Street, November 17, 1811.

Dear Hodgson,--I have been waiting for the letter [1] which was to have
been sent by you _immediately_, and must again jog your memory on the
subject. I believe I wrote you a full and true account of poor--'s
proceedings. Since his reunion to--, [2] I have heard nothing further
from him. What a pity! a man of talent, past the heyday of life, and a
clergyman, to fall into such imbecility. I have heard from Hobhouse, who
has at last sent more copy to Cawthorn for his _Travels_. I franked an
enormous cover for you yesterday, seemingly to convey at least twelve
cantos on any given subject. I fear the I aspect of it was too _epic_
for the post. From this and other coincidences I augur a publication on
your part, but what, or when, or how much, you must disclose
immediately.

I don't know what to say about coming down to Cambridge at present, but
live in hopes. I am so completely superannuated there, and besides feel
it something brazen in me to wear my magisterial habit, after all my
buffooneries, that I hardly think I shall venture again. And being now
an [Greek: ariston men hydor] disciple I won't come within wine-shot of
such determined topers as your collegiates. I have not yet subscribed to
Bowen. I mean to cut Harrow "_enim unquam_" as somebody classically said
for a farewell sentence. I am superannuated there too, and, in short, as
old at twenty-three as many men at seventy.

Do write and send this letter that hath been so long in your custody. It
is important that Moore should be certain that I never received it, if
it be _his_. Are you drowned in a bottle of Port? or a Kilderkin of Ale?
that I have never heard from you, or are you fallen into a fit of
perplexity? Cawthorn has declined, and the MS. is returned to him. This
is all at present from yours in the faith,

[Greek: Mpairon].



[Footnote 1: On November 17, 1811, Hodgson writes to Byron:

  "I enclose you the long-delayed letter, which, from the similarity of
  hands alone, Davies and I will go shares in a bet of ten to one is the
  cartel in question."]


[Footnote 2: The names are carefully erased by Hodgson.]





       *       *       *       *       *





209.--To Francis Hodgson.


8, St. James's Street, December 4, 1811.


MY DEAR HODGSON,--I have seen Miller, [1]

who will see Bland, [2] but I have no great hopes of his obtaining the
translation from the crowd of candidates. Yesterday I wrote to Harness,
who will probably tell you what I said on the subject. Hobhouse has sent
me my Romaic MS., and I shall require your aid in correcting the press,
as your Greek eye is more correct than mine. But these will not come to
type this month, I dare say. I have put some soft lines on ye Scotch in
the 'Curse of Minerva'; take them;

  "Yet Caledonia claims some native worth," etc. [3]

If you are not content now, I must say with the Irish drummer to the
deserter who called out,

  "Flog high, flog low"

  "The de'il burn ye, there's no pleasing you, flog where one will."

Have you given up wine, even British wine?

I have read Watson to Gibbon. [4] He proves nothing, so I am where I
was, verging towards Spinoza; and yet it is a gloomy Creed, and I want a
better, but there is something Pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In
short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything. The post brings me to a
conclusion. Bland has just been here. Yours ever,

BN.



[Footnote  1: See Letters', vol. i. p. 319, 'note' 2 [Footnote 1 of
Letter 158]]


[Footnote  2: Byron was endeavouring to secure for Bland (see 'Letters,
vol. i. p. 271, 'note' 1 [Footnote 2 of Letter 137]), the work of
translating Lucien Buonaparte's poem of 'Charlemagne'. He did not
succeed. The poem, translated by Dr. Butler, Head-master of Shrewsbury,
afterwards Bishop of Lichfield, and Francis Hodgson, was published in
1815.]


[Footnote 3: Lines 149-156.]


[Footnote 4: 'An Apology for Christianity, in a Series of Letters to
Edward Gibbon, Esq.', by Richard Watson, D.D. (1776). Gibbon had a great
respect for Watson, at this time Professor of Divinity at Cambridge,
afterwards Bishop of Llandaff, whom he describes as "a prelate of a
large mind and liberal spirit." In a letter to Holroyd (November 4,
1776), he speaks of the 'Apology' as "feeble," but "uncommingly
genteel." To his stepmother he writes, November 29, 1776, that Watson's
answer is "civil" and "too dull to deserve your notice."]





       *       *       *       *       *





210.--To William Harness. [1]


8, St. James's Street, Dec. 6, 1811.


My Dear Harness,--I write again, but don't suppose I mean to lay such a
tax on your pen and patience as to expect regular replies. When you are
inclined, write: when silent, I shall have the consolation of knowing
that you are much better employed. Yesterday, Bland and I called on Mr.
Miller, who, being then out, will call on Bland to-day or to-morrow. I
shall certainly endeavour to bring them together.--You are censorious,
child; when you are a little older, you will learn to dislike every
body, but abuse nobody.

With regard to the person of whom you speak, your own good sense must
direct you. I never pretend to advise, being an implicit believer in the
old proverb. This present frost is detestable. It is the first I have
felt for these three years, though I longed for one in the oriental
summer, when no such thing is to be had, unless I had gone to the top of
Hymettus for it.

I thank you most truly for the concluding part of your letter. I have
been of late not much accustomed to kindness from any quarter, and am
not the less pleased to meet with it again from one where I had known it
earliest. I have not changed in all my ramblings,--Harrow, and, of
course, yourself, never left me, and the

  "_Dulces reminiscitur Argos_"

attended me to the very spot to which that sentence alludes in the mind
of the fallen Argive.--Our intimacy began before we began to date at
all, and it rests with you to continue it till the hour which must
number it and me with the things that _were_.

Do read mathematics.--I should think _X plus Y_ at least as amusing as
the 'Curse of Kehama' [2], and much more intelligible. Master Southey's
poems _are_, in fact, what parallel lines might be--viz. prolonged _ad
infinitum_ without meeting anything half so absurd as themselves.

  "What news, what news? Queen Orraca,
  What news of scribblers five?
  S----, W----, C----, L----d, and L----e?
  All damn'd, though yet alive."

Coleridge is lecturing. [3]

 "Many an old fool," said Hannibal to some such lecturer, "but such as
 this, never." [4]

Ever yours, etc.



[Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 177, 'note' 1. [Footnote 1 of
Letter 92]]


[Footnote 2: Robert Southey (1774-1843) published his 'Curse of Kehama'
in 1810. It formed a part of a series of heroic poems in which he
intended to embody the chief mythologies of the world. In spite of
Byron's adverse opinion, it contains magnificent passages, and disputes
with 'Roderick, the Last of the Goths' (1814), the claim to be the
finest of his longer poems. Southey's literary activity was immense. He
had already produced 'Joan of Arc' (1796), 'Thalaba' (1801), 'Madoc'
(1805), and many other works in prose and verse. At this time he was
personally unknown to Byron, who had ridiculed his "annual strains."
They met for the first time at Holland House, in September, 1813. (See
Byron's letter to Moore, September 27, 1813, and Journal, p. 331.) The
animosity between the two men belongs to a later date, and in its origin
was partly political, partly personal. Southey, in early life, had been
a republican and a Unitarian, if not a deist. He collaborated with
Coleridge in the 'Fall of Robespierre' (1794), wrote a portion of the
'Conciones ad Populum' (1795), which the Government considered
seditious; and, according to Poole ('Thomas Pools and his Friends', vol.
i. chap, vi.), wavered "between Deism and Atheism." He became a champion
of monarchical principles and of religious orthodoxy, and attacked the
views, which he had once held and expressed in 'Wat Tyler' (written in
1794, and piratically published in 1817), with the bitterness of a
reactionary. He had also, as Byron believed, circulated, if not
invented, a report that Byron and Shelley had formed "a league of
incest" at Geneva, in 1816-17, with "two girls," Mary Godwin (Mrs.
Shelley) and Jane Clairmont. Byron not only denied the charge, but
retorted upon him, in his "Observations upon an Article in 'Blackwood's
Magazine'" (March 15, 1820), as the author of 'Wat Tyler' and poet
laureate, the man who "wrote treason and serves the King," the
ex-pantisocrat who advocated "all things, including women, in common."
Southey's 'Vision of Judgment', an apotheosis of George III., published
in 1821, gave Byron a second provocation and a second opportunity, by
speaking in the preface of his "Satanic spirit of pride and audacious
impiety." Byron again replied in prose; and Southey (January 5, 1820),
in a letter to the 'London Courier', invited him to attack him in rhyme.
In Byron's 'Vision of Judgment' he found his invitation accepted, and
himself pilloried in that tremendous satire. Southey overvalued his own
narrative poetry. It is as a man, a prominent figure in literary
history, a leader in the romantic revival, a master of prose, and the
author of the best short biography in the English language--the 'Life of
Nelson' (1813)--that he lives at the present day. His name also deserves
to be remembered with gratitude by all who have read the nursery classic
of "'The Three Bears'." Byron parodies a stanza in Southey's "Queen
Orraca and the Five Martyrs of Morocco" ('Works', vol. vi. pp. 166-173):

  "What news, O King Affonso,
  What news of the Friars five?
  Have they preached to the Miramamolin;
  And are they still alive?"

The blanks stand for Scott or Southey, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Lloyd, and
Lamb(e), with the lines from 'New Morality' in his mind:

  "Coleridge and Southey, Lloyd and Lamb and Co.,
  Tune all your mystic harps to praise Lepaux."]


[Footnote 3: Coleridge, beginning November 18, 1811, and ending January
27, 1812, delivered a course of seventeen lectures on Shakespeare and
Milton, "in illustration of the principles of poetry." The lectures were
given under the auspices of the London Philosophical Society, in the
Scot's Corporation Hall, Crane Court, Fleet Street. Single tickets for
the whole course were two guineas, or three guineas "with the privilege
of introducing a lady." J. Payne Collier took shorthand notes of the
lectures and published a portion of his material, the rest being lost
('Lectures on Shakespear', from notes by J.P. Collier), The notes, with
other contemporary reports from the 'Times', 'Morning Chronicle',
'Dublin Chronicle', Crabb Robinson's 'Diary', and other sources, were
republished in 1883 by Mr. Ashe ('Lectures and Notes on Shakspere and
other English Poets').

Collier, in his notes of Coleridge's conversation (November I, 1811),
gives the substance, in all probability, of the attack on Campbell
alluded to in the next letter. Coleridge said that "neither Southey,
Scott, nor Campbell would by their poetry survive much beyond the day
when they lived and wrote. Their works seemed to him not to have the
seeds of vitality, the real germs of long life. The two first were
entertaining as tellers of stories in verse; but the last, in his
'Pleasures of Hope', obviously  had no fixed design, but when a thought
(of course, not a very original one) came into his head, he put it down
in couplets, and afterwards strung the 'disjecta membra' (not 'poetae')
together. Some of the best things in it were borrowed; for instance the
line:

  'And freedom shriek'd when Kosciusko fell,'

was taken from a much-ridiculed piece by Dennis, a pindaric on William
III.:

  'Fair Liberty shriek'd out aloud, aloud Religion groaned.'

It is the same production in which the following much-laughed-at
specimen of bathos is found:

  'Nor Alps nor Pyreneans keep him out,
  Nor fortified redoubt.'

Coleridge had little toleration for Campbell, and considered him, as far
as he had gone, a mere verse-maker."(Ashe's Introduction to 'Lectures on
Shakspere', pp. 16, 17).]


[Footnote 4: Hannibal, in exile at Ephesus, was taken to hear a lecture
by a peripatetic philosopher named Phormio. The lecturer ('homo
copiosus') discoursed for some hours on the duties of a general, and
military subjects generally. The delighted audience asked Hannibal his
opinion of the lecture. He replied in Greek,

  "I have seen many old fools often, but such an old fool as Phormio,
  never

  ('Multos se deliros senes s3/4pe vidisse; sed qui magis, quam Phormio,
  deliraret, vidisse neminem')"

(Cicero, 'De Oratore', ii. 18).]





       *       *       *       *       *





211.--To James Wedderburn Webster.


8, St. James's St., Dec. 7th, 1811.


My Dear W.,--I was out of town during the arrival of your letters, but
forwarded all on my return.

I hope you are going on to your satisfaction, and that her Ladyship is
about to produce an heir with all his mother's Graces and all his Sire's
good qualities. You know I am to be a Godfather. Byron Webster! a most
heroic name, say what you please.

Don't be alarmed; my "_caprice_" won't lead me in to Dorset. No,
_Bachelors_ for me! I consider you as dead to us, and all my future
_devoirs_ are but tributes of respect to your _Memory_. Poor fellow! he
was a facetious companion and well respected by all who knew him; but he
is gone. Sooner or later we must all come to it.

I see nothing of you in the _papers_, the only place where I don't wish
to see you; but you will be in town in the Winter. What dost thou do?
shoot, hunt, and "wind up y'e Clock" as Caleb Quotem says? [1]

That thou art vastly happy, I doubt not.

I see your brother in law at times, and like him much; but we miss you
much; I shall leave town in a fortnight to pass my Xmas in Notts.

Good afternoon, Dear W.
Believe me,
Yours ever most truly,
B.



[Footnote 1: Byron alludes to Caleb Quotem's song in 'The Review, or
Wags of Windsor' (act ii. sc. 2), by George Colman the Younger:

  "I'm parish clerk and sexton here,
  My name is Caleb Quotem,
  I'm painter, glazier, auctioneer,
  In short, I am factotum."

  ...
  "At night by the fire, like a good, jolly cock,
  When my day's work is done and all over,
  I tipple, I smoke, and I wind up the clock,
  With my sweet Mrs. Quotem in clover."]





         *       *       *       *       *





212.--To William Harness.


St. James's Street, Dec. 8, 1811.

Behold a most formidable sheet, without gilt or black edging, and
consequently very vulgar and indecorous, particularly to one of your
precision; but this being Sunday, I can procure no better, and will
atone for its length by not filling it. Bland I have not seen since my
last letter; but on Tuesday he dines with me, and will meet Moore, the
epitome of all that is exquisite in poetical or personal
accomplishments. How Bland has settled with Miller, I know not. I have
very little interest with either, and they must arrange their concerns
according to their own gusto. I have done my endeavours, _at your
request_, to bring them together, and hope they may agree to their
mutual advantage.

Coleridge has been lecturing against Campbell. [1]

Rogers was present, and from him I derive the information. We are going
to make a party to hear this Manichean of poesy. Pole [2] is to marry
Miss Long, and will be a very miserable dog for all that. The present
ministers are to continue, and his Majesty _does_ continue in the same
state; so there's folly and madness for you, both in a breath.

I never heard but of one man truly fortunate, and he was Beaumarchais,
[3] the author of _Figaro_, who buried two wives and gained three
lawsuits before he was thirty.

And now, child, what art thou doing? _Reading, I trust_. I want to see
you take a degree. Remember, this is the most important period of your
life; and don't disappoint your papa and your aunt, and all your
kin--besides myself. Don't you know that all male children are begotten
for the express purpose of being graduates? and that even I am an A.M.,
[4] though how I became so the Public Orator only can resolve. Besides,
you are to be a priest; and to confute Sir William Drummond's late book
about the Bible [5] (printed, but not published), and all other infidels
whatever. Now leave Master H.'s gig, and Master S.'s Sapphics, and
become as immortal as Cambridge can make you.

You see, _Mio Carissimo_, what a pestilent correspondent I am likely to
become; but then you shall be as quiet at Newstead as you please, and I
won't disturb your studies as I do now. When do you fix the day, that I
may take you up according to contract? Hodgson talks of making a third
in our journey; but we can't stow him, inside at least. Positively you
shall go with me as was agreed, and don't let me have any of your
_politesse_ to H. on the occasion. I shall manage to arrange for both
with a little contrivance. I wish H. was not quite so fat, and we should
pack better. You will want to know what I am doing--chewing tobacco.

You see nothing of my allies, Scrope Davies and Matthews [6]--they don't
suit you; and how does it happen that I--who am a pipkin of the same
pottery--continue in your good graces? Good night,--I will go on in the
morning.

Dec. 9th.--In a morning I am always sullen, and to-day is as sombre as
myself. Rain and mist are worse than a sirocco, particularly in a
beef-eating and beer-drinking country. My bookseller, Cawthorne, has
just left me, and tells me, with a most important face, that he is in
treaty for a novel of Madame D'Arblay's, for which 1000 guineas are
asked! [7] He wants me to read the MS. (if he obtains it), which I shall
do with pleasure; but I should be very cautious in venturing an opinion
on her whose _Cecilia_ Dr. Johnson superintended. [8]

If he lends it to me, I shall put it in the hands of Rogers and Moore,
who are truly men of taste. I have filled the sheet, and beg your
pardon; I will not do it again. I shall, perhaps, write again; but if
not, believe, silent or scribbling, that I am,

My dearest William, ever, etc.



[Footnote 1: See p. 75, 'note' 1. In the application to Coleridge of the
phrase, "Manichean of poesy," Byron may allude to Cowper's 'Task' (bk.
v. lines 444, 445):

  "As dreadful as the Manichean God,
  Adored through fear, strong only to destroy."]


[Footnote 2: William Wellesley Pole Tylney Long Wellesley (1788-1857),
one of the most worthless of the bloods of the Regency, son of Lord
Maryborough, and nephew of the Duke of Wellington, became in 1845 the
fourth Earl of Mornington. He married in March, 1812, Catherine,
daughter and co-heir, with her brother, of Sir James Tylney Long, Bart.,
of Draycot, Wilts. On his marriage he added his wife's double name to
his own, and so gave a point to the authors of Rejected Addresses:

  "Long may Long-Tilney-Wellesley-Long-Pole live."

For Byron's allusion to him in 'The Waltz', see 'Poems', 1898, vol. i.
p. 484, note 1. Having run through his wife's large fortune by his
extravagant expenditure at Wanstead Park and elsewhere, he was obliged,
in 1822, to escape from his creditors to the Continent. There (1823-25)
he lived with Mrs. Bligh, wife of Captain Bligh, of the Coldstream
Guards. His wife died in 1825, after filing a bill for divorce, and
making her children wards of Chancery. Wellesley subsequently (1828)
married Mrs. Bligh; but the second wife was as ill treated as the first,
and he left her so destitute that she was a frequent applicant for
relief at the metropolitan police-courts. He died of heart-disease in
July, 1857, a pensioner on the charity of his cousin, the second Duke of
Wellington.]


[Footnote 3: Byron's statement is incorrect. Pierre-Auguste Caron de
Beaumarchais (1732-1799) married, in 1756, as his first wife,
Madeleine-Catherine Aubertin, widow of the sieur Franquet. She died in
1757. He married, in 1768, as his second wife, Genevieve-Magdaleine
Wattebled, widow of the sieur Leveque. She died in 1770. The only
lawsuit which he won "before he was thirty," was that against Lepaute,
who claimed as his own invention the escapement for watches and clocks,
which Beaumarchais had discovered. The case was decided in favour of
Beaumarchais in 1754. Out of his second lawsuit--with Count de la
Blache, legatee of his patron Duverney, who died in 1770--sprang his
action against Goezman, with which began the publication of his
'Memoires'. (See Lomenie, 'Beaumarchais and his Times', tr. by H.S.
Edwards, 4 vols., London, 1855-6.)]


[Footnote 4: Byron took his M. A. degree at Cambridge July 4, 1808.]


[Footnote 5: Sir William Drummond (1770-1828), Tory M.P. for St. Mawes
(1795-96) and for Lostwithiel (1796-1801), held from 1801 to 1809
several diplomatic posts: ambassador to the Court of Naples 1801-3; to
the Ottoman Porte 1803-6; to the Court of Naples for the second time,
1806-9. From 1809, at which date his political and diplomatic career
closed, he devoted himself to literature. He had already published
'Philosophical Sketches on the Principles of Society and Government'
(1793); 'A Review of the Governments of Sparta and Athens' (1795); 'The
Satires of Persius', translated (1798); 'Byblis, a Tragedy', in verse
(1802); 'Academical Questions' (1805). In 1810 he published
'Herculanensia'; and, in the following year, printed for private
circulation his 'OEdipus Judaicus', a bold attempt to explain many parts
of the Old Testament as astronomical allegories. In 1817 appeared the
first part of his 'Odin', a poem in blank verse; in 1824-29 his
'Origines, or Remarks on the Origin of several Empires, States, and
Cities', was published. Sir William, who died at Rome in 1828, lived
much of his later life abroad.

Drummond, as a member of the Alfred Club, is described in the
'Sexagenarian' (vol. ii. chap, xxiv.), where Beloe, speaking of the
('Edipus Judaicus'), says that

  "he appeared to have employed his leisure in searching for objections
  and arguments as they related to Scripture, which had been so often
  refuted, that they were considered by the learned and wise as almost
  exploded."

He refers to 'Byblis' as evidence of his "perverted and fantastical
taste" in poetry, praises his "spirited translation" of Persius,
commends the "sound sense and very extensive reading" of his
'Philosophical' 'Sketches', and scoffs at the "metaphysical labyrinth"
of his 'Academical Questions'.

  "When you go to Naples," said Byron to Lady Blessington
  ('Conversations', pp. 238, 239), "you must make acquaintance with Sir
  William Drummond, for he is certainly one of the most erudite men and
  admirable philosophers now living. He has all the wit of Voltaire,
  with a profundity that seldom appertains to wit, and writes so
  forcibly, and with such elegance and purity of style, that his works
  possess a peculiar charm. Have you read his 'Academical Questions'? If
  not, get them directly, and I think you will agree with me, that the
  preface to that work alone would prove Sir William Drummond an
  admirable writer. He concludes it by the following sentence, which I
  think one of the best in our language:

    "'Prejudice may be trusted to guard the outworks for a short space
    of time, while Reason slumbers in the citadel; but if the latter
    sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly erect a standard for
    herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty support each other; he who
    will not reason is a bigot; he who cannot is a fool; and he who
    dares not is a slave.'

  "Is not the passage admirable? How few could have written it! and yet
  how few read Drummond's works! They are too good to be popular. His
  'Odin' is really a fine poem, and has some passages that are
  beautiful, but it is so little read that it may be said to have
  dropped still-born from the press--a mortifying proof of the bad taste
  of the age. His translation of Persius is not only very literal, but
  preserves much of the spirit of the original... he has escaped all
  the defects of translators, and his Persius resembles the original as
  nearly, in feeling and sentiment, as two languages so dissimilar in
  idiom will admit."]


[Footnote 6: Henry Matthews (1789-1828) of Eton and King's College,
Cambridge, younger brother of Charles Skinner Matthews, and author of
the 'Diary of an Invalid' (1820).]


[Footnote 7: 'The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties', Madame d'Arblay's
fourth and last novel ('Evelina', 1778; 'Cecilia', 1782; 'Camilla',
1796), was published in 1814.

  "I am indescribably occupied," she writes to Dr. Burney, October 12,
  1813, "in giving more and more last touches to my work, about which I
  begin to grow very anxious. I am to receive merely L500 upon delivery
  of the MS.; the two following L500 by instalments from nine months to
  nine months, that is, in a year and a half from the day of
  publication. If all goes well, the whole will be L3000, but only at
  the end of the sale of eight thousand copies."

The book failed; but rumour magnified the sum received by the writer.
Mrs. Piozzi, shortly after the publication of 'The Wanderer' and of
Byron's lines, "Weep, daughter of a royal line," writes to Samuel
Lysons, February 17, 1814:

  "Come now, do send me a kind letter and tell me if Madame d'Arblaye
  gets L3000 for her book or no, and if Lord Byron is to be called over
  about some verses he has written, as the papers hint"

('Autobiography, Letters, and Literary Remains', vol. ii. p. 246).]


[Footnote 8: Dr. Johnson never saw 'Cecilia' (1782) till it was in
print. A day or two before publication, Miss Burney sent three copies to
the three persons who had the best claim to them--her father, Mrs.
Thrale, and Dr. Johnson.]





       *       *       *       *       *





213.--To Francis Hodgson.


London, Dec. 8, 1811.


I sent you a sad Tale of Three Friars the other day, and now take a dose
in another style. I wrote it a day or two ago, on hearing a song of
former days.

  "Away, away, ye notes of woe," etc., etc. [1]

I have gotten a book by Sir W. Drummond (printed, but not published),
entitled _OEdipus Judaicus_ in which he attempts to prove the greater
part of the Old Testament an allegory, particularly Genesis and Joshua.
He professes himself a theist in the preface, and handles the literal
interpretation very roughly. I wish you could see it. Mr. Ward [2] has
lent it me, and I confess to me it is worth fifty Watsons.

You and Harness must fix on the time for your visit to Newstead; I can
command mine at your wish, unless any thing particular occurs in the
interim. Master William Harness and I have recommenced a most fiery
correspondence; I like him as Euripides liked Agatho, or Darby admired
Joan, as much for the past as the present. Bland dines with me on
Tuesday to meet Moore. Coleridge has attacked the _Pleasures of Hope_,
and all other pleasures whatsoever. Mr. Rogers was present, and heard
himself indirectly _rowed_ by the lecturer. We are going in a party to
hear the new Art of Poetry by this reformed schismatic [3]; and were I
one of these poetical luminaries, or of sufficient consequence to be
noticed by the man of lectures, I should not hear him without an answer.
For you know,

  "an a man will be beaten with brains, he shall never keep a clean
  doublet." [4]

Campbell [5] will be desperately annoyed. I never saw a man (and of him
I have seen very little) so sensitive;--what a happy temperament! I am
sorry for it; what can _he_ fear from criticism? I don't know if Bland
has seen Miller, who was to call on him yesterday.

To-day is the Sabbath,--a day I never pass pleasantly, but at Cambridge;
and, even there, the organ is a sad remembrancer. Things are stagnant
enough in town; as long as they don't retrograde, 'tis all very well.
Hobhouse writes and writes and writes, and is an author. I do nothing
but eschew tobacco. [6] I wish parliament were assembled, that I may
hear, and perhaps some day be heard;--but on this point I am not very
sanguine. I have many plans;--sometimes I think of the East again, and
dearly beloved Greece. I am well, but weakly. Yesterday Kinnaird [7]
told me I looked very ill, and sent me home happy.

You will never give up wine. See what it is to be thirty! if you were
six years younger, you might leave off anything. You drink and repent;
you repent and drink.

Is Scrope still interesting and invalid? And how does Hinde with his
cursed chemistry? To Harness I have written, and he has written, and we
have all written, and have nothing now to do but write again, till Death
splits up the pen and the scribbler.

The Alfred [8] has three hundred and fifty-four candidates for six
vacancies. The cook has run away and left us liable, which makes our
committee very plaintive. Master Brook, our head serving-man, has the
gout, and our new cook is none of the best. I speak from report,--for
what is cookery to a leguminous-eating Ascetic? So now you know as much
of the matter as I do. Books and quiet are still there, and they may
dress their dishes in their own way for me. Let me know your
determination as to Newstead, and believe me, Yours ever,

[Greek: Mpairon.]



[Footnote 1: Here follows one of the 'Thyrza' poems.]


[Footnote 2: The Hon. John William Ward, afterwards fourth Earl of
Dudley. Byron said of him (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations with Lord
Byron', p. 197),

  "Ward is one of the best-informed men I know, and, in a 'tete-a-tete',
  is one of the most agreeable companions. He has great originality,
  and, being 'tres distrait', it adds to the piquancy of his
  observations, which are sometimes somewhat 'trop naive', though always
  amusing. This 'naivete' of his is the more piquant from his being
  really a good-natured man, who unconsciously thinks aloud. Interest
  Ward on a subject, and I know no one who can talk better. His
  expressions are concise without being poor, and terse and epigrammatic
  without being affected," etc.

Of somewhat the same opinion was Lady H. Leveson Gower ('Letters of
Harriet, Countess Granville', vol. i. pp. 41, 42):

  "The charm of Mr. Ward's conversation is exactly what Mr. Luttrell
  wants, a sort of 'abandon', and being entertaining because it is his
  nature and he cannot help it. I only mean Mr. Ward in his happier
  hour, for what I have said of him is the very reverse of what he is
  when vanity or humour seize upon him."]


[Footnote 3: Crabb Robinson, in his 'Diary' for January 20, 1812, has
the following entry:

  "In the evening at Coleridge's lecture. Conclusion of Milton. Not one
  of the happiest of Coleridge's efforts. Rogers was there, and with him
  was Lord Byron. He was wrapped up, but I recognized his club foot,
  and, indeed, his countenance and general appearance."]


[Footnote 4:

  "'Benedict':

  No; if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing
  handsome about him."

'Much Ado about Nothing', act v. sc. 4.]


[Footnote  5: Thomas Campbell (1777-1844) lectured at the Royal
Institution in 1811 on poetry. The lectures were afterwards published in
the 'New Monthly Magazine', of which he was editor (1820-30).

Campbell also apparently read his lectures aloud at private houses. Miss
Berry ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 502) mentions a dinner-party on June 26,
1812, at the Princess of Wales's, where she heard him read his "first
discourse," delivered at the Institution. Again (ibid., vol. iii. p. 6),
she dined with Madame de Stael, March 9, 1814:

  "Nobody but Campbell the poet, Rocca, and her own daughter. After
  dinner, Campbell read to us a discourse of his upon English poetry,
  and upon some of the great poets. There are always signs of a poet and
  critic of genius in all he does, often encumbered by too ornate a
  style."

Campbell's best work was done between 1798 and 1810. Within that period
were published 'The Pleasures of Hope' (1799), 'Gertrude of Wyoming'
(1809), and such other shorter poems as "Hohenlinden," "Ye Mariners of
England," "The Battle of the Baltic," and "O'Connor's Child." His
"Ritter Bann," a reminiscence of his sojourn abroad (1800-1), was not
published till later; both it and "The Last Man" were published in the
'New Monthly Magazine', during the period of his editorship. An
excellent judge of verse, he collected 'Specimens of the British Poets'
(1819), to which he added a valuable essay on poetry and short
biographies. His 'Theodoric' (1824), 'Pilgrim of Glencoe' (1842), and
Lives of Mrs. Siddons, Petrarch, and Shakespeare added nothing to his
reputation.

The judgment of contemporary poets in the main agreed with Coleridge's
estimate of Campbell's work.

  "There are some of Campbell's lyrics," said Rogers ('Table-Talk',
  etc., pp. 254, 255), "which will never die. His 'Pleasures of Hope' is
  no great favourite with me. The 'feeling' throughout his 'Gertrude' is
  very beautiful." Wordsworth also thought the 'Pleasures of Hope'
  "strangely over-rated; its fine words and sounding lines please the
  generality of readers, who never stop to ask themselves the meaning of
  a passage." Byron, who calls Campbell "a warm-hearted and honest man,"
  thought that his "'Lochiel' and 'Mariners' are spirit-stirring
  productions; his 'Gertrude of Wyoming' is beautiful; and some of the
  episodes in his 'Pleasures of Hope' pleased me so much that I know
  them by heart".

(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations with Lord Byron', p. 353).

George Ticknor, who met Campbell in 1815 ('Life', vol. i. p. 63), says,

  "He is a short, small man, and has one of the roundest and most lively
  faces I have seen amongst this grave people. His manners seemed as
  open as his countenance, and his conversation as spirited as his
  poetry. He could have kept me amused till morning."

Shortly afterwards, Ticknor went to see him at Sydenham (ibid., p. 65):

  "Campbell had the same good spirits and love of merriment as when I
  met him before,--the same desire to amuse everybody about him; but
  still I could see, as I partly saw then, that he labours under the
  burden of an extraordinary reputation, too easily acquired, and feels
  too constantly that it is necessary for him to make an exertion to
  satisfy expectation. The consequence is that, though he is always
  amusing, he is not always quite natural."

Sir Walter Scott made a similar remark about the numbing effect of
Campbell's reputation upon his literary work; his deference to critics
ruined his individuality. It was Scott's admiration for "Hohenlinden"
which induced Campbell to publish the poem. The two men, travelling in a
stage-coach alone, beguiled the way by repeating poetry. At last Scott
asked Campbell for something of his own. He replied that there was one
thing he had never printed, full of "drums and trumpets and
blunderbusses and thunder," and that he did not know if there was any
good in it. He then repeated "Hohenlinden." When he had finished, Scott
broke out with,

 "But, do you know, that's devilish fine! Why, it's the finest thing
  you ever wrote, and it 'must' be printed!"]


[Footnote 6: See p. 31, note 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 181].]


[Footnote 7: Douglas James William Kinnaird (1788-1830), fifth son of
the seventh Baron Kinnaird, was educated at Eton, Gottingen, and Trinity
College, Cambridge. He was an intimate friend of Hobhouse, with whom he
travelled on the Continent (1813-14), and was in political sympathy. He
represented Bishop's Castle from July, 1819, to March, 1820, but losing
his seat at the general election, did not again attempt to enter
Parliament. He was famous for his "mob dinners," to which Moore probably
refers when he writes to Byron, in an undated letter, of the
"Deipnosophist Kinnaird." He was a partner in the bank of Ransom and
Morland, a member of the committee for managing Drury Lane Theatre,
author of the acting version of 'The Merchant of Bruges, or Beggar's
Bush' (acted at Drury Lane, December 14, 1815), and a member of the
Radical Rota Club.

Kinnaird was Byron's "trusty and trustworthy trustee and banker, and
crown and sheet anchor." It was at his suggestion that Byron wrote the
'Hebrew Melodies' and the 'Monody on the Death of Sheridan'. Talking of
Kinnaird to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 215), Byron said,

  "My friend Dug is a proof that a good heart cannot compensate for an
  irritable temper; whenever he is named, people dwell on the last and
  pass over the first; and yet he really has an excellent heart, and a
  sound head, of which I, in common with many others of his friends,
  have had various proofs. He is clever, too, and well informed, and I
  do think would have made a figure in the world, were it not for his
  temper, which gives a dictatorial tone to his manner, that is
  offensive to the 'amour propre' of those with whom he mixes."]


[Footnote 8: The Alfred Club (1808-55), established at 23, Albemarle
Street, was the Savile of the day. Beloe, in his 'Sexagenarian' (vol.
ii. chaps, xx.-xxv.), describes among the members of the Symposium, as
he calls it, Sir James Mackintosh, George Ellis, William Gifford, John
Reeves, Sir W. Drummond, and himself. Byron, in his 'Detached Thoughts',
says,

  "I was a member of the Alfred. It was pleasant; a little too sober and
  literary, and bored with Sotheby and Sir Francis d'Ivernois; but one
  met Peel, and Ward, and Valentia, and many other pleasant or known
  people; and it was, upon the whole, a decent resource in a rainy day,
  in a dearth of parties, or parliament, or in an empty season."

It was, says Mr. Wheatley ('London Past and Present'), known as the
'Half-read'.

In a manuscript note, now for the first time printed as written, on the
above passage from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', Sir Walter Scott writes,

  "The Alfred, like all other clubs, was much haunted with boars, a
  tusky monster which delights to range where men most do congregate. A
  boar, or bore, is always remarkable for something respectable, such as
  wealth, character, high birth, acknowledged talent, or, in short, for
  something that forbids people to turn him out by the shoulders, or, in
  other words, to cut him dead. Much of this respectability is supplied
  by the mere circumstance of belonging to a certain society of
  clubists, within whose districts the bore obtains free-warren, and may
  wallow or grunt at pleasure. Old stagers in the club know and avoid
  the fated corner and arm-chair which he haunts; but he often rushes
  from his lair on the inexperienced."]





       *       *       *       *       *





214.--To Thomas Moore.

December 11, 1811.

My Dear Moore,--If you please, we will drop our former monosyllables,
and adhere to the appellations sanctioned by our godfathers and
godmothers. If you make it a point, I will withdraw your name; at the
same time there is no occasion, as I have this day postponed your
election 'sine die', till it shall suit your wishes to be amongst us. I
do not say this from any awkwardness the erasure of your proposal would
occasion to _me_, but simply such is the state of the case; and, indeed,
the longer your name is up, the stronger will become your probability of
success, and your voters more numerous. Of course you will decide--your
wish shall be my law. If my zeal has already outrun discretion, pardon
me, and attribute my officiousness to an excusable motive.

I wish you would go down with me to Newstead. Hodgson will be there, and
a young friend, named Harness, the earliest and dearest I ever had from
the third form at Harrow to this hour. I can promise you good wine, and,
if you like shooting, a manor of 4000 acres, fires, books, your own free
will, and my own very indifferent company. 'Balnea, vina, Venus' [1].

Hodgson will plague you, I fear, with verse;--for my own part I will
conclude, with Martial, 'nil recitabo tibi' [2]; and surely the last
inducement, is not the least. Ponder on my proposition, and believe me,
my dear Moore,

Yours ever,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1:

  "Balnea, vina, Venus  corrumpunt corpora nostra."

The words are thus given in Grueter ('Corpus Inscriptionum' (1603), p.
DCCCCXII. 10).]


[Footnote 2: Martial (xi. lii. 16), 'Ad Julium Cerealem':

  "Plus ego polliceor: nil recitabo tibi."]





       *       *       *       *       *





215.--To Francis Hodgson.

8, St. James's Street, Dec. 12, 1811.

Why, Hodgson! I fear you have left off wine and me at the same time,--I
have written and written and written, and no answer! My dear Sir Edgar
[1], water disagrees with you--drink sack and write. Bland did not come
to his appointment, being unwell, but Moore supplied all other vacancies
most delectably. I have hopes of his joining us at Newstead. I am sure
you would like him more and more as he developes,--at least I do.

How Miller and Bland go on, I don't know. Cawthorne talks of being in
treaty for a novel of Madame D'Arblay's, and if he obtains it (at 1500
guineas!!) wishes me to see the MS. This I should read with pleasure,--
not that I should ever dare to venture a criticism on her whose writings
Dr. Johnson once revised, but for the pleasure of the thing. If my
worthy publisher wanted a sound opinion, I should send the MS. to Rogers
and Moore, as men most alive to true taste. I have had frequent letters
from Wm. Harness, and _you_ are silent; certes, you are not a schoolboy.
However, I have the consolation of knowing that you are better employed,
viz. reviewing. You don't deserve that I should add another syllable,
and I won't.

Yours, etc.

P.S.--I only wait for your answer to fix our meeting.



[Footnote 1: Hodgson published, in 1810, 'Sir Edgar, a Tale'.]





       *       *       *       *       *





216.--To R. C. Dallas.


[Undated, Dec.? 1811] [1]

DEAR SIR,--I have only this scrubby paper to write on--excuse it. I am
certain that I sent some more notes on Spain and Portugal, particularly
one on the latter. Pray rummage, and don't mind my _politics_. I believe
I leave town next week. Are you better? I hope so.

Yours ever,
B.



[Footnote 1: Dallas's answer is dated December 14, 1811]





       *       *       *       *       *





217.--To William Harness.

8, St. James's Street, Dec. 15, 1811.

I wrote you an answer to your last, which, on reflection, pleases me as
little as it probably has pleased yourself. I will not wait for your
rejoinder; but proceed to tell you, that I had just then been greeted
with an epistle of * *'s, full of his petty grievances, and this at the
moment when (from circumstances it is not necessary to enter upon) I was
bearing up against recollections to which _his_ imaginary sufferings are
as a scratch to a cancer. These things combined, put me out of humour
with him and all mankind. The latter part of my life has been a
perpetual struggle against affections which embittered the earliest
portion; and though I flatter myself I have in a great measure conquered
them, yet there are moments (and this was one) when I am as foolish as
formerly. I never said so much before, nor had I said this now, if I did
not suspect myself of having been rather savage in my letter, and wish
to inform you this much of the cause. You know I am not one of your
dolorous gentlemen: so now let us laugh again.

Yesterday I went with Moore to Sydenham to visit Campbell [1]. He was
not visible, so we jogged homeward merrily enough. To-morrow I dine with
Rogers, and am to hear Coleridge, who is a kind of rage at present. Last
night I saw Kemble in Coriolanus [2];--he _was glorious_, and exerted
himself wonderfully. By good luck I got an excellent place in the best
part of the house, which was more than overflowing. Clare [3] and
Delawarr [4], who were there on the same speculation, were less
fortunate. I saw them by accident,--we were not together. I wished for
you, to gratify your love of Shakspeare and of fine acting to its
fullest extent. Last week I saw an exhibition of a different kind in a
Mr. Coates, [5] at the Haymarket, who performed Lothario in a _damned_
and damnable manner.

I told you the fate of B[land] and H[odgson] in my last. So much for
these sentimentalists, who console themselves in their stews for the
loss--the never to be recovered loss--the despair of the refined
attachment of a couple of drabs! You censure _my_ life, Harness,--when I
compare myself with these men, my elders and my betters, I really begin
to conceive myself a monument of prudence--a walking statue--without
feeling or failing; and yet the world in general hath given me a proud
pre-eminence over them in profligacy. Yet I like the men, and, God
knows, ought not to condemn their aberrations. But I own I feel provoked
when they dignify all this by the name of _love_--romantic attachments
for things marketable for a dollar!

Dec. 16th.--I have just received your letter;--I feel your kindness very
deeply. The foregoing part of my letter, written yesterday, will, I
hope, account for the tone of the former, though it cannot excuse it. I
do _like_ to hear from you--more than _like_. Next to seeing you, I have
no greater satisfaction. But you have other duties, and greater
pleasures, and I should regret to take a moment from either. H * * was
to call to-day, but I have not seen him. The circumstances you mention
at the close of your letter is another proof in favour of my opinion of
mankind. Such you will always find them--selfish and distrustful. I
except none. The cause of this is the state of society. In the world,
every one is to stir for himself--it is useless, perhaps selfish, to
expect any thing from his neighbour. But I do not think we are born of
this disposition; for you find _friendship_ as a schoolboy, and _love_
enough before twenty.

I went to see * *; he keeps me in town, where I don't wish to be at
present. He is a good man, but totally without conduct. And now, my
dearest William, I must wish you good morrow, and remain ever,
Most sincerely and affectionately yours, etc.



[Footnote 1: Campbell lived at Sydenham from 1804 to 1820. Moore (Life,
p. 148) adds the following note:

  "On this occasion, another of the noble poet's peculiarities was,
  somewhat startlingly, introduced to my notice. When we were on the
  point of setting out from his lodgings in St. James's Street, it being
  then about midday, he said to the servant, who was shutting the door
  of the 'vis-a-vis', 'Have you put in the pistols?' and was answered in
  the affirmative. It was difficult,--more especially taking into
  account the circumstances under which we had just become acquainted,--
  to keep from smiling at this singular noonday precaution."]


[Footnote 2: On December 14, 1811, at Covent Garden, Kemble acted
"Coriolanus" with Mrs. Siddons as "Volumnia." It was Kemble's great
part, and in it he made his last appearance on the stage (June 23,
1817).]


[Footnote 3: For Lord Clare, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 116, 'note' 1
[Footnote 1 of Letter 65.]]


[Footnote 4: For Lord Delawarr, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 41, note 1
[Footnote 5 of Letter 13.]]


[Footnote 5: Robert Coates, "the Amateur of Fashion," known as "Romeo"
Coates, sometimes as "Diamond" Coates, sometimes as "Cock-a-doodle-doo"
Coates (1772-1848), was the only surviving son of a wealthy West Indian
planter. He made his first appearance on the stage at Bath (February 9,
1810), as "Romeo." In the play-bill he was announced as "a Gentleman,
1st Appearance on any stage." Genest ('English Stage', vol. viii. p.
207) says,

  "Many gentlemen have been weak enough to fancy themselves actors, but
  no one ever persevered in obtruding himself for so long a time on the
  notice of the public in spite of laughter, hissing, etc."

On December 9, 1811, he appeared at the Haymarket as "Lothario" in
Rowe's 'Fair Penitent'. Mathews, at Covent Garden, imitated his
performance, in Bate Dudley's 'At Home', as "Mr. Romeo Rantall,"
appearing in the

  "pink silk vest and cloak, white satin breeches and stockings, Spanish
  hat, with a rich high plume of ostrich feathers," in which Coates had
  played "Lothario"

'Memoirs of Charles Mathews', (vol. ii. pp. 238, 239).]





       *       *       *       *       *





218.--To Robert Rushton. [1]

8, St. James's Street, Jan. 21, 1812.

Though I have no objection to your refusal to carry _letters_ to
Mealey's, you will take care that the letters are taken by _Spero_ at
the proper time. I have also to observe, that Susan is to be treated
with civility, and not _insulted_ by any person over whom I have the
smallest controul, or, indeed, by any one whatever, while I have the
power to protect her. I am truly sorry to have any subject of complaint
against _you_; I have too good an opinion of you to think I shall have
occasion to repeat it, after the care I have taken of you, and my
favourable intentions in your behalf. I see no occasion for any
communication whatever between _you_ and the _women_, and wish you to
occupy yourself in preparing for the situation in which you will be
placed. If a common sense of decency cannot prevent you from conducting
yourself towards them with rudeness, I should at least hope that your
_own interest_, and regard for a master who has _never_ treated you with
unkindness, will have some weight.

Yours, etc., BYRON.

P.S.--I wish you to attend to your arithmetic, to occupy yourself in
surveying, measuring, and making yourself acquainted with every
particular relative to the _land_ of Newstead, and you will _write_ to
me _one letter every week_, that I may know how you go on.



[Footnote 1: The two following letters, and a suppressed passage in the
letter to Moore of January 29, 1812, refer to a quarrel among his
dependents, in which Rushton, the "little page" of Childe Harold (see
'Letters', vol. i. pp. 224, 242), played a part. The story is told at
considerable length in a letter to Hodgson, dated January 28, 1812. To
the same affair probably belong the following scrap and Byron's note:

  "Pray don't forget me, as I shall never cease thinking of you, my
  Dearest 'and only Friend, (signed) S. H. V.'"

To this Byron has added this note:

  "This was written on the 11th of January, 1812; on the 28th I received
  ample proof that the Girl had forgotten _me_ and _herself_ too.
  Heigho! B."

The letters show, writes Moore ('Life', p. 152),

  "how gravely and coolly the young lord could arbitrate on such an
  occasion, and with what considerate leaning towards the servant whose
  fidelity he had proved, in preference to any new liking or fancy by
  which it might be suspected he was actuated toward the other."

In a MS. book written by Mrs. Heath of Newstead ('nee' Rebekah
Beardall), it is stated that the elder Rushton had as his farm-servant
Fletcher, afterwards Byron's valet. Byron watched Fletcher and young
Robert Rushton ploughing, took a fancy to both, and engaged them as his
servants. Rushton accompanied Byron to Geneva, but afterwards entered
the service of James Wedderburn Webster (see p. 2, 'note' 1). In 1827 he
married a woman of the name of Bagnall, and with her help kept a school
at Arnold, near Nottingham. Subsequently he took a farm on the Newstead
estate, named Hazelford, and shortly afterwards died, leaving a widow
and three children.]





       *       *       *       *       *





219.--To Robert Rushton.


8, St. James's Street, January 25, 1812.

Your refusal to carry the letter was not a subject of remonstrance: it
was not a part of your business; but the language you used to the girl
was (as _she_ stated it) highly improper.

You say, that you also have something to complain of; then state it to
me immediately: it would be very unfair, and very contrary to my
disposition, not to hear both sides of the question.

If any thing has passed between you _before_ or since my last visit to
Newstead, do not be afraid to mention it. I am sure _you_ would not
deceive me, though _she_ would. Whatever it is, _you_, shall be
forgiven. I have not been without some suspicions on the subject, and am
certain that, at your time of life, the blame could not attach to you.
You will not _consult_,  any one as to your answer, but write to me
immediately. I shall be more ready to hear what you have to advance, as
I do not remember ever to have heard a word from you before _against_,
any human being, which convinces me you would not maliciously assert an
untruth. There is not any one who can do the least injury to you, while
you conduct yourself properly. I shall expect your answer immediately.
Yours, etc.,

BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *





220.--To Thomas Moore.


January 29, 1812.


My Dear Moore,--I wish very much I could have seen you; I am in a state
of ludicrous tribulation.***

Why do you say that I dislike your poesy [1]? I have expressed no such
opinion, either in _print_ or elsewhere. In scribbling myself, it was
necessary for me to find fault, and I fixed upon the trite charge of
immorality, because I could discover no other, and was so perfectly
qualified in the innocence of my heart, to "pluck that mote from my
neighbour's eye."

I feel very, very much obliged by your approbation; but, at _this
moment_, praise, even _your_ praise, passes by me like "the idle wind."
I meant and mean to send you a copy the moment of publication; but now I
can think of nothing but damned, deceitful,--delightful woman, as Mr.
Liston says in the 'Knight of Snowdon' [2]? Believe me, my dear Moore,

Ever yours, most affectionately, BYRON.



[Footnote: 1. Of Moore's early poems Byron was an admirer. The influence
of "Little" and "Anacreon" is strongly marked throughout 'Hours of
Idleness'. For the "trite charge of immorality," see 'English Bards,
etc.', lines 283-294; and 'Letters', vol. i. p. 113. Byron's opinion of
Moore's later poetry was thus stated by him to Lady Blessington
('Conversations', pp. 354, 355):

  "Having compared Rogers's poems to a flower-garden, to what shall I
  compare Moore's?--to the Valley of Diamonds, where all is brilliant
  and attractive, but where one is so dazzled by the sparkling on every
  side that one knows not where to fix, each gem beautiful in itself,
  but overpowering to the eye from their quantity."]


[Footnote 2: 'The Knight of Snowdoun', a musical drama, written by
Thomas Morton (1764-1838), and founded on 'The Lady of the Lake', was
produced at Covent Garden, Feb. 5, 1811, and published the same year.
John Liston (1776-1846), the most famous comedian of the century, played
the part of "Macloon," his wife that of "Isabel." In act iii. sc. 3
Macloon says,

  "Oh, woman! woman! deceitful, damnable, (_changing into a half-smile_)
  delightful woman! do all one can, there's nothing else worth thinking
  of."]





       *       *       *       *       *





221.--To Francis Hodgson.


8, St. James's Street, Feb. 1, 1812.

MY DEAR HODGSON,-I am rather unwell with a vile cold, caught in the
House of Lords last night. Lord Sligo and myself, being tired, _paired
off_, being of opposite sides, so that nothing was gained or lost by
_our_ votes. I did not speak: but I might as well, for nothing could
have been inferior to the Duke of Devonshire, Marquis of Downshire, and
the Earl of Fitzwilliam. The Catholic Question comes on this month, and
perhaps I may then commence. I must "screw my courage to the
sticking-place," and we'll _not_ fail.

Yours ever, B.





       *       *       *       *       *





222.--To Samuel Rogers.


February 4, 1812.


MY DEAR SIR,--With my best acknowledgments to Lord Holland [1], I have
to offer my perfect concurrence in the propriety of the question
previously to be put to ministers. If their answer is in the negative, I
shall, with his Lordship's approbation, give notice of a motion for a
Committee of Inquiry. I would also gladly avail myself of his most able
advice, and any information or documents with which he might be pleased
to intrust me, to bear me out in the statement of facts it may be
necessary to submit to the House.

From all that fell under my own observation during my Christmas visit to
Newstead, I feel convinced that, if _conciliatory_ measures are not very
soon adopted, the most unhappy consequences may be apprehended. [2]

Nightly outrage and daily depredation are already at their height; and
not only the masters of frames, who are obnoxious on account of their
occupation, but persons in no degree connected with the malecontents or
their oppressors, are liable to insult and pillage.

I am very much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken on my
account, and beg you to believe me,

Ever your obliged and sincere, etc.



[Footnote 1: For Lord Holland, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 184, 'note' 1
[Footnote 3 of Letter 94]. He was Recorder of Nottingham; hence his
special interest in the proposed legislation against frame-breaking.]


[Footnote 2: Owing to the state of trade, numbers of stocking-weavers
had lost work. The discontent thus produced was increased by the
introduction of a wide frame for the manufacture of gaiters and
stockings, which, it was supposed, would further diminish the demand for
manual labour. In November, 1811, organized bands of men began to break
into houses and destroy machinery. For several days no serious effort
was made to check the riots, which extended to a considerable distance
round Nottingham. But on November 14 the soldiers were called out.
Between that date and December 9, 900 cavalry and 1000 infantry were
sent to Nottingham; and, on January 8, 1812, these forces were increased
by two additional regiments. The rioters assumed the name of Luddites,
and their leader was known as General Lud. The name is said to have
originated in 1779, in a Leicestershire village, where a half-witted
lad, named Ned Lud, broke a stocking-frame in a fit of passion; hence
the common saying, when machinery was broken, that "Ned Lud" did it. A
Bill was introduced in the House of Commons (February 14) increasing the
severity of punishments for frame-breaking. On the second reading
(February 17) Sir Samuel Romilly strongly opposed the measure, which
passed its third reading (February 20) without a division. The Bill, as
introduced into the Upper House by Lord Liverpool,

(1) rendered the offence of frame-breaking punishable by death; and
(2) compelled persons in whose houses the frames were broken to give
information to the magistrates.

On the second reading of the Bill (February 27, 1812), Byron spoke
against it in his first speech in the House of Lords (see Appendix II.
(i)). The Bill passed its third reading on March 5, and became law as 52
Geo. III. c. 16. Byron did not confine his opposition to a speech in the
House of Lords. He also addressed "An Ode to the Framers of the Frame
Bill," which appeared in the 'Morning Chronicle' on Monday, March 2,
1812. The following letter to Perry, the editor, is published by
permission of Messrs. Ellis and Elvey, in whose possession is the
original:

  "Sir,--I take the liberty of sending an alteration of the two last
  lines of Stanza 2'd which I wish to run as follows,

    "'Gibbets on Sherwood will _heighten_ the Scenery
    Shewing how Commerce, _how_ Liberty thrives!'

  "I wish you could insert it tomorrow for a particular reason; but I
  feel much obliged by your inserting it at all. Of course, do not put
  _my name_ to the thing. Believe me, Your obliged and very obed't
  Serv't, BYRON.

  "8, St. James Street, Sunday, March 1st, 1812."]





       *       *       *       *       *





223.--To Master John Cowell. [1]


8, St. James's Street, February 12, 1812.


MY DEAR JOHN,--You have probably long ago forgotten the writer of these
lines, who would, perhaps, be unable to recognize _yourself_, from the
difference which must naturally have taken place in your stature and
appearance since he saw you last. I have been rambling through Portugal,
Spain, Greece, etc., etc., for some years, and have found so many
changes on my return, that it would be very unfair not to expect that
you should have had your share of alteration and improvement with the
rest. I write to request a favour of you: a little boy of eleven years,
the son of Mr. **, my particular friend, is about to become an Etonian,
and I should esteem any act of protection or kindness to him as an
obligation to myself: let me beg of you then to take some little notice
of him at first, till he is able to shift for himself.

I was happy to hear a very favourable account of you from a schoolfellow
a few weeks ago, and should be glad to learn that your family are as
well as I wish them to be. I presume you are in the upper school;--as an
_Etonian_, you will look down upon a _Harrow_ man; but I never, even in
my boyish days, disputed your superiority, which I once experienced in a
cricket match, where I had the honour of making one of eleven, who were
beaten to their hearts' content by your college in _one innings_. [2]

Believe me to be, with great truth, etc., etc.,

B.



[Footnote 1:

  "Breakfasted with Mr. Cowell," writes Moore, in his Diary, June 11,
  1828, "having made his acquaintance for the purpose of gaining
  information about Lord Byron. Knew Byron for the first time when he
  himself was a little boy, from being in the habit of playing with B.'s
  dogs. Byron wrote to him to school to bid him mind his prosody. Gave
  me two or three of his letters to him. Saw a good deal of B. at
  Hastings; mentioned the anecdote about the ink-bottle striking one of
  the lead Muses. These Muses had been brought from Holland; and there
  were, I think, only eight of them arrived safe. Fletcher had brought
  B. a large jar of ink, and, not thinking it was full, B. had thrust
  his pen down to the very bottom; his anger at finding it come out all
  besmeared with ink made him chuck the jar out of the window, when it
  knocked down one of the Muses in the garden, and deluged her with ink.
  In 1813, when B. was at Salt Hill, he had Cowell over from Eton, and
  'pouched' him no less than ten pounds. Cowell has ever since kept one
  of the notes. Told me a curious anecdote of Byron's mentioning to him,
  as if it had made a great impression on him, their seeing Shelley (as
  they thought) walking into a little wood at Lerici, when it was
  discovered afterwards that Shelley was at that time in quite another
  direction. 'This,' said Byron, in a sort of awe-struck voice, 'was
  about ten days before his death.' Cowell's imitation of his look and
  manner very striking. Thinks that in Byron's speech to Fletcher, when
  he was dying, threatening to appear to him, there was a touch of that
  humour and fun which he was accustomed to mix up with everything".

('Memoirs, Journals, etc'., vol. v. pp. 302, 303).]


[Footnote 2: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 70, and 'note' 1  [Footnote 2 of
Letter 30.]]





       *       *       *       *       *





224.--To Francis Hodgson.

8, St. James's Street, February 16, 1812.

Dear Hodgson,--I send you a proof. Last week I was very ill and confined
to bed with stone in the kidney, but I am now quite recovered. The women
are gone to their relatives, after many attempts to explain what was
already too clear. If the stone had got into my heart instead of my
kidneys, it would have been all the better. However, I have quite
recovered _that_ also, and only wonder at my folly in excepting my own
strumpets from the general corruption,--albeit a two months' weakness is
better than ten years. I have one request to make, which is, never
mention a woman again in any letter to me, or even allude to the
existence of the sex. I won't even read a word of the feminine
gender;--it must all be 'propria quae maribus'.

In the spring of 1813 I shall leave England for ever. Every thing in my
affairs tends to this, and my inclinations and health do not discourage
it. Neither my habits nor constitution are improved by your customs or
your climate. I shall find employment in making myself a good Oriental
scholar. I shall retain a mansion in one of the fairest islands, and
retrace, at intervals, the most interesting portions of the East. In the
mean time, I am adjusting my concerns, which will (when arranged) leave
me with wealth sufficient even for home, but enough for a principality
in Turkey. At present they are involved, but I hope, by taking some
necessary but unpleasant steps, to clear every thing. Hobhouse is
expected daily in London: we shall be very glad to see him; and,
perhaps, you will come up and "drink deep ere he depart," if not,
"Mahomet must go to the mountain;" [1]--but Cambridge will bring sad
recollections to him, and worse to me, though for very different
reasons. I believe the only human being, that ever loved me in truth and
entirely, was of, or belonging to, Cambridge, and, in that, no change
can now take place. There is one consolation in death--where he sets his
seal, the impression can neither be melted nor broken, but endureth for
ever.

Yours always,

B.

P.S.--I almost rejoice when one I love dies young, for I could never
bear to see them old or altered.



[Footnote 1: See Bacon's 'Essays' ("Of Boldness"):

  "Mahomet made the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and
  from the top of it offer up his prayers for the observers of his law.
  The people assembled; Mahomet called the hill to come to him, again
  and again; and when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abashed,
  but said, 'If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to
  the hill.'"]





       *       *       *       *       *





225.--To Francis Hodgson.

London, February 21, 1812.

My Dear Hodgson,--There is a book entituled _Galt, his Travels in ye
Archipelago_, [1] daintily printed by Cadell and Davies, ye which I
could desiderate might be criticised by you, inasmuch as ye author is a
well-respected esquire of mine acquaintance, but I fear will meet with
little mercy as a writer, unless a friend passeth judgment. Truth to
say, ye boke is ye boke of a cock-brained man, and is full of devises
crude and conceitede, but peradventure for my sake this grace may be
vouchsafed unto him. Review him myself I can not, will not, and if you
are likewize hard of heart, woe unto ye boke! ye which is a comely
quarto.

Now then! I have no objection to review, if it pleases Griffiths [2] to
send books, or rather _you_, for you know the sort of things I like to
[play] with. You will find what I say very serious as to my intentions.
I have every reason to induce me to return to Ionia.

Believe me, yours always,

B.



[Footnote 1: John Galt (1779-1839) published in 1812 his 'Voyages and
Travels in the Years 1809, 1810, and 1811'. For his meeting with Byron
at Gibraltar in 1809, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 243, 'note' 1 [Footnote
1 of Letter 130]; see also 'ibid.', p. 304, 'note' 2 [Footnote 2 of
Letter 131]. Galt's novels were, in later years, liked by Byron, who

  "praised the 'Annals of the Parish' very highly, as also 'The
  Entail' ... some scenes of which, he said, had affected him very much.
  'The characters in Mr. Galt's novels have an identity,' added Byron,
  'that reminds me of Wilkie's pictures'"

(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations with Lord Byron', p. 74).

"When I knew Galt, years ago," said Byron to Lady Blessington, "I was
not in a frame of mind to form an impartial opinion of him: his mildness
and equanimity struck me even then; but, to say the truth, his manner
had not deference enough for my then aristocratical taste, and finding I
could not awe him into a respect sufficiently profound for my sublime
self, either as a peer or an author, I felt a little grudge towards him
that has now completely worn off," etc., etc.

('ibid.', p. 249).]


[Footnote 2: George Edward Griffiths (circ. 1769-1829), son of Ralph
Griffiths, who founded, owned, and published the 'Monthly Review', and
boarded and lodged Oliver Goldsmith as a contributor, succeeded to the
management of the 'Review' on the death of his father in 1803. He edited
it till 1825, when he sold the property. He lived at Linden House,
Turnham Green. Francis Hodgson wrote for the 'Monthly Review', and,
March 2, 1814, he writes to Byron,

  "I have already read a review of Safie in the 'British Critic', and
  will undertake it in the 'Monthly' if Griffiths, with whom I am in
  very bad odour from my late shameful idleness, will allow me. Oh that
  you would write a good smart critique of something to get both
  'yourself and me' in high repute at Turnham Green!!!!"

In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' occurs the following passage:

  "I have been a reviewer. In the 'Monthly Review' I wrote some articles
  which were inserted. This was in the latter part of 1811. In 1807, in
  a Magazine called 'Monthly Literary Recreations', I reviewed
  Wordsworth's trash of that time.

  "Excepting these, I cannot accuse myself of anonymous Criticism (that
  I recollect), though I have been 'offered' more than one review in our
  principal Journals."

In the Bodleian Library is a copy of the 'Monthly Review', in which
Griffiths has entered the initials of the authors of each article. Two
articles from the 'Review', attributed to Byron on this authority, are
given in Appendix I.]





       *       *       *       *       *





226.--To Lord Holland.


8, St. James's Street, February 25, 1812.


MY LORD,--With my best thanks, I have the honour to return the Notts,
letter to your Lordship. I have read it with attention, but do not think
I shall venture to avail myself of its contents, as my view of the
question differs in some measure from Mr. Coldham's. I hope I do not
wrong him, but _his_ objections to the bill appear to me to be founded
on certain apprehensions that he and his coadjutors might be mistaken
for the "_original advisers_" (to quote him) of the measure. For my own
part, I consider the manufacturers as a much injured body of men,
sacrificed to the views of certain individuals who have enriched
themselves by those practices which have deprived the frame-workers of
employment. For instance;--by the adoption of a certain kind of frame,
one man performs the work of seven--six are thus thrown out of business.
But it is to be observed that the work thus done is far inferior in
quality, hardly marketable at home, and hurried over with a view to
exportation. Surely, my Lord, however we may rejoice in any improvement
in the arts which may be beneficial to mankind, we must not allow
mankind to be sacrificed to improvements in mechanism. The maintenance
and well-doing of the industrious poor is an object of greater
consequence to the community than the enrichment of a few monopolists by
any improvement in the implements of trade, which deprives the workman
of his bread, and renders the labourer "unworthy of his hire."

My own motive for opposing the bill is founded on its palpable
injustice, and its certain inefficacy. I have seen the state of these
miserable men, and it is a disgrace to a civilized country. Their
excesses may be condemned, but cannot be subject of wonder. The effect
of the present bill would be to drive them into actual rebellion. The
few words I shall venture to offer on Thursday will be founded upon
these opinions formed from my own observations on the spot. By previous
inquiry, I am convinced these men would have been restored to
employment, and the county to tranquillity. It is, perhaps, not yet too
late, and is surely worth the trial. It can never be too late to employ
force in such circumstances. I believe your Lordship does not coincide
with me entirely on this subject, and most cheerfully and sincerely
shall I submit to your superior judgment and experience, and take some
other line of argument against the bill, or be silent altogether, should
you deem it more advisable. Condemning, as every one must condemn, the
conduct of these wretches, I believe in the existence of grievances
which call rather for pity than punishment. I have the honour to be,
with great respect, my Lord, your Lordship's

Most obedient and obliged servant,

BYRON.

P.S.--I am a little apprehensive that your Lordship will think me too
lenient towards these men, and half a _frame-breaker myself_.





       *       *       *       *       *





227.--To Francis Hodgson.


8, St. James's Street, March 5, 1812.


MY DEAR HODGSON,--_We_ are not answerable for reports of speeches in the
papers; they are always given incorrectly, and on this occasion more so
than usual, from the debate in the Commons on the same night. The
_Morning Post_ should have said _eighteen years_. However, you will find
the speech, as spoken, in the Parliamentary Register, when it comes out.
Lords Holland and Grenville, particularly the latter, paid me some high
compliments in the course of their speeches, as you may have seen in the
papers, and Lords Eldon and Harrowby answered me. I have had many
marvellous eulogies [1] repeated to me since, in person and by proxy,
from divers persons _ministerial_--yea, _ministerial!_--as well as
oppositionists; of them I shall only mention Sir F. Burdett. _He_ says
it is the best speech by a _lord_ since the "_Lord_ knows when,"
probably from a fellow-feeling in the sentiments. Lord H. tells me I
shall beat them all if I persevere; and Lord G. remarked that the
construction of some of my periods are very like _Burke's!!_ And so much
for vanity. I spoke very violent sentences with a sort of modest
impudence, abused every thing and every body, and put the Lord
Chancellor very much out of humour: and if I may believe what I hear,
have not lost any character by the experiment. As to my delivery, loud
and fluent enough, perhaps a little theatrical. I could not recognize
myself or any one else in the newspapers [2].

I hire myself unto Griffiths, and my poesy [3] comes out on Saturday.
Hobhouse is here; I shall tell him to write. My stone is gone for the
present, but I fear is part of my habit. We _all_ talk of a visit to
Cambridge.

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1: For Byron's speech, February 27, 1812, see Appendix II.
(i).] Grenville said,

  "There never was a maxim of greater wisdom than that uttered by the
  noble lord [Byron] who had so ably addressed their lordships that
  night for the first time"

('Hansard', vol. xxi. p. 977). Moore quotes a passage from Byron's
'Detached Thoughts':

  "Sheridan's liking for me (whether he was not mystifying me I do not
  know, but Lady Caroline Lamb and others told me that he said the same
  both before and after he knew me) was founded upon 'English Bards, and
  Scotch Reviewers'. He told me that he did not care about poetry (or
  about mine--at least, any but 'that' poem of mine), but he was sure,
  from 'that' and other symptoms, I should make an orator, if I would
  but take to speaking, and grow a parliament man. He never ceased
  harping upon this to me to the last; and I remember my old tutor, Dr.
  Drury, had the same notion when I was a 'boy'; but it never was my
  turn of inclination to try. I spoke once or twice, as all young peers
  do, as a kind of introduction into public life; but dissipation,
  shyness, haughty and reserved opinions, together with the short time I
  lived in England after my majority (only about five years in all),
  prevented me from resuming the experiment. As far as it went, it was
  not discouraging, particularly my 'first' speech (I spoke three or
  four times in all); but just after it, my poem of 'Childe Harold' was
  published, and nobody ever thought about my 'prose' afterwards, nor
  indeed did I; it became to me a secondary and neglected object, though
  I sometimes wonder to myself if I should have succeeded."]


[Footnote 2: Byron, writing to John Hanson, February 28, 1812, says:

  "Dear Sir,--In the report of my speech (which by the bye is given very
  incorrectly) in the 'M[orning] Herald', 'Day', and 'B[ritish] Press',
  they state that I mentioned 'Bristol', a place I never saw in my life
  and knew nothing of whatever, nor 'mentioned' at all last night. Will
  you be good enough to send to these 'papers' 'immediately', and have
  the mistake corrected, or I shall get into a scrape with the Bristol
  people?

  "I am, yours very truly,

  "B."]


[Footnote 3: 'Childe Harold', Cantos I., II.]





       *       *       *       *       *





228.--To Lord Holland.


St. James's Street, March 5, 1812.


MY LORD,--May I request your Lordship to accept a copy of the thing
which accompanies this note [1]?

You have already so fully proved the truth of the first line of Pope's
couplet [2],

  "Forgiveness to the injured doth belong,"

that I long for an opportunity to give the lie to the verse that
follows. If I were not perfectly convinced that any thing I may have
formerly uttered in the boyish rashness of my misplaced resentment had
made as little impression as it deserved to make, I should hardly have
the confidence--perhaps your Lordship may give it a stronger and more
appropriate appellation--to send you a quarto of the same scribbler. But
your Lordship, I am sorry to observe to-day, is troubled with the gout;
if my book can produce a _laugh_ against itself or the author, it will
be of some service. If it can set you to _sleep_, the benefit will be
yet greater; and as some facetious personage observed half a century
ago, that "poetry is a mere drug," [3]

I offer you mine as a humble assistant to the _eau medicinale_. I trust
you will forgive this and all my other buffooneries, and believe me to
be, with great respect,

Your Lordship's obliged and sincere servant,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: 'Childe Harold' was published March 1, 1812. Another copy
of 'Childe Harold' was sent to Mrs. Leigh, with the following
inscription:

  "To Augusta, my dearest sister, and my best friend, who has ever loved
  me much better than I deserved, this volume is presented by her
  _father's_ son, and most affectionate brother, B."

The effect which the poem instantly produced is best expressed in
Byron's own memorandum:

  "I awoke one morning and found myself famous."

He was only just twenty-three years old.

  "The subject," says Elizabeth, Duchess of Devonshire ('Two Duchesses',
  pp. 375, 376), "of conversation, of curiosity, of enthusiasm almost,
  one might say, of the moment is not Spain or Portugal, Warriors or
  Patriots, but Lord Byron!" "He returned," she continues, "sorry for
  the severity of some of his lines (in the 'English Bards'), and with a
  new poem, 'Childe Harold', which he published. This poem is on every
  table, and himself courted, visited, flattered, and praised whenever
  he appears. He has a pale, sickly, but handsome countenance, a bad
  figure, and, in short, he is really the only topic almost of every
  conversation--the men jealous of him, the women of each other."

  "Lord Byron," writes Lady Harriet Leveson Gower to the Duke of
  Devonshire, May 10, 1812 ('Letters of Harriet, Countess Granville',
  vol. i. p. 34), "is still upon a pedestal, and Caroline William doing
  homage. I have made acquaintance with him. He is agreeable, but I feel
  no wish for any further intimacy. His countenance is fine when it is
  in repose; but the moment it is in play, suspicious, malignant, and
  consequently repulsive. His manner is either remarkably gracious and
  conciliatory, with a tinge of affectation, or irritable and impetuous,
  and then, I am afraid, perfectly natural."

Rogers ('Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', pp. 232,
233) says,

  "After Byron had become the 'rage', I was frequently amused at
  the manoeuvres of certain noble ladies to get acquainted with him by
  means of me; for instance, I would receive a note from Lady----,
  requesting the pleasure of my company on a particular evening, with a
  postscript, 'Pray, could you not contrive to bring Lord Byron with
  you?' Once, at a great party given by Lady Jersey, Mrs. Sheridan ran
  up to me and said, 'Do, as a favour, try if you can place Lord Byron
  beside me at supper!'"]


[Footnote 2:

  "Forgiveness to the injured does belong,
  But they ne'er pardon, who have done the wrong."

Dryden's 'Conquest of Grenada', part ii. act i. sc. 2.]


[Footnote 3: Murphy, in sc. 1 of 'The Way to Keep Him' (1760), uses the
word in the same sense;

  "A wife's a drug now; mere tar-water, with every virtue under heaven,
  but nobody takes it."]





       *       *       *       *       *





CHAPTER VI.


MARCH, 1812--MAY, 1813.


THE IDOL OF SOCIETY--THE DRURY LANE ADDRESS--SECOND SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT.





       *       *       *       *       *





229.--To Thomas Moore.


With regard to the passage on Mr. Way's loss, no unfair play was hinted
at, as may be seen by referring to the book [1]; and it is expressly
added that the managers _were ignorant_ of that transaction. As to the
prevalence of play at the Argyle, it cannot be denied that there were
_billiards_ and _dice_;--Lord B. has been a witness to the use of both
at the Argyle Rooms. These, it is presumed, come under the denomination
of play. If play be allowed, the President of the Institution can hardly
complain of being termed the "Arbiter of Play,"--or what becomes of his
authority?

Lord B. has no personal animosity to Colonel Greville. A public
institution, to which he himself was a subscriber, he considered himself
to have a right to notice _publickly_. Of that institution Colonel
Greville was the avowed director;--it is too late to enter into the
discussion of its merits or demerits.

Lord B. must leave the discussion of the reparation, for the real or
supposed injury, to Colonel G.'s friend and Mr. Moore, the friend of
Lord B.--begging them to recollect that, while they consider Colonel
G.'s honour, Lord B. must also maintain his own. If the business can be
settled amicably, Lord B. will do as much as can and ought to be done by
a man of honour towards conciliation;--if not, he must satisfy Colonel
G. in the manner most conducive to his further wishes.



[Footnote 1: Byron, in 'English Bards, etc.' (lines 638-667), had
alluded to Colonel Greville, Manager of the Argyle Institution:

  "Or hail at once the patron and the pile
  Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle," etc.

In a note he had also referred to "Billy" Way's loss of several thousand
pounds in the Rooms. On his return from abroad, Colonel Greville
demanded satisfaction through his friend Gould Francis Leckie. Byron
referred Leckie to Moore, and sent Moore the above paper for his
guidance. The affair was amicably settled.

In his 'Detached Thoughts' occurs the following passage:--

  "I have been called in as mediator, or second, at least twenty times,
  in violent quarrels, and have always contrived to settle the business
  without compromising the honour of the parties, or leading them to
  mortal consequences, and this, too, sometimes in very difficult and
  delicate circumstances, and having to deal with very hot and haughty
  spirits,--Irishmen, gamesters, guardsmen, captains, and cornets of
  horse, and the like. This was, of course, in my youth, when I lived in
  hot-headed company. I have had to carry challenges from gentlemen to
  noblemen, from captains to captains, from lawyers to counsellors, and
  once from a clergyman to an officer in the Life Guards; but I found
  the latter by far the most difficult:

    "'to compose
    The bloody duel without blows,'

  "the business being about a woman: I must add, too, that I never saw a
  _woman_ behave so ill, like a cold-blooded, heartless b----as she
  was,--but very handsome for all that. A certain Susan C----was she
  called. I never saw her but once; and that was to induce her but to
  say two words (which in no degree compromised herself), and which
  would have had the effect of saving a priest or a lieutenant of
  cavalry. She would _not_ say them, and neither Nepean nor myself [the
  son of Sir Evan Nepean, and a friend to one of the parties] could
  prevail upon her to say them, though both of us used to deal in some
  sort with womankind. At last I managed to quiet the combatants without
  her talisman, and, I believe, to her great disappointment: she was the
  damnedest b----that I ever saw, and I have seen a great many. Though
  my clergyman was sure to lose either his life or his living, he was as
  warlike as the Bishop of Beauvais, and would hardly be pacified; but
  then he was in love, and that is a martial passion."

One challenge from a gentleman to a nobleman was that of Scrope Davies
to Lord Foley, in 1813; but Byron succeeded in arranging the matter.
That from a lawyer to a counsellor was in 1815, from John Hanson to
Serjeant Best, afterwards Lord Wynford, and arose out of the marriage of
Miss Hanson to Lord Portsmouth; this quarrel was also settled by Byron.
The case of the clergyman was that of the Rev. Robert Bland, whose
mistress, during his absence in Holland, left him for an officer in the
Guards (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 197, end of 'note' [Footnote 1 of
Letter 102] on Francis Hodgson). Byron was himself a fair shot with a
pistol.

  "When in London," writes Gronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 152),
  "Byron used to go to Manton's shooting-gallery, in Davies Street, to
  try his hand, as he said, at a wafer. Wedderburn Webster was present
  when the poet, intensely delighted with his own skill, boasted to Joe
  Manton that he considered himself the best shot in London. 'No, my
  lord,' replied Manton, 'not the best; but your shooting to-day was
  respectable.' Whereupon Byron waxed wroth, and left the shop in a
  violent passion."]





       *       *       *       *       *





230.--To William Bankes.


My dear Bankes,--My eagerness to come to an explanation has, I trust,
convinced you that whatever my unlucky manner might inadvertently be,
the change was as unintentional as (if intended) it would have been
ungrateful. I really was not aware that, while we were together, I had
evinced such caprices; that we were not so much in each other's company
as I could have wished, I well know, but I think so _acute an observer_
as yourself must have perceived enough to _explain this_, without
supposing any slight to one in whose society I have pride and pleasure.
Recollect that I do not allude here to "extended" or "extending"
acquaintances, but to circumstances you will understand, I think, on a
little reflection.

And now, my dear Bankes, do not distress me by supposing that I can
think of you, or you of me, otherwise than I trust we have long thought.
You told me not long ago that my temper was improved, and I should be
sorry that opinion should be revoked. Believe me, your friendship is of
more account to me than all those absurd vanities in which, I fear, you
conceive me to take too much interest. I have never disputed your
superiority, or doubted (seriously) your good will, and no one shall
ever "make mischief between us" without the sincere regret on the part
of your ever affectionate, etc.

P.S.--I shall see you, I hope, at Lady Jersey's [1].

Hobhouse goes also.



[Footnote 1: George Child-Villiers (1773-1859), "in manners and
appearance 'le plus grand seigneur' of his time," succeeded his father,
"the Prince of Maccaronies," in 1805, as fifth Earl of Jersey. He was
twice Lord Chamberlain to William IV., and twice Master of the Horse to
Queen Victoria. He married, in 1804, Lady Sarah Sophia Fane, eldest
daughter of John, tenth Earl of Westmorland, and heiress, through her
mother, 'nee' Sarah Anne Child, of the fortune of her grandfather,
Robert Child, the banker.

Lady Jersey for many years reigned supreme, by her beauty and wit, in
London society,

  "the veriest tyrant," said Byron, "that ever governed Fashion's fools,
  and compelled them to shake their caps and bells as she willed it."

At Almack's, where, according to Gronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p.
32), she introduced the quadrille after Waterloo, she was a despot.
'Almack's', the very clever and personal picture of fashionable life,
published in 1826, is dedicated

  "To that most Distinguished and Despotic Conclave, composed of their
  High Mightinesses the Ladies Patronesses of the Balls at Almack's, the
  Rulers of Fashion, the Arbiters of Taste, the Leaders of 'Ton',
  and the Makers of Manners, whose Sovereign sway over 'the world' of
  London has long been established on the firmest basis, whose Decrees
  are Laws, and from whose judgment there is no appeal."

Over this "Willis Coalition Cabinet" Lady Jersey, as "Lady Hauton," is
described as reigning supreme.

  "She knew more than any person I ever met with, and both everything
  and everybody; she could quiz and she could flatter."

  "Treat people like fools," she is supposed to say, "and they will
  worship you; stoop to make up to them, and they will directly tread
  you underfoot."

Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 269) speaks of her as a "beautiful creature,
with a great deal of talent, taste, and elegant knowledge." He was at
Almack's, in 1819, and standing close to Lady Jersey, then at the height
of beauty and brilliant talent, a leader in society, and with decided
political opinions, when she refused the Duke of Wellington admittance.
The lady patronesses had made a rule to admit no one after eleven
o'clock. When the rule first came into operation, Ticknor heard one of
the attendants announce that the Duke of Wellington was at the door.

  "What o'clock is it?" Lady Jersey asked. "Seven minutes after eleven,
  your ladyship." She paused a moment, and then said, with emphasis and
  distinctness, "Give my compliments,--give Lady Jersey's compliments to
  the Duke of Wellington, and say that she is very glad that the first
  enforcement of the rule of exclusion is such that hereafter no one can
  complain of its application. He cannot be admitted"

('ibid'., vol. i. pp. 296, 297).

Politically, Lady Jersey was a power. Such an entry as the following
sounds strange to modern readers: Dining at Lord Holland's, in 1835, in
company with Lord Melbourne, Lord Grey, and other prominent politicians,
Ticknor notes that

  "public business was much talked about--the corporation bill, the
  motion for admitting Dissenters to the universities, etc., etc.; and
  as to the last, when the question arose whether it would be debated on
  Tuesday night, it was admitted to be doubtful whether Lady Jersey
  would not succeed in getting it postponed, as she has a grand dinner
  that evening"

('Life', vol. i. pp. 409, 410).

Lady Jersey, whose mother-in-law, 'nee' Frances Twyden, had
been a bitter opponent of the Princess of Wales, provoked the wrath
of the Regent by espousing the cause of his wife. The Prince
was determined to break off this friendship with his wife's champion,
and sent a letter to her by the hand of Colonel Willis, announcing
his determination. Some time later they met at a great party given
by Henry Hope in Cavendish Square. Lady Jersey was walking
with Rogers in the gallery, when they met the Prince, who

  "stopped for a moment, and then, drawing himself up, marched past her
  with a look of the utmost disdain. Lady Jersey returned the look to
  the full; and, as soon as the Prince was gone, said to me, with a
  smile, 'Didn't I do it well?'"

('Table Talk of Samuel Rogers', pp. 267, 268).

From this same change of feeling arose the incident which Byron
celebrated in his Condolatory Address "On the Occasion of the Prince
Regent Returning her Picture to Mrs. Mee." The lines were enclosed with
a letter which is printed at the date May 29, 1814. "Pegasus is,
perhaps, the only horse of whose paces," said Byron ('Conversations with
Lady Blessington', p. 51), "Lord [Jersey] could not be a judge." Of Lady
Jersey he says ('ibid'., p. 50),

  "Of all that coterie, Madame [de Stael], after Lady [Jersey], was the
  best; at least I thought so, for these two ladies were the only ones
  who ventured to protect me when all London was crying out against me
  on the separation, and they behaved courageously and kindly ... Poor
  dear Lady [Jersey]! Does she still retain her beautiful cream-coloured
  complexion and raven hair? I used to long to tell her that she spoiled
  her looks by her excessive animation; for eyes, tongue, head, and arms
  were all in movement at once, and were only relieved from their active
  service by want of respiration," etc., etc.]





       *       *       *       *       *





231.--To Thomas Moore.


March 25, 1812.


Know all men by these presents, that you, Thomas Moore, stand
indicted--no--invited, by special and particular solicitation, to Lady
Caroline Lamb's [1] tomorrow evening, at half-past nine o'clock, where
you will meet with a civil reception and decent entertainment. Pray,
come--I was so examined after you this morning, that I entreat you to
answer in person.

Believe me, etc.



[Footnote 1: Lady Caroline Lamb (1785-1828), the "Calantha Avondale" of
her own 'Glenarvon', was the daughter of Frederick Ponsonby, third Earl
of Bessborough, by his wife, Lady Henrietta Frances Spencer, sister of
Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. She was brought up, partly in Italy
under the care of a servant, partly by her grandmother, the wife of
John, first Earl Spencer. She married, June 3, 1805, William Lamb,
afterwards Lord Melbourne.

Her manuscript commonplace-book is in the possession of the Hon. G.
Ponsonby. A few pages are taken up with a printed copy of the 'Essay on
the Progressive Improvement of Mankind', with which her husband won the
declamation prize at Trinity, Cambridge, in 1798. The rest of the volume
consists of some 200 pages filled with prose, and verse, and sketches.
It begins with a list of her nicknames--"Sprite," "Young Savage,"
"Ariel," "Squirrel," etc. Then follow the secret language of an
imaginary order; her first verses, written at the age of thirteen;
scraps of poetry, original and extracted, in French, Italian, and
English; a long fragment of a wild romantic story of a girl's seduction
by an infidel nobleman. A clever sketch in water-colour of William Lamb
and of herself, after their marriage, is followed by verses on the birth
of her son, "little "Augustus," August 23, 1807. The last stanza of a
poem, which has nothing to commend it except the feelings of the wife
and mother which it expresses, runs thus:

  "His little eyes like William's shine;
  How great is then my joy,
  For, while I call this darling mine,
  I see 'tis William's boy!"

The most ambitious effort in the volume is a poem, illustrated with
pictures in water colours, such as 'L'Amour se cache sous le voile
d'Amitie, or l'Innocence le recoit dans ses bras'; a third, in the style
of Blake, bears the inscription 'le Desespoir met fin a ses jours'. The
poem opens with the following lines:

  "Winged with Hope and hushed with Joy,
  See yon wanton, blue-eyed Boy,--
  Arch his smile, and keen his dart,--
  Aim at Laura's youthful heart!
  How could he his wiles disguise?
  How deceive such watchful eyes?
  How so pure a breast inspire,
  Set so young a Mind on fire?
  'Twas because to raise the flame
  Love bethought of friendship's name.
  Under this false guise he told her
  That he lived but to behold her.
  How could she his fault discover
  When he often vowed to love her?
  How could she her heart defend
  When he took the name of friend?"

Dates are seldom affixed to the compositions, and it is impossible to
say whether any are autobiographical. But, taken as a whole, they reveal
a clever, romantic, impulsive, imaginative woman, whose pet names
describe at once the charm of her character and the fascination of her
small, slight figure, "golden hair, large hazel eyes," and low musical
voice.

Her marriage with William Lamb, June 3, seems to have been at first kept
secret. Lord Minto in August, 1805 ('Life and Letters', vol. iii. p.
361), speaks of her as unmarried, and adds that she is "a lively and
rather a pretty girl; they say she is very clever." Augustus Foster,
writing to his mother, Lady Elizabeth Foster, July 30, 1805 ('The Two
Duchesses', p. 233), says, "I cannot fancy Lady Caroline married. I
cannot be glad of it. How changed she must be--the delicate Ariel, the
little Fairy Queen become a wife and soon perhaps a mother." Lady
Elizabeth replies, September 30, 1805 ('ibid'., p. 242): "You may
retract all your sorrow about Caro Ponsonby's marriage, for she is the
same wild, delicate, odd, delightful person, unlike everything."

Lady Caroline and William Lamb are described by Lady Elizabeth, three
months later, as "flirting all day long 'e felice adesso'." The phrase,
perhaps, correctly expresses Lady Caroline's conception of love as an
episode; but no breach occurred till 1813. In the previous year, when
Byron had suddenly risen to the height of his fame, she had refused to
be introduced by Lady Westmorland to the man of whom she made the famous
entry in her Diary "mad, bad, and dangerous to know." But they met, a
few days later, at Holland House, and Byron called on her in Whitehall,
where for the next four months he was a daily visitor. On blue-bordered
paper, embossed at the corners with scallop-shells, she wrote to Byron
at an early stage in their acquaintance, the letter numbered 1 in
Appendix III.

For the sequel to the story of their friendship, see Byron's letter to
Lady Caroline, p. 135, 'note' 1, and Appendix III.]





       *       *       *       *       *





232.--To Lady Caroline Lamb.


[Undated.]

I never supposed you artful: we are all selfish,--nature did that for
us. But even when you attempt deceit occasionally, you cannot maintain
it, which is all the better; want of success will curb the tendency.
Every word you utter, every line you write, proves you to be either
_sincere_ or a _fool_. Now as I know you are not the one, I must believe
you the other.

I never knew a woman with greater or more pleasing talents, _general_ as
in a woman they should be, something of everything, and too much of
nothing. But these are unfortunately coupled with a total want of common
conduct. [1] For instance, the _note_ to your _page_--do you suppose I
delivered it? or did you mean that I should? I did not of course.

Then your heart, my poor Caro (what a little volcano!), that pours
_lava_ through your veins; and yet I cannot wish it a bit colder, to
make a _marble slab_ of, as you sometimes see (to understand my foolish
metaphor) brought in vases, tables, etc., from Vesuvius, when hardened
after an eruption. To drop my detestable tropes and figures, you know I
have always thought you the cleverest, most agreeable, absurd, amiable,
perplexing, dangerous, fascinating little being that lives now, or ought
to have lived 2000 years ago. I won't talk to you of beauty; I am no
judge. But our beauties cease to be so when near you, and therefore you
have either some, or something better. And now, Caro, this nonsense is
the first and last compliment (if it be such) I ever paid you. You have
often reproached me as wanting in that respect; but others will make up
the deficiency.

Come to Lord Grey's; at least do not let me keep you away. All that you
so often _say_, I _feel_. Can more be said or felt? This same prudence
is tiresome enough; but one _must_ maintain it, or what _can_ one do to
be saved? Keep to it.



[Footnote 1: The following letter from Lady Caroline to Fletcher,
Byron's valet, illustrates the statement in the text:

  "FLETCHER,--Will you come and see me here some evening at 9, and no
  one will know of it. You may say you bring a letter, and wait the
  answer. I will send for you in. But I will let you know first, for I
  wish to speak with you. I also want you to take the little Foreign
  Page I shall send in to see Lord Byron. Do not tell him before-hand,
  but, when he comes with flowers, shew him in. I shall not come myself,
  unless just before he goes away; so do not think it is me. Besides,
  you will see this is quite a child, only I wish him to see my Lord if
  you can contrive it, which, if you tell me what hour is most
  convenient, will be very easy. I go out of Town to-morrow for a day or
  two, and I am now quite well--at least much better."]





       *       *       *       *       *





233.--To William Bankes.


April 20, 1812.


MY DEAR BANKES,--I feel rather hurt (not savagely) at the speech you
made to me last night, and my hope is that it was only one of your
_profane_ jests. I should be very sorry that any part of my behaviour
should give you cause to suppose that I think higher of myself, or
otherwise of you than I have always done. I can assure you that I am as
much the humblest of your servants as at Trin. Coll.; and if I have not
been at home when you favoured me with a call, the loss was more mine
than yours. In the bustle of buzzing parties, there is, there can be, no
rational conversation; but when I can enjoy it, there is nobody's I can
prefer to your own.

Believe me, ever faithfully and most affectionately yours,

BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *





234.--To Thomas Moore.


Friday noon.


I should have answered your note yesterday, but I hoped to have seen you
this morning. I must consult with you about the day we dine with Sir
Francis [1]. I suppose we shall meet at Lady Spencer's [2] to-night. I
did not know that you were at Miss Berry's [3] the other night, or I
should have certainly gone there.

As usual, I am in all sorts of scrapes, though none, at present, of a
martial description.

Believe me, etc.



[Footnote 1: Probably with Sir Francis Burdett, at 77, Piccadilly.]


[Footnote 2: Grandmother of Lady Caroline Lamb.]


[Footnote 3: Mary Berry (1763-1852), the friend and editor of Horace
Walpole, whom she might have married, lived at Little Strawberry Hill,
and in North Audley Street, London. In her Journal Miss Berry mentions
two occasions on which she met Byron. The first was Thursday, April 2,
1812, at Lord Glenbervie's.

  "I had a quarter of an hour's conversation, which, I own, gave me a
  great desire to know him better, and he seemed willing that I should
  do so."

The second occasion was May 7, 1812.

  "At the end of the evening I had half an hour's conversation with Lord
  Byron, principally on the subject of the Scotch Review, with which he
  is very much pleased. He is a singular man, and pleasant to me but I
  very much fear that his head begins to be turned by all the adoration
  of the world, especially the women"

('Journal and Correspondence of Miss Berry', vol. ii. pp. 496, 497).]





       *       *       *       *       *





235.--To Lady Caroline Lamb.


May 1st, 1812.


MY DEAR LADY CAROLINE,-I have read over the few poems of Miss Milbank
[1] with attention. They display fancy, feeling, and a little practice
would very soon induce facility of expression. Though I have an
abhorrence of Blank Verse, I like the lines on Dermody [2] so much that
I wish they were in rhyme. The lines in the Cave at Seaham have a turn
of thought which I cannot sufficiently commend, and here I am at least
candid as my own opinions differ upon such subjects. The first stanza is
very good indeed, and the others, with a few slight alterations, might
be rendered equally excellent. The last are smooth and pretty. But these
are all, has she no others? She certainly is a very extraordinary girl;
who would imagine so much strength and variety of thought under that
placid Countenance? It is not necessary for Miss M. to be an authoress,
indeed I do not think publishing at all creditable either to men or
women, and (though you will not believe me) very often feel ashamed of
it myself; but I have no hesitation in saying that she has talents
which, were it proper or requisite to indulge, would have led to
distinction.

A friend of mine (fifty years old, and an author, but not _Rogers_) has
just been here. As there is no name to the MSS. I shewed them to him,
and he was much more enthusiastic in his praises than I have been. He
thinks them beautiful; I shall content myself with observing that they
are better, much better, than anything of Miss M.'s protegee ('sic')
Blacket. You will say as much of this to Miss M. as you think proper. I
say all this very sincerely. I have no desire to be better acquainted
with Miss Milbank; she is too good for a fallen spirit to know, and I
should like her more if she were less perfect. Believe me, yours ever
most truly,

B.



[Footnote 1: This letter refers to the future Lady Byron, the "Miss
Monmouth" of 'Glenarvon' (see vol. iii. p. 100), who was first brought
to Byron's notice by Lady Caroline Lamb. Anna Isabella (often shortened
into Annabella) Milbanke (born May 17, 1792; died May 16, 1860) was the
only child of Sir Ralph Milbanke, Bart., and the Hon. Judith Noel,
daughter of Lord Wentworth. Her childhood was passed at Halnaby, or at
Seaham, where her father had

  "a pretty villa on the cliff." In 1808 Seaham "was the most primitive
  hamlet ever met with--a dozen or so of cottages, no trade, no
  manufacture, no business doing that we could see; the owners were
  mostly servants of Sir Ralph Milbanke's"

('Memoirs of a Highland Lady', p. 71). It was here that Blacket the poet
(see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 314, 'note' 2; p. 6, 'note' 5, of the present
volume; and 'English Bards, etc'., line 770, and Byron's 'note') died,
befriended by Miss Milbanke.

Byron (Medwin's 'Conversations with Lord Byron', pp. 44, 45) thus
describes the personal appearance of his future wife:

  "There was something piquant and what we term pretty in Miss Milbanke.
  Her features were small and feminine, though not regular. She had the
  fairest skin imaginable. Her figure was perfect for her height; and
  there was a simplicity, a retired modesty, about her, which was very
  characteristic, and formed a happy contrast to the cold, artificial
  formality and studied stiffness which is called fashion."

The roundness of her face suggested to Byron the pet name of "Pippin."

High-principled, guided by a strong sense of duty, imbued with deep
religious feeling, Miss Milbanke lived to impress F. W. Robertson as
"the noblest woman he ever knew" ('Diary of Crabb Robinson' (1852), vol.
iii. p. 405). She was also a clever, well-read girl, fond of
mathematics, a student of theology and of Greek, a writer of meritorious
verse, which, however, Byron only allowed to be "good by accident"
(Medwin, p. 60). Among her mother's friends were Mrs. Siddons, Joanna
Baillie, and Maria Edgeworth. The latter, writing, May, 1813, to Miss
Ruxton, says, "Lady Milbanke is very agreeable, and has a charming,
well-informed daughter." With all her personal charms, virtues, and
mental gifts, she shows, in many of her letters, a precision, formality,
and self-complacency, which suggest the female pedant. Byron says of her
that "she was governed by what she called fixed rules and principles,
squared mathematically" (Medwin, p. 60); at one time he used to speak of
her as his "Princess of Parallelograms," and at a later period he called
her his "Mathematical Medea."

Before Miss Milbanke met Byron, she had a lover in Augustus Foster, son
of Lady Elizabeth Foster, afterwards Duchess of Devonshire. The duchess,
writing to her son, February 29, 1812, says that Mrs. George Lamb (?)
would sound Miss Milbanke as to her feelings:

  "Caro means to see 'la bella' Annabelle before she writes to you
  ... I shall almost hate her if she is blind to the merits of one who
  would make her so happy"

('The Two Duchesses', p. 358). Apparently Mr. Foster's love was not
returned.

  "She persists in saying," writes the duchess, May 4, 1812 ('ibid'., p.
  362), "that she never suspected your attachment to her; but she is so
  odd a girl that, though she has for some time rather liked another,
  she has decidedly refused them, because she thinks she ought to marry
  a person with a good fortune; and this is partly, I believe, from
  generosity to her parents, and partly owning that fortune is an object
  to herself for happiness. In short, she is good, amiable, and
  sensible, but cold, prudent, and reflecting. Lord Byron makes up to
  her a little; but she don't seem to admire him except as a poet, nor
  he her except for a wife."

Again, June 2, 1812, she says,

  "Your Annabella is a mystery; liking, not liking; generous-minded, yet
  afraid of poverty; there is no making her out. I hope you don't make
  yourself unhappy about her; she is really an icicle."

Miss Milbanke's unaffected simplicity attracted Byron; even her coldness
was a charm. When he came to know her, he probably found her not only
agreeable, but the best woman he had ever met. Lady Melbourne, who knew
him most intimately, and was also Miss Milbanke's aunt, may well have
thought that, if her niece once gained control over Byron, her influence
would be the making of his character. She encouraged the match by every
means in her power. It is unnecessary to suppose that she did so to save
Lady Caroline Lamb; that danger was over. At some time before the autumn
of 1812, Byron proposed to Miss Milbanke, and was refused. He still,
however, continued to correspond with her, and his 'Journal' shows that
his affection for her was steadily growing during the years 1813-14. In
September, 1814, he proposed a second time, and was accepted.

Byron professed to believe (Medwin, p. 59) that Miss Milbanke was not in
love with him.

  "I was the fashion when she first came out; I had the character of
  being a great rake, and was a great dandy--both of which young ladies
  like. She married me from vanity, and the hope of reforming and fixing
  me."

Byron was not the man to unbosom himself to Medwin on such a subject.
Moore asked the same question--whether Lady Byron really loved Byron--of
Lady Holland, who

  "seemed to think she must. He was such a loveable person. I remember
  him (said she) sitting there with that light upon him, looking so
  beautiful!'"

('Journals, etc.', vol. ii. p. 324). The letters that will follow seem
to show beyond all question that the marriage was one of true affection
on both sides.]


[Footnote 2: Thomas Dermody (1775-1802), a precocious Irish lad, whose
dissipated habits weakened his mind and body, published poems in 1792,
1800, and 1802. His collected verses appeared in 1807 under the title of
'The Harp of Erin', edited by J. G. Raymond, who had published the
previous year (1806) 'The Life of Thomas Dermody' in two volumes.]





       *       *       *       *       *





236.--To Thomas Moore.


May 8, 1812.

I am too proud of being your friend, to care with whom I am linked in
your estimation, and, God knows, I want friends more at this time than
at any other. I am "taking care of myself" to no great purpose. If you
knew my situation in every point of view, you would excuse apparent and
unintentional neglect. I shall leave town, I think; but do not you leave
it without seeing me. I wish you, from my soul, every happiness you can
wish yourself; and I think you have taken the road to secure it. Peace
be with you! I fear she has abandoned me. Ever, etc.





       *       *       *       *       *





237.--To Thomas Moore.


May 20, 1812.


On Monday, after sitting up all night, I saw Bellingham launched into
eternity [1], and at three the same day I saw *  *  *  launched into the
country.

I believe, in the beginning of June, I shall be down for a few days in
Notts. If so, I shall beat you up 'en passant' with Hobhouse, who is
endeavouring, like you and every body else, to keep me out of scrapes.

I meant to have written you a long letter, but I find I cannot. If any
thing remarkable occurs, you will hear it from me--if good; if _bad_,
there are plenty to tell it. In the mean time, do you be happy.

Ever yours, etc.

P.S.--My best wishes and respects to Mrs. Moore;--she is beautiful. I
may say so even to you, for I was never more struck with a countenance.



[Footnote 1: Bellingham, while engaged in the timber trade at Archangel,
fancied himself wronged by the Russian Government, and the British
Ambassador at St. Petersburg, Lord G. Leveson-Gower. Returning to
England, he set up in Liverpool as an insurance broker, continuing to
press his claims against Russia on the Ministry without success. On May
11, 1812, he shot Spencer Perceval, First Lord of the Treasury and
Chancellor of the Exchequer, dead in the lobby of the House of Commons.
Bellingham was hanged before Newgate on May 18. Byron took a window,
says Moore ('Life', p. 164), to see the execution. He

  "was accompanied on the occasion by his old schoolfellows, Mr. Bailey
  and Mr. John Madocks. They went together from some assembly, and, on
  their arriving at the spot, about three o'clock in the morning, not
  finding the house that was to receive them open, Mr. Madocks undertook
  to rouse the inmates, while Lord Byron and Mr. Bailey sauntered, arm
  in arm, up the street. During this interval, rather a painful scene
  occurred. Seeing an unfortunate woman lying on the steps of a door,
  Lord Byron, with some expression of compassion, offered her a few
  shillings; but, instead of accepting them, she violently pushed away
  his hand, and, starting up with a yell of laughter, began to mimic the
  lameness of his gait. He did not utter a word; but 'I could feel,'
  said Mr. Bailey, 'his arm trembling within mine, as we left her.'"

In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' is an anecdote of Baillie, whose name is
here misspelt by Moore:

  "Baillie (commonly called 'Long' Baillie, a very clever man, but odd)
  complained in riding, to our friend Scrope Davies, that he had a
  'stitch' in his side. 'I don't wonder at it,' said Scrope, 'for you
  ride like a _tailor_.' Whoever has seen B. on horseback, with his very
  tall figure on a small nag, would not deny the justice of the
  repartee."]





       *       *       *       *       *





238.--To Bernard Barton [1].


8, St. James's St., June 1, 1812.


The most satisfactory answer to the concluding part of your letter is
that Mr. Murray will republish your volume, if you still retain your
inclination for the experiment, which I trust will be successful. Some
weeks ago my friend Mr. Rogers showed me some of the stanzas in MS., and
I then expressed my opinion of their merit, which a further perusal of
the printed volume has given me no reason to revoke. I mention this, as
it may not be disagreeable to you to learn that I entertained a very
favourable opinion of your powers, before I was aware that such
sentiments were reciprocal.

Waiving your obliging expressions as to my own productions, for which I
thank you very sincerely, and assure you that I think not lightly of the
praise of one whose approbation is valuable, will you allow me to talk
to you candidly, not critically, on the subject of yours? You will not
suspect me of a wish to discourage, since I pointed out to the publisher
the propriety of complying with your wishes. I think more highly of your
poetical talents than it would, perhaps, gratify you to hear expressed,
for I believe, from what I observe of your mind, that you are above
flattery. To come to the point, you deserve success, but we know, before
Addison wrote his Cato', that desert does not always command it. But,
suppose it attained:

  "You know what ills the author's life assail,
  Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail." [2]

Do not renounce writing, but never trust entirely to authorship. If you
have a possession, retain it; it will be, like Prior's fellowship [3], a
last and sure resource. Compare Mr. Rogers with other authors of the
day; assuredly he is amongst the first of living poets, but is it to
that he owes his station in society, and his intimacy in the best
circles? No, it is to his prudence and respectability; the world (a bad
one, I own) courts him because he has no occasion to court it. He is a
poet, nor is he less so because he was something more. I am not sorry to
hear that you are not tempted by the vicinity of Capel Loft, Esq're.
[4], though, if he had done for you what he has done for the
Bloomfields, I should never have laughed at his rage for patronising.
But a truly constituted mind will ever be independent. That you may be
so is my sincere wish, and, if others think as well of your poetry as I
do, you will have no cause to complain of your readers.

Believe me, etc.



[Footnote 1: Bernard Barton (1784-1849), the friend of Charles Lamb, and
the Quaker poet, to whose 'Poems and Letters' (1849) Edward FitzGerald
prefixed a biographical introduction, published 'Metrical Effusions'
(1812), 'Poems by an Amateur' (1817), 'Poems' (1820), and several other
works. He was for many years a clerk in a bank at Woodbridge, in
Suffolk. Byron's advice to him was that of Lamb: "Keep to your bank, and
your bank will keep you." Two letters, written by him to Byron in 1814,
showing his admiration of the poet, and his appreciation of the
generosity of his character, and part of the draft of Byron's answer,
are given in Appendix IV.]


[Footnote 2:

  "There mark what ills the scholar's life assail,--
  Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail."

Johnson's 'Vanity of Human Wishes', line 159.]



[Footnote 3: Matthew Prior (1664-1721) became a Fellow of St. John's
College, Cambridge, in 1688.]


[Footnote 4: For Capell Lofft and the Bloomfields, see 'Letters', vol.
i. p. 337, 'notes' I and 2  [Footnotes 4 and 5 of Letter 167.]]





       *       *       *       *       *





239.--To Lord Holland.


June 25, 1812.


MY DEAR LORD,--I must appear very ungrateful, and have, indeed, been
very negligent, but till last night I was not apprised of Lady Holland's
restoration, and I shall call to-morrow to have the satisfaction, I
trust, of hearing that she is well.--I hope that neither politics nor
gout have assailed your Lordship since I last saw you, and that you also
are "as well as could be expected."

The other night, at a ball, I was presented by order to our gracious
Regent, who honoured me with some conversation, and professed a
predilection for poetry [1].--I confess it was a most unexpected honour,
and I thought of poor Brummell's [2] adventure, with some apprehension
of a similar blunder. I have now great hope, in the event of Mr. Pye's
[3] decease, of "warbling truth at court," like Mr. Mallet [4] of
indifferent memory.--Consider, one hundred marks a year! besides the
wine and the disgrace; but then remorse would make me drown myself in my
own butt before the year's end, or the finishing of my first
dithyrambic.--So that, after all, I shall not meditate our laureate's
death by pen or poison.

Will you present my best respects to Lady Holland? and believe me, hers
and yours very sincerely.



[Footnote 1: The ball was given in June, 1812, at Miss Johnson's (see
'Memoir of John Murray', vol. i. p. 212). In the words "predilection for
poetry" Byron probably refers to the phrase in the Regent's letter to
the Duke of York (February 13, 1812): "I have no predilections to
indulge, no resentments to gratify." Moore, in the 'Twopenny Post-bag',
twice fastens on the phrase. In "The Insurrection of the Papers", a
dream suggested by Lord Castlereagh's speech--"It would be impossible
for His Royal Highness to disengage his person from the accumulating
pile of papers that encompassed it"--he writes:

  "But, oh, the basest of defections!
  His Letter about 'predilections'--
  His own dear Letter, void of grace,
  Now flew up in its parent's face!"

And again, in the "Parody of a Celebrated Letter":

  "I am proud to declare I have no predilections,
  My heart is a sieve, where some scatter'd affections
  Are just danc'd about for a moment or two,
  And the 'finer' they are, the more sure to run through."]


[Footnote 2: The grandfather of Beau Brummell, who was in business in
Bury Street, St. James's, also let lodgings. One of his lodgers, Charles
Jenkinson, afterwards Earl of Liverpool, obtained for his landlord's
son, William Brummell, a clerkship in the Treasury. The Treasury clerk
became so useful to Lord North that he obtained several lucrative
offices; and, dying in 1794, left L65,000 in the hands of trustees for
division among his three children. The youngest of these was George
Bryan Brummell (1788-1840), the celebrated Beau.

George Brummell went from Eton to Oriel College, Oxford, where his
undergraduate career is traced in "Trebeck," a character in Lister's
'Granby' (1826). From Oxford Brummell entered the Tenth Hussars, a
favourite regiment of the Prince of Wales. Well-built and well-mannered,
possessed of admirable tact, witty and original in conversation,
inexhaustible in good temper and good stories, a master of impudence and
banter, the new cornet made himself so agreeable to the prince that, at
the latter's marriage, Brummell attended him, both at St. James's and to
Windsor, as "a kind of 'chevalier d'honneur." In 1798 Brummell left the
army with the rank of captain. A year later he came of age, and settled
at 4, Chesterfield Street, Mayfair.

On his intimacy with the Prince Regent, Brummell founded the
extraordinary position which he achieved in society. Fashion was in
those days a power; and he was its dictator--the oracle, both for men
and women, of taste, manners, and dress. His ascendency rested in some
degree on solid foundations. He was not a mere fop, but conspicuous for
the quiet neatness of his dress--for "a certain exquisite propriety," as
Byron described it to Leigh Hunt--and, at a time when the opposite was
common, for the scrupulous cleanliness of his person and his linen. An
excellent dancer, clever at 'vers de societe', an agreeable singer, a
talented artist, a judge of china, buhl, and other objects of 'virtu', a
collector of snuff-boxes, a connoisseur in canes, he had gifts which
might have raised him above the Bond Street 'flaneur', or the idler at
Watier's Club. Well-read in a desultory fashion, he wrote verses which
were not without merit in their class. The following are the first and
last stanzas of 'The Butterfly's Funeral', a poem which was suggested by
Mrs. Dorset's 'Peacock at Home' and Roscoe's 'Butterfly's Ball':--

  "Oh ye! who so lately were blythsome and gay,
  At the Butterfly's banquet carousing away;
  Your feasts and your revels of pleasure are fled,
  For the soul of the banquet, the Butterfly's dead!
         *       *       *       *       *
  And here shall the daisy and violet blow,
  And the lily discover her bosom of snow;
  While under the leaf, in the evenings of spring,
  Still mourning his friend, shall the grasshopper sing."

In the days of his prosperity (1799-1816), Brummell knew everybody to
whose acquaintance he condescended. His Album, in which he collected 226
pieces of poetry, many by himself, others by celebrities of the day, is
a curious proof of his popularity. It contains contributions from such
persons as the Duchess of Devonshire, Erskine, Lord John Townshend,
Sheridan, General Fitzpatrick, William Lamb (afterwards Lord Melbourne)
and his brother George, and Byron. Lady Hester Stanhope ('Memoirs', vol.
i. pp. 280-283) knew him well. She describes him "riding in Bond Street,
with his bridle between his fore-finger and thumb, as if he held a pinch
of snuff;" gives many instances of his audacious effrontery, and yet
concludes that "the man was no fool," and that she "should like to see
him again."

The story that Brummell told the Prince Regent to ring the bell was
denied by him. A more probable version of the story is given in Jesse's
'Life of Beau Brummell' (vol. i. p. 255),

  "that one evening, when Brummell and Lord Moira were engaged in
  earnest conversation at Carlton House, the prince requested the former
  to ring the bell, and that he replied without reflection, 'Your Royal
  Highness is close to it,' upon which the prince rang the bell and
  ordered his friend's carriage, but that Lord Moira's intervention
  caused the unintentional liberty to be overlooked."

The rupture between them is attributed by Jesse to Mrs. Fitzherbert's
influence. Whatever the cause, the prince cut his former friend. A short
time afterwards, Brummell, walking with Lord Alvanley, met the prince
leaning on the arm of Lord Moira. As the prince, who stopped to speak to
Lord Alvanley, was moving on, Brummell said to his companion, "Alvanley,
who's your fat friend?" In the 'Twopenny Postbag' Moore makes the Regent
say, in the "Parody of a Celebrated Letter":

  "Neither have I resentments, or wish there should come ill
  To mortal--except, now I think on it, Beau Brummell,
  Who threatened last year, in a superfine passion,
  To cut me, and bring the old king into fashion."

Brummell's position withstood the loss of the Regent's friendship. He
became one of the most frequent visitors to the Duke and Duchess of
York, at Oatlands Park ('Journal of T. Raikes', vol. i. p. 146); and his
friendship with the duchess lasted till her death.

He was ruined by gambling at Watier's Club, of which he was perpetual
president. This club, which was in Piccadilly, at the corner of Bolton
Street, was originally founded, in 1807, by Lord Headfort, John Madocks,
and other young men, for musical gatherings. But glees and snatches soon
gave way to superlative dinners and gambling at macao. Byron, Moore, and
William Spencer belonged to Watier's--the only men of letters admitted
within its precincts. From 1814 to 1816 Brummell lost heavily; he could
obtain no further supplies, and was completely ruined. In his distress
he wrote to Scrope Davies, in May, 1816:

  "MY DEAR SCROPE,--Lend me two hundred pounds; the banks are shut, and
  all my money is in the three per cents. It shall be repaid to-morrow
  morning.

  Yours,
  GEORGE BRUMMELL."

The reply illustrates Byron's remark that

  "Scrope Davies is a wit, and a man of the world, and feels as much as
  such a character can do."

  "MY DEAR GEORGE,--'Tis very unfortunate, but all my money is in the
  three per cents.

  Yours,
  S. DAVIES."

On May 17,

  "obliged," says Byron ('Detached Thoughts'), "by that affair of
  poor Meyler, who thence acquired the name of 'Dick the
  Dandykiller'--(it was about money and debt and all that)--to retire to
  France,"

Brummell took flight to Dover, and crossed to Calais. Watier's Club died
a natural death, in 1819, from the ruin of most of its members.

Amongst Brummell's effects at Chesterfield Street was a screen which he
was making for the Duchess of York. The sixth panel was occupied by
Byron and Napoleon, placed opposite each other; the former, surrounded
with flowers, had a wasp in his throat (Jesse's 'Life', vol. i. p. 361).
At Calais Brummell bought a French grammar to study the language. When
Scrope Davies was asked, says Byron ('Detached Thoughts'),

  "what progress Brummell had made in French, he responded 'that
  Brummell had been stopped, like Buonaparte in Russia, by the
  'Elements'' I have put this pun into 'Beppo', which is 'a fair
  exchange and no robbery;' for Scrope made his fortune at several
  dinners (as he owned himself) by repeating occasionally as his own
  some of the buffooneries with which I had encountered him in the
  morning."

Brummell died, in 1840, at Caen, after making acquaintance with the
inside of the debtor's prison in that town--imbecile, and in the asylum
of the 'Bon Sauveur'. He is buried in the Protestant cemetery of Caen.
France has raised a more lasting monument to his fame in Barbey
d'Aurevilly's 'Du Dandysme et de Georges Brummell' (1845).]


[Footnote 3: Henry James Pye (1745-1813) was, from 1790 to his death,
poet laureate, in which post he succeeded Thomas Warton, and was
followed by Southey. Mathias, in the 'Pursuits of Literature' (Dialogue
ii. lines 69, 70), says:

  "With Spartan Pye lull England to repose,
  Or frighten children with Lenora's woes;"

and again ('ibid'., lines 79, 80):

  "Why should I faint when all with patience hear,
  And laureat Pye sings more than twice a year?"

His birthday odes were so full of "vocal groves and feathered choirs,"
that George Steevens broke out with the lines:

  "When the 'pie' was opened," etc.

Pye's 'magnum opus' was 'Alfred' (1801), an epic poem in six books.]


[Footnote 4: David Mallet, or Malloch (1705-1765), is best known for his
ballad of 'William and Margaret', his unsubstantiated claim to the
authorship of 'Rule, Britannia', and his edition of Bolingbroke's works.
He was appointed, in 1742, under-secretary to Frederick, Prince of
Wales.]





       *       *       *       *       *





240.--To Professor Clarke [1].


St. James's Street, June 26, 1812.


Will you accept my very sincere congratulations on your second volume,
wherein I have retraced some of my old paths, adorned by you so
beautifully, that they afford me double delight? The part which pleases
me best, after all, is the preface, because it tells me you have not yet
closed labours, to yourself not unprofitable, nor without gratification,
for what is so pleasing as to give pleasure? I have sent my copy to Sir
Sidney Smith, who will derive much gratification from your anecdotes of
Djezzar, [1] his "energetic old man." I doat upon the Druses; but who
the deuce are they with their Pantheism? I shall never be easy till I
ask _them_ the question. How much you have traversed! I must resume my
seven leagued boots and journey to Palestine, which your description
mortifies me not to have seen more than ever. I still sigh for the
AEgean. Shall not you always love its bluest of all waves, and brightest
of all skies? You have awakened all the gipsy in me. I long to be
restless again, and wandering; see what mischief you do, you won't allow
gentlemen to settle quietly at home. I will not wish you success and
fame, for you have both, but all the happiness which even these cannot
always give.



[Footnote 1: Edward Daniel Clarke (1769-1822), appointed Professor of
Mineralogy at Cambridge, in 1808, was the rival whose travels Hobhouse
was anxious to anticipate. He is described by Miss Edgeworth, in 1813
('Letters', vol. i. p. 205), as

  "a little, square, pale, flat-faced, good-natured-looking, fussy man,
  with very intelligent eyes, yet great credulity of countenance, and
  still greater benevolence."

Byron met Clarke at Cambridge in November, 1811, discussed Greece with
him, and was relieved to find that he knew "no Romaic." Clarke was an
indefatigable traveller, and, as he was a botanist, mineralogist,
antiquary, and numismatist, he made good use of his opportunities. The
marbles, including the Eleusinian Ceres, which he brought home, are in
the Fitzwilliam Museum. His mineralogical collections were purchased,
after his death, by the University of Cambridge; and his coins by Payne
Knight. His 'Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa'
appeared at intervals, from 1810 to 1823, in six quarto volumes. The
following letter was written by Clarke to Byron, after the appearance of
'Childe Harold':

  "Trumpington, Wednesday morning.

  "DEAR LORD BYRON,--From the eagerness which I felt to make known my
  opinions of your poem before others had expressed _any_ upon the
  subject, I waited upon you to deliver my hasty, although hearty,
  commendation. If it be worthy your acceptance, take it once more, in a
  more deliberate form! Upon my arrival in town I found that Mathias
  entirely coincided with me. 'Surely,' said I to him, 'Lord Byron, at
  this time of life, cannot have experienced such keen anguish as those
  exquisite allusions to what older men _may_ have felt seem to
  denote!' This was his answer: 'I fear he has--he could not else
  have written such a poem.' This morning I read the second canto with
  all the attention it so highly merits, in the peace and stillness of
  my study; and I am ready to confess I was never so much affected by
  any poem, passionately fond of poetry as I have been from my earliest
  youth....

  "The eighth stanza, '_Yet if as holiest men_,' etc., has never been
  surpassed. In the twenty-third, the sentiment is at variance with
  Dryden:

    'Strange cozenage! _none_ would live past years again.'

  "And it is perhaps an instance wherein, for the first time, I found
  not within my own breast an echo to your thought, for I would not '_be
  once more a boy_;' but the generality of men will agree with you, and
  wish to tread life's path again.

  "In the twelfth stanza of the same canto, you might really add a very
  curious note to these lines:

    'Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard,
    Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains,'

  "by stating this fact: When the last of the Metopes was taken from the
  Parthenon, and, in moving it, a great part of the superstructure with
  one of the triglyphs, was thrown down by the work men whom Lord Elgin
  employed, the Disdar, who beheld the mischief done to the building,
  took his pipe out of his mouth, dropped a tear, and, in a supplicating
  tone of voice, said to Lusieri--[Greek: Telos]! I was present at the
  time.

  "Once more I thank you for the gratification you have afforded me.

  "Believe me, ever yours most truly,
  "E. D. CLARKE."]


[Footnote 2: In Clarke's 'Travels' (Part II. sect. i. chap, xii.,
"Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land") will be found an account of Djezzar
Pasha, who fortified Acre in 1775, and with Sir Sidney Smith, defended
it against Buonaparte, March 16 to May 20, 1799. Clarke ('ibid'.)
mentions the Druses detained by Djezzar as hostages.]





       *       *       *       *       *





241.--To Walter Scott. [1]


St. James's Street, July 6, 1812.


SIR,--I have just been honoured with your letter.--I feel sorry that you
should have thought it worth while to notice the "evil works of my
nonage," as the thing is suppressed _voluntarily_, and your explanation
is too kind not to give me pain. The Satire was written when I was very
young and very angry, and fully bent on displaying my wrath and my wit,
and now I am haunted by the ghosts of my wholesale assertions. I cannot
sufficiently thank you for your praise; and now, waving myself, let me
talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him
at a ball; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips,
as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities: he
preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your
works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered, I
thought the 'Lay'. He said his own opinion was nearly similar. In
speaking of the others, I told him that I thought you more particularly
the poet of _Princes_, as _they_ never appeared more fascinating than in
'Marmion' and the 'Lady of the Lake'. He was pleased to coincide, and to
dwell on the description of your Jameses as no less royal than poetical.
He spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted
with both; so that (with the exception of the Turks [2] and your humble
servant) you were in very good company. I defy Murray to have
exaggerated his Royal Highness's opinion of your powers, nor can I
pretend to enumerate all he said on the subject; but it may give you
pleasure to hear that it was conveyed in language which would only
suffer by my attempting to transcribe it, and with a tone and taste
which gave me a very high idea of his abilities and accomplishments,
which I had hitherto considered as confined to _manners_, certainly
superior to those of any living _gentleman_ [3].

This interview was accidental. I never went to the levee; for having
seen the courts of Mussulman and Catholic sovereigns, my curiosity was
sufficiently allayed; and my politics being as perverse as my rhymes, I
had, in fact, "no business there." To be thus praised by your Sovereign
must be gratifying to you; and if that gratification is not alloyed by
the communication being made through me, the bearer of it will consider
himself very fortunately and sincerely,

Your obliged and obedient servant,

BYRON.

P.S.--Excuse this scrawl, scratched in a great hurry, and just after a
journey.



[Footnote 1: The correspondence which begins with this letter laid the
foundation of a firm friendship between the two poets. Scott was
naturally annoyed by the attack upon him in 'English Bards, etc'. (lines
171-174), made by "a young whelp of a Lord Byron." Though 'Childe
Harold' seemed to him "a clever poem," it did not raise his opinion of
Byron's character. Murray, hoping to heal the breach between them, wrote
to Scott, June 27, 1812 ('Memoir of John Murray', vol. i. p. 213),
giving Byron's account of the conversation with the Prince Regent.

  "But the Prince's great delight," says Murray, "was Walter Scott,
  whose name and writings he dwelt upon and recurred to incessantly. He
  preferred him far beyond any other poet of the time, repeated several
  passages with fervour, and criticized them faithfully.... Lord Byron
  called upon me, merely to let off the raptures of the Prince
  respecting you, thinking, as he said, that if I were likely to have
  occasion to write to you, it might not be ungrateful for you to hear
  of his praises."

Scott's answer (July 2) enclosed the following letter from himself to
Byron:

  "Edinburgh, July 3d, 1812.

  "MY LORD,--I am uncertain if I ought to profit by the apology which is
  afforded me, by a very obliging communication from our acquaintance,
  John Murray, of Fleet Street, to give your Lordship the present
  trouble. But my intrusion concerns a large debt of gratitude due to
  your Lordship, and a much less important one of explanation, which I
  think I owe to myself, as I dislike standing low in the opinion of any
  person whose talents rank so highly in my own, as your Lordship's most
  deservedly do.

  "The first 'count', as our technical language expresses it, relates to
  the high pleasure I have received from the 'Pilgrimage of Childe
  Harold', and from its precursors; the former, with all its classical
  associations, some of which are lost on so poor a scholar as I am,
  possesses the additional charm of vivid and animated description,
  mingled with original sentiment; but besides this debt, which I owe
  your Lordship in common with the rest of the reading public, I have to
  acknowledge my particular thanks for your having distinguished by
  praise, in the work which your Lordship rather dedicated in general to
  satire, some of my own literary attempts. And this leads me to put
  your Lordship right in the circumstances respecting the sale of
  'Marmion', which had reached you in a distorted and misrepresented
  form, and which, perhaps, I have some reason to complain, were given
  to the public without more particular inquiry. The poem, my Lord, was
  _not_ written upon contract for a sum of money--though it is too true
  that it was sold and published in a very unfinished state (which I
  have since regretted), to enable me to extricate myself from some
  engagements which fell suddenly upon me by the unexpected misfortunes
  of a very near relation. So that, to quote statute and precedent, I
  really come under the case cited by Juvenal, though not quite in the
  extremity of the classic author:

    'Esurit, intactam Paridi nisi vendit Agaven.'

  "And so much for a mistake, into which your Lordship might easily fall,
  especially as I generally find it the easiest way of stopping
  sentimental compliments on the beauty, etc., of certain poetry, and
  the delights which the author must have taken in the composition, by
  assigning the readiest reason that will cut the discourse short, upon
  a subject where one must appear either conceited or affectedly rude
  and cynical.

  "As for my attachment to literature, I sacrificed for the pleasure of
  pursuing it very fair chances of opulence and professional honours, at
  a time of life when I fully knew their value; and I am not ashamed to
  say, that in deriving advantages in compensation from the partial
  favour of the public, I have added some comforts and elegancies to a
  bare independence. I am sure your Lordship's good sense will easily
  put this unimportant egotism to the right account, for--though I do
  not know the motive would make me enter into controversy with a fair
  or an 'unfair' literary critic--I may be well excused for a wish
  to clear my personal character from any tinge of mercenary or sordid
  feeling in the eyes of a contemporary of genius. Your Lordship will
  likewise permit me to add that you would have escaped the trouble of
  this explanation, had I not understood that the satire alluded to had
  been suppressed, not to be reprinted. For in removing a prejudice on
  your Lordship's own mind, I had no intention of making any appeal by
  or through you to the public, since my own habits of life have
  rendered my defence as to avarice or rapacity rather too easy.

  "Leaving this foolish matter where it lies, I have to request your
  Lordship's acceptance of my best thanks for the flattering
  communication which you took the trouble to make Mr. Murray on my
  behalf, and which could not fail to give me the gratification which I
  am sure you intended. I dare say our worthy bibliopolist overcoloured
  his report of your Lordship's conversation with the Prince Regent, but
  I owe my thanks to him nevertheless, for the excuse he has given me
  for intruding these pages on your Lordship. Wishing you health,
  spirit, and perseverance, to continue your pilgrimage through the
  interesting countries which you have still to pass with 'Childe
  Harold', I have the honour to be, my Lord,

  "Your Lordship's obedient servant,

  "WALTER SCOTT.

  "P.S.--Will your Lordship permit me a verbal criticism on 'Childe
  Harold', were it only to show I have read his Pilgrimage with
  attention? 'Nuestra Dama de la Pena' means, I suspect, not our Lady of
  Crime or Punishment, but our Lady of the Cliff; the difference is, I
  believe, merely in the accentuation of 'pena'."

To Scott Byron replied with the letter given in the text. Scott's
answer, which followed in due course, will be found in Appendix V.

The Prince Regent, it may be added, showed his appreciation of Scott's
poetry by offering him, on the death of Pye, the post of poet laureate.
Scott refused, on the ground, apparently, that the office had been made
ridiculous by the previous holder.

  "At the time when Scott and Byron were the two 'lions' of London,
  Hookham Frere observed, 'Great poets formerly (Homer and Milton) were
  blind; now they are lame'"

('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', P. 194).]


[Footnote 2: The Turkish ambassador and suite were at the ball.]


[Footnote 3: Byron had already written his "Stanzas to a Lady Weeping,"
suggested by the rumour that Princess Charlotte had burst into tears, on
being told that there would be no change of Ministry when the Prince of
Wales assumed the Regency. They appeared anonymously in the 'Morning
Chronicle' for March 7, 1812, under the title of a "Sympathetic
'Address' to a Young Lady." They were published, as Byron's work, with
'The Corsair', in February, 1814. The verses rather betray the influence
of Moore than express his own feelings at the time. In 'Don Juan' (Canto
XII. stanza lxxxiv.) he thus speaks of the Regent:

  "There, too, he saw (whate'er he may be now)
    A Prince, the prince of princes at the time,
  With fascination in his very bow,
    And full of promise, as the spring of prime.
  Though royalty was written on his brow,
    He had 'then' the grace, too, rare in every clime,
  Of being, without alloy of fop or beau,
  A finish'd gentleman from top to toe."

Dallas found him, shortly after his introduction to the prince, "in a
full-dress court suit of clothes, with his fine black hair in powder,"
prepared to attend a levee. But the levee was put off, and the
subsequent avowal of the authorship of the stanzas rendered it
impossible for him to go ('Recollections', p. 234).]





       *       *       *       *       *





242.--To Lady Caroline Lamb.


[August, 1812?]


MY DEAREST CAROLINE, [1]--If tears which you saw and know I am not apt
to shed,--if the agitation in which I parted from you,--agitation which
you must have perceived through the _whole_ of this most _nervous_
affair, did not commence until the moment of leaving you approached,--if
all I have said and done, and am still but too ready to say and do, have
not sufficiently proved what my real feelings are, and must ever be
towards you, my love, I have no other proof to offer. God knows, I wish
you happy, and when I quit you, or rather you, from a sense of duty to
your husband and mother, quit me, you shall acknowledge the truth of
what I again promise and vow, that no other in word or deed, shall ever
hold the place in my affections, which is, and shall be, most sacred to
you, till I am nothing. I never knew till _that moment_ the _madness_ of
my dearest and most beloved friend; I cannot express myself; this is no
time for words, but I shall have a pride, a melancholy pleasure, in
suffering what you yourself can scarcely conceive, for you do not know
me. I am about to go out with a heavy heart, because my appearing this
evening will stop any absurd story which the event of the day might give
rise to. Do you think _now_ I am _cold_ and _stern_ and _artful_? Will
even _others_ think so? Will your _mother_ ever--that mother to whom we
must indeed sacrifice much, more, much more on my part than she shall
ever know or can imagine? "Promise not to love you!" ah, Caroline, it is
past promising. But I shall attribute all concessions to the proper
motive, and never cease to feel all that you have already witnessed, and
more than can ever be known but to my own heart,--perhaps to yours. May
God protect, forgive, and bless you. Ever, and even more than ever,

Your most attached,

BYRON.

P.S.--These taunts which have driven you to this, my dearest Caroline,
were it not for your mother and the kindness of your connections, is
there anything on earth or heaven that would have made me so happy as to
have made you mine long ago? and not less _now_ than _then_, but _more_
than ever at this time. You know I would with pleasure give up all here
and all beyond the grave for you, and in refraining from this, must my
motives be misunderstood? I care not who knows this, what use is made of
it,--it is to _you_ and to _you_ only that they are _yourself (sic)_. I
was and am yours freely and most entirely, to obey, to honour,
love,--and fly with you when, where, and how you yourself _might_ and
_may_ determine.



[Footnote 1: Lady Caroline's infatuation for Byron, expressed in various
ways--once (in July, 1813) by a self-inflicted stab with a table-knife,
or a broken glass--became the talk of society.

  "Your little friend, Caro William," writes the Duchess of Devonshire,
  May 4, 1812, "as usual, is doing all sorts of imprudent things for him
  and with him."

Again she writes, six days later, of Byron:

  "The ladies, I hear, spoil him, and the gentlemen are jealous of him.
  He is going back to Naxos, and then the husbands may sleep in peace. I
  should not be surprised if Caro William were to go with him, she is so
  wild and imprudent"

(The 'Two Duchesses', pp. 362, 364). But Lady Caroline's extravagant
adoration wearied Byron, who felt that it made him ridiculous; Lady
Melbourne gave him sound advice about her daughter-in-law; and he was
growing attached to Miss Milbanke, and, when rejected by her, at first
to Lady Oxford, and later to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster. When Lady
Bessborough endeavoured to persuade her daughter to leave London for
Ireland, Lady Caroline is said to have forced herself into Byron's room,
and implored him to fly with her. Byron refused, conducted her back to
Melbourne House, wrote her the letter printed above, and, as she herself
admits, kept the secret. In December, 1812, Lady Caroline burned Byron
in effigy, with "his book, ring, and chain," at Brocket Hall. The lines
which she wrote for the ceremony are preserved in Mrs. Leigh's
handwriting, and given in Appendix III., 2.

From Ireland Lady Caroline continued the siege, threatening to follow
him into Herefordshire, demanding interviews, and writing about him to
Lady Oxford. At length Byron sent her the letter, probably in November,
1812, which she professes to publish in 'Glenarvon' (vol. iii. chap.
ix.). The words are acknowledged by Byron to have formed part at least
of the real document, which is here quoted as printed in the novel:

  "Mortanville Priory, November the 9th.

  "LADY AVONDALE,--I am no longer your lover; and since you oblige me to
  confess it, by this truly unfeminine persecution, ... learn, that I am
  attached to another; whose name it would, of course, be dishonourable
  to mention. I shall ever remember with gratitude the many instances I
  have received of the predilection you have shown in my favour. I shall
  ever continue your friend, if your ladyship will permit me so to style
  myself; and, as a first proof of my regard, I offer you this advice,
  correct your vanity, which is ridiculous; exert your absurd caprices
  upon others; and leave me in peace.

  "Your most obedient servant,

  "GLENARVON."

The first effect of this letter and her unrequited passion was, as she
told Lady Morgan, to deprive her temporarily of reason, and it may be
added that, when she was a child, her grandmother was so alarmed by her
eccentricities as to consult a doctor on the state of her mind. The
second effect was to render her temper so ungovernable that William Lamb
decided on a separation. All preliminaries were arranged; the solicitor
arrived with the documents; but the old charm reasserted itself, and she
was found seated by her husband, "feeding him with tiny scraps of
transparent bread and butter" (Torrens, 'Memoirs of Lord Melbourne',
vol. i. p. 112). The separation did not take place till 1825.

Throughout 1812-14 Lady Caroline continued to write to Byron, at first
asking for interviews. Two of her last letters to him, written
apparently on the eve of his leaving England, in 1816, are worth
printing, though they increase the mystery of 'Glenarvon'. (See Appendix
III., 4 and 5.)

In Isaac Nathan's 'Fugitive Pieces' (1829), a section is devoted to
"Poetical Effusions, Letters, Anecdotes, and Recollections of Lady
Caroline Lamb."

Lady Caroline wrote three novels: 'Glenarvon' (1816); 'Graham Hamilton'
(1822); and 'Ada Reis; a Tale' (1823). 'Glenarvon', apart from its
biographical interest, is unreadable.

  "I do not know," writes C. Lemon to Lady H. Frampton ('Journal of Mary
  Frampton', pp. 286, 287), "all the characters in 'Glenarvon', but I
  will tell you all I do know. I am not surprised at your being struck
  with a few detached passages; but before you have read one volume, I
  think you will doubt at which end of the book you began. There is no
  connection between any two ideas in the book, and it seems to me to
  have been written as the sages of Laputa composed their works.
  'Glenarvon' is Lord Byron; 'Lady Augusta,' the late Duchess of
  Devonshire; 'Lady Mandeville'--I think it is Lady Mandeville, but the
  lady who dictated Glearvon's farewell letter to Calantha--is Lady
  Oxford. This letter she really dictated to Lord Byron to send to Lady
  Caroline Lamb, and is now very much offended that she has treated the
  matter so lightly as to introduce it into her book. The best character
  in it is the 'Princess of Madagascar' (Lady Holland), with all her
  Reviewers about her. The young Duke of Devonshire is in the book, but
  I forget under what name. I need not say that the heroine is Lady
  Caroline's own self."

In July, 1824, she was out riding, when she accidentally met Byron's
funeral on its way to Newstead. "I am sure," she wrote to Murray, July
13, 1824, "I am very sorry I ever said one unkind word against him." Her
mind never recovered the shock, and she died in January, 1828, in the
presence of her husband, at Melbourne House. (See also Appendix III.,
6.)]





       *       *       *       *       *





243.--To John Murray.


High Street, Cheltenham, Sept. 5, 1812.


DEAR SIR,--Pray have the goodness to send those despatches, and a No. of
the _E.R._ with the rest. I hope you have written to Mr. Thompson,
thanked him in my name for his present, and told him that I shall be
truly happy to comply with his request.--How do you go on? and when is
the graven image, "with _bays and wicked rhyme upon't_," to grace, or
disgrace, some of our tardy editions?

Send me "_Rokeby_" [1] who the deuce is he?--no matter, he has good
connections, and will be well introduced. I thank you for your
inquiries: I am so so, but my thermometer is sadly below the poetical
point. What will you give _me_ or _mine_ for a poem [2] of six cantos,
(_when complete--no_ rhyme, _no_ recompense,) as like the last two as I
can make them? I have some ideas which one day may be embodied, and till
winter I shall have much leisure.

Believe me, yours very sincerely,

BYRON.

P. S.--My last question is in the true style of Grub Street; but, like
_Jeremy Diddler_ [3], I only "ask for information."--Send me Adair on
_Diet and Regimen_, just republished by Ridgway [4].



[Footnote 1: 'Rokeby', completed December 31, 1812, was published in the
following year, with a dedication to John Morritt, to whom Rokeby
belonged. It was, as Scott admits in the Preface to the edition of 1830,
comparatively a failure. In the popularity of Byron he finds the chief
cause of the small success which his poem obtained.

  "To have kept his ground at the crisis when 'Rokeby' appeared," he
  writes, "its author ought to have put forth his utmost strength, and
  to have possessed all his original advantages, for a mighty and
  unexpected rival was advancing on the stage--a rival not in poetical
  powers only, but in that art of attracting popularity, in which the
  present writer had hitherto preceded better men than himself. The
  reader will easily see that Byron is here meant, who, after a little
  velitation of no great promise, now appeared as a serious candidate,
  in the first two cantos of 'Childe Harold'."

On this rivalry Byron wrote the passage in his Diary for November 17,
1813. A further cause for the cold reception of 'Rokeby' was its
inferiority both to the 'Lay' and to 'Marmion'. In Letter vii. of the
'Twopenny Post-bag', Moore writes thus of 'Rokeby'

  "Should you feel any touch of 'poetical' glow,
  We've a Scheme to suggest--Mr. Sc--tt, you must know,
  (Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the 'Row')
  Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown,
  Is coming by long Quarto stages, to Town;
  And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay)
  Means to 'do' all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way.
  Now the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat him)
  To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to 'meet' him;
  Who, by means of quick proofs--no revises--long coaches--
  May do a few Villas before Sc--tt approaches--
  Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby,
  He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn Abbey."]


[Footnote 2: 'The Giaour', published in 1813, for which Murray paid, not
Byron, but Dallas, 500 guineas.]


[Footnote 3: Kenney's 'Raising the Wind', act i. sc. 1:

  "'Diddler'. O Sam, you haven't got such a thing as tenpence about
              you, have you?

  "'Sam'.     Yes. 'And I mean to keep it about me, you see'.

  "'Diddler'. Oh, aye, certainly. I only asked for information."]


[Footnote 4: James MacKittrick (1728-1802), who assumed the name of
Adair, published, in 1804, 'An Essay on Diet and Regimen, as
indispensable to the Recovery and Preservation of Firm Health,
especially to Indolent, Studious, Delicate and Invalid; with appropriate
cases'.]





       *       *       *       *       *





244.--To Lord Holland.


Cheltenham, September 10, 1812.


My Dear Lord,--The lines which I sketched off on your hint are still, or
rather _were_, in an unfinished state, for I have just committed them to
a flame more decisive than that of Drury [1].

Under all circumstances, I should hardly wish a contest with
Philodrama--Philo-Drury--Asbestos, H----, and all the anonymes and
synonymes of Committee candidates. Seriously, I think you have a chance
of something much better; for prologuising is not my forte, and, at all
events, either my pride or my modesty won't let me incur the hazard of
having my rhymes buried in next month's Magazine, under "Essays on the
Murder of Mr. Perceval." and "Cures for the Bite of a Mad Dog," as poor
Goldsmith complained of the fate of far superior performances [2].

I am still sufficiently interested to wish to know the successful
candidate; and, amongst so many, I have no doubt some will be excellent,
particularly in an age when writing verse is the easiest of all
attainments.

I cannot answer your intelligence with the "like comfort," unless, as
you are deeply theatrical, you may wish to hear of Mr. Betty [3], whose
acting is, I fear, utterly inadequate to the London engagement into
which the managers of Covent Garden have lately entered. His figure is
fat, his features flat, his voice unmanageable, his action ungraceful,
and, as Diggory [4]  says, "I defy him to extort that damned muffin face
of his into madness." I was very sorry to see him in the character of
the "Elephant on the slack rope;" for, when I last saw him, I was in
raptures with his performance. But then I was sixteen--an age to which
all London condescended to subside. After all, much better judges have
admired, and may again; but I venture to "prognosticate a prophecy" (see
the 'Courier') that he will not succeed.

So, poor dear Rogers has stuck fast on "the brow of the mighty
Helvellyn" [5]--I hope not for ever. My best respects to Lady H.:--her
departure, with that of my other friends, was a sad event for me, now
reduced to a state of the most cynical solitude.

  "By the waters of Cheltenham I sat down and _drank_, when I
  remembered thee, oh Georgiana Cottage! As for our _harps_, we
  hanged them up upon the willows that grew thereby. Then they said,
  Sing us a song of Drury Lane," etc.;

--but I am dumb and dreary as the Israelites. The waters have disordered
me to my heart's content--you _were_ right, as you always are.

Believe me, ever your obliged and affectionate servant,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Drury Lane Theatre was reopened, after the fire of February
24, 1809, on Saturday, October 10, 1812. In the previous August the
following advertisement was issued:

  "'Rebuilding of Drury-Lane Theatre.'

  "The Committee are desirous of promoting a fair and free competition
  for an Address, to be spoken upon the opening of the Theatre, which
  will take place on the 10th of October next: They have therefore
  thought fit to announce to the Public, that they will be glad to
  receive any such Compositions, addressed to their Secretary at the
  Treasury Office in Drury Lane, on or before the 10th of September,
  sealed up, with a distinguishing word, number, or motto, on the cover,
  corresponding with the inscription, on a separate sealed paper,
  containing the name of the Author, which will not be opened, unless
  containing the name of the successful Candidate. Theatre Royal,
  Drury-Lane, August 13, 1812.

  "Owing to an accidental delay in the publication of the above
  Advertisement, the Committee have thought proper to extend the time
  for receiving Addresses, from the last day of August to the 10th of
  September."

Byron, on the suggestion of Lord Holland, intended to send in an
'Address' in competition with other similar productions. He afterwards
changed his mind, and refused to compete. After all the 'Addresses' had
been received and rejected, the Committee applied to him to write an
'Address'. This he consented to do.]


[Footnote 2:

  "The public were more importantly employed, than to observe the easy
  simplicity of my style, or the harmony of my periods. Sheet after
  sheet was thrown off to oblivion. My essays were buried among the
  essays upon liberty, Eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad
  dog."

'Vicar of Wakefield', chap. xx.]


[Footnote 3: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 63, 'note' 2.[Footnote 2 of
Letter 24]]


[Footnote 4: "Diggory," one of Liston's parts, a character in Jackman's
'All the World's a Stage', asks (act i. sc. 2), "But how can you extort
that damned pudding-face of yours to madness?"]


[Footnote 5: Rogers had gone for a tour in the North. Byron alludes to
Scott's poem 'Helvellyn':

  "I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn," etc., etc.

The poem was occasioned, as Scott's note states, by the death of "a
young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition," who was
killed on the mountain in 1805.]





       *       *       *       *       *





245.--To John Murray.

Cheltenham, Sept. 14, 1812.

DEAR SIR,--The parcels contained some letters and verses, all (but one)
anonymous and complimentary, and very anxious for my conversion from
certain infidelities into which my good-natured correspondents conceive
me to have fallen. The books were presents of a _convertible_ kind
also,--'Christian Knowledge' and the 'Bioscope' [1], a religious Dial of
Life explained:--to the author of the former (Cadell, publisher,) I beg
you will forward my best thanks for his letter, his present, and, above
all, his good intentions. The 'Bioscope' contained an MS. copy of very
excellent verses, from whom I know not, but evidently the composition of
some one in the habit of writing, and of writing well. I do not know if
he be the author of the 'Bioscope' which accompanied them; but whoever
he is, if you can discover him, thank him from me most heartily. The
other letters were from ladies, who are welcome to convert me when they
please; and if I can discover them, and they be young, as they say they
are, I could convince them perhaps of my devotion. I had also a letter
from Mr. Walpole on matters of this world, which I have answered.

So you are Lucien's publisher! [2] I am promised an interview with him,
and think I shall ask _you_ for a letter of introduction, as "the gods
have made him poetical." From whom could it come with a better grace
than from _his_ publisher and mine? Is it not somewhat treasonable in
you to have to do with a relative of the "direful foe," as the 'Morning
Post' calls his brother?

But my book on 'Diet and Regimen', where is it? I thirst for Scott's
'Rokeby'; let me have y'e first-begotten copy. The 'Anti-Jacobin Review'
[3] is all very well, and not a bit worse than the 'Quarterly', and at
least less harmless. By the by, have you secured my books? I want all
the Reviews, at least the Critiques, quarterly, monthly, etc.,
Portuguese and English, extracted, and bound up in one volume for my
_old age_; and pray, sort my Romaic books, and get the volumes lent to
Mr. Hobhouse--he has had them now a long time. If any thing occurs, you
will favour me with a line, and in winter we shall be nearer neighbours.

Yours very truly,

BYRON.

P.S.--I was applied to to write the _Address_ for Drury Lane, but the
moment I heard of the contest, I gave up the idea of contending against
all Grub Street, and threw a few thoughts on the subject into the fire.
I did this out of respect to you, being sure you would have turned off
any of your authors who had entered the lists with such scurvy
competitors; to triumph would have been no glory, and to have been
defeated--'sdeath!--I would have choked myself, like Otway, with a
quartern loaf [4]; so, remember I had, and have, nothing to do with it,
upon _my Honour!_



[Footnote 1: Granville Penn (1761-1844) was the author of numerous works
on religious subjects. 'The Bioscope, or Dial of Life Explained'
appeared in 1812. The other work referred to by Byron is probably Penn's
'Christian's Survey of all the Primary Events and Periods of the World'
(1811), of which a second edition was published in 1812.]


[Footnote 2: Lucien Buonaparte (1775-1840), Prince of Canino, since 1810
a landed proprietor in Shropshire, wrote an epic poem, 'Charlemagne, ou
l'Eglise delivree'. It was translated (1815) by Dr. Butler of Shrewsbury
and Francis Hodgson.]


[Footnote 3: 'The Anti-Jacobin Review' criticized 'Childe Harold' in
August, 1812; the 'Quarterly', in March, 1812.]


[Footnote 4: Otway died April, 1685, at the age of thirty-three, from a
fever contracted by drinking water when heated by running after an
assassin (Spence's 'Anecdotes', p. 44). Theophilus Cibber ('Lives of the
Poets', ed. 1753, vol. ii. pp. 333, 334) gives another account of his
death, viz. that he begged a shilling of a gentleman, and, being given a
guinea, bought a roll, with which he was choked.]





    *       *       *       *       *





246.--To Lord Holland.


September 22, 1812.


My Dear Lord,--In a day or two I will send you something which you will
still have the liberty to reject if you dislike it. I should like to
have had more time, but will do my best,--but too happy if I can oblige
_you_, though I may offend a hundred scribblers and the discerning
public.

Ever yours.

Keep _my name_ a _secret_; or I shall be beset by all the rejected, and,
perhaps, damned by a party.





       *       *       *       *       *





247.--To Lord Holland.


Cheltenham, September 23, 1812.


Ecco!--I have marked some passages with _double_ readings--choose
between them--_cut--add--reject_--or _destroy_--do with them as you
will--I leave it to you and the Committee--you cannot say so called "a
_non committendo_." What will _they_ do (and I do) with the hundred and
one rejected Troubadours? [1]

"With trumpets, yea, and with shawms," will you be assailed in the most
diabolical doggerel. I wish my name not to transpire till the day is
decided. I shall not be in town, so it won't much matter; but let us
have a _good deliverer_. I think Elliston [2] should be the man, or Pope
[3]; not Raymond [4], I implore you, by the love of Rhythmus!

The passages marked thus = =, above and below, are for you to choose
between epithets, and such like poetical furniture. Pray write me a
line, and believe me

Ever, etc.

My best remembrances to Lady H. Will you be good enough to decide
between the various readings marked, and erase the other; or our
_deliverer_ may be as puzzled as a commentator, and belike repeat both.
If these _versicles_ won't do, I will hammer out some more
endecasyllables.

P.S.--Tell Lady H. I have had sad work to keep out the Phoenix--I mean
the Fire Office of that name. It has insured the theatre, and why not
the Address?



[Footnote 1: The genuine rejected addresses were advertised for by B.
McMillan, of Bow Street, Covent Garden, and forty-two of them were
published by him in November, 1812, with the following title: 'The
Genuine Rejected Addresses presented to the Committee of Management for
Drury Lane Theatre; preceded by that written by Lord Byron and adopted
by the Committee'.

The youngest competitor was "Anna, a young lady in the fifteenth year of
her age."

The actual number sent in was 112, and sixty-nine of the competitors
invoked the Phoenix. Among the competitors were Peter Pindar, whose
'Address' was printed in 1813; Whitbread, the manager, who gave the
"poulterer's description" of the Phoenix; and Horace Smith, who
published his 'Address without a Phoenix', By S. T. P., in 'Rejected
Addresses'.]


[Footnote 2: Robert William Elliston (1774-1831), according to Genest
('English Stage', vol. ix. p. 338), made his first appearance at Bath in
April, 1791, as "Tressel" in 'Richard III'., and from 1796 to 1803 Bath
remained his head-quarters. An excellent actor both in tragedy and
comedy, he became in 1803 a member of the Haymarket Company. From 1804
to 1809, and again from 1812 to 1815, he acted at Drury Lane. Byron's
Prologue was spoken by him on October 10, 1812, at the reopening of the
new theatre. It was at Drury Lane in April, 1821, while he was lessee
(1819-26), that Byron's 'Marino Faliero' was acted. His last appearance
was as "Sheva" in 'The Jew', at the Surrey Theatre, of which (1826-31)
he was lessee. In spite of his drunken habits, he won the enthusiastic
praise of Charles Lamb as the "joyousest of once embodied spirits" (see
'Essays of Elia', "To the Shade of Elliston" and "Ellistoniana").]


[Footnote 3: Alexander Pope (1763-1835), miniaturist, 'gourmand', and
actor, was for years the principal tragedian at Covent Garden. Opinion
was divided as to his merits as an actor. He owed much to his voice,
which had a "mellow richness ... superior to any other performer on the
stage." Genest, who quotes the above (vol. ix. p. 377), adds that "in
his better days he had more pathos about him than any other actor." He
made his first appearance in Cork as "Oroonoko," and subsequently
(January, 1785) at Covent Garden in the same part. He ceased acting at
Covent Garden in June, 1827.]


[Footnote 4: In the cast for 'Hamlet', with which Drury Lane reopened,
Raymond played the Ghost. Raymond was also the stage manager of the
theatre.]





       *       *       *       *       *





248.--To Lord Holland.


September 24.


I send a recast of the four first lines of the concluding paragraph.

  This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd,
  The drama's homage by her Herald paid,
  Receive _our welcome too_, whose every tone
  Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
  The curtain rises, etc., etc.

And do forgive all this trouble. See what it is to have to do even with
the _genteelest_ of us.

Ever, etc.





       *       *       *       *       *





249.--To Lord Holland.


Cheltenham, Sept. 25, 1812.


Still "more matter for a May morning." [1] Having patched the middle and
end of the Address, I send one more couplet for a part of the beginning,
which, if not too turgid, you will have the goodness to add. After that
flagrant image of the _Thames_ (I hope no unlucky wag will say I have
set it on fire, though Dryden [2], in his _Annus Mirabilis_, and
Churchill [3], in his _Times_, did it before me), I mean to insert this:

  As flashing far the new Volcano shone
                           {_meteors_}
  And swept the skies with {lightnings} not their own,
  While thousands throng'd around the burning dome,
  Etc., etc.

I think "thousands" less flat than "crowds collected"--but don't let me
plunge into the bathos, or rise into Nat. Lee's _Bedlam metaphors_ [4].

By the by, the best view of the said fire (which I myself saw from a
house-top in Covent-garden) was at Westminster Bridge, from the
reflection on the Thames.

Perhaps the present couplet had better come in after "trembled for their
homes," the two lines after;--as otherwise the image certainly sinks,
and it will run just as well.

The lines themselves, perhaps, may be better thus--("choose," or
"refuse"--but please _yourself_, and don't mind "Sir Fretful" [5]):

  As flash'd the volumed blaze, and {_sadly_/ghastly} shone
  The skies with lightnings awful as their own.

The last _runs_ smoothest, and, I think, best; but you know _better_
than _best_. "Lurid" is also a less indistinct epithet than "livid
wave," and, if you think so, a dash of the pen will do.

I expected one line this morning; in the mean time, I shall remodel and
condense, and, if I do not hear from you, shall send another copy.

I am ever, etc.



[Footnote 1: 'Twelfth Night', act iii. sc. 4.]


[Footnote 2: Dryden's 'Annus Mirabilis', stanza 231:

  "A key of fire ran all along the shore,
  And lightened all the river with a blaze;
  The wakened tides began again to roar,
  And wondering fish in shining waters gaze."]


[Footnote 3: Churchill's 'Times', lines 701, 702:

  "Bidding in one grand pile this Town expire,
  Her towers in dust, her Thames a Lake of fire."]


[Footnote 4: Nathaniel Lee (circ. 1653-1692), the dramatist, wrote 'The
Rival Queens' (1677), in which occurs the line:

  "When Greek join'd Greek then was the tug of war."

He collaborated with Dryden in 'OEdipus' (1679) and 'The Duke of Guise'
(1682). His numerous dramas were distinguished, in his own day, for
extravagance and bombast. His mind failing, he was confined from 1684 to
1688 in Bethlehem Hospital, where he is said to have composed a tragedy
in 25 acts.]


[Footnote 5: 'The Critic', act i. sc. I. "Sneer," speaking of "Sir
Fretful Plagiary," says,

  "He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of six and
  thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to
  give a free opinion on any of his works can be exceeded only by the
  petulant arrogance with which he is sure to reject your observations."]





       *       *       *       *       *





250.--To Lord Holland.


September 26, 1812.


You will think there is no end to my villanous emendations. The fifth
and sixth lines I think to alter thus:

  Ye who beheld--oh sight admired and mourn'd,
  Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd;

because "night" is repeated the next line but one; and, as it now
stands, the conclusion of the paragraph, "worthy him (Shakspeare) and
_you_," appears to apply the "_you_" to those only who were out of bed
and in Covent Garden market on the night of conflagration, instead of
the audience or the discerning public at large, all of whom are intended
to be comprised in that comprehensive and, I hope, comprehensible
pronoun.

By the by, one of my corrections in the fair copy sent yesterday has
dived into the bathos some sixty fathom:

  When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write.

Ceasing to _live_ is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be
first; therefore I will let the old couplet stand, with its half rhymes
"sought" and "wrote." [1]

Second thoughts in every thing are best, but, in rhyme, third and fourth
don't come amiss. I am very anxious on this business, and I do hope that
the very trouble I occasion you will plead its own excuse, and that it
will tend to show my endeavour to make the most of the time allotted. I
wish I had known it months ago, for in that case I had not left one line
standing on another. I always scrawl in this way, and smooth as much as
I can, but never sufficiently; and, latterly, I can weave a nine-line
stanza faster than a couplet, for which measure I have not the cunning.
When I began _Childe Harold_, I had never tried Spenser's measure, and
now I cannot scribble in any other.

After all, my dear Lord, if you can get a decent _Address_ elsewhere,
don't hesitate to put this aside [2].

Why did you not trust your own Muse? I am very sure she would have been
triumphant, and saved the Committee their trouble--"'tis a joyful one"
to me, but I fear I shall not satisfy even myself. After the account you
sent me, 'tis no compliment to say you would have beaten your
candidates; but I mean that, in _that_ case, there would have been no
occasion for their being beaten at all.

There are but two decent prologues in our tongue--Pope's to 'Cato'
[3]--Johnson's to Drury-Lane [4].

These, with the epilogue to 'The Distrest Mother' [5] and, I think, one
of Goldsmith's [6], and a prologue of old Colman's to Beaumont and
Fletcher's 'Philaster' [7], are the best things of the kind we have.

P.S.--I am diluted to the throat with medicine for the stone; and
Boisragon wants me to try a warm climate for the winter--but I won't.



[Footnote 1:

  "Such are the names that here your plaudits sought,
  When Garrick acted, and when Brinsley wrote."

At present the couplet stands thus:

  "Dear are the days that made our annals bright,
  Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write."]


[Footnote 2:

  "I am almost ashamed," writes Lord Holland to Rogers, October 22, 1812
  (Clayden's 'Rogers and his Contemporaries', vol. i. p. 115), "of
  having induced Lord Byron to write on so ungrateful a theme
  (ungrateful in all senses) as the opening of a theatre; he was so
  good-humoured, took so much pains, corrected so good-humouredly, and
  produced, as I thought and think, a prologue so superior to the common
  run of that sort of trumpery, that it is quite vexatious to see him
  attacked for it. Some part of it is a little too much laboured, and
  the whole too long; but surely it is good and poetical.... You cannot
  imagine how I grew to like Lord Byron in my critical intercourse with
  him, and how much I am convinced that your friendship and judgment
  have contributed to improve both his understanding and his
  happiness."]


[Footnote 3: Pope wrote the Prologue to Addison's 'Cato' when it was
acted at Drury Lane, April 13, 1713.]


[Footnote 4: Johnson wrote the Prologue when Garrick opened Drury Lane,
September 15, 1747, with 'The Merchant of Venice'. "It is," says Genest
('English Stage', vol. iv. p. 231), "the best Prologue that was ever
written." Johnson wrote the Prologue to Milton's 'Comus', played at
Drury Lane, April 5, 1750; to Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man', played at
Covent Garden, January 29, 1769; and to Hugh Kelly's 'A Word to the
Wise', played at Drury Lane, March 3, 1770.]


[Footnote 5: 'The Distrest Mother', adapted from Racine by Ambrose
Philips, was first played at Drury Lane, March 17, 1712. Addison is
supposed (Genest, 'English Stage', vol. ii. p. 496) to have written the
epilogue.]


[Footnote 6: It is impossible to say to which of Goldsmith's epilogues
Byron refers. A previous editor of Moore's 'Life, etc'., identified it
with his epilogue to Charlotte Lennox's unsuccessful comedy, 'The
Sister', which was once played at Covent Garden, February 18, 1769, and
then withdrawn.]


[Footnote 7: George Colman the Elder, who edited an edition of Beaumont
and Fletcher (10 vols., 1778), wrote the prologue to 'Philaster', when
it was produced at Drury Lane, October 8, 1763.]





       *       *       *       *       *





251.--To Lord Holland.


Sept. 27, 1812.


I believe this is the third scrawl since yesterday--all about epithets.
I think the epithet "intellectual" won't convey the meaning I intend;
and though I hate compounds, for the present I will try (_col'
permesso_) the word "genius gifted patriots of our line" [1] instead.
Johnson has "many coloured life," a compound----but they are always
best avoided. However, it is the only one in ninety lines [2], but will
be happy to give way to a better. I am ashamed to intrude any more
remembrances on Lady H. or letters upon you; but you are, fortunately
for me, gifted with patience already too often tried by

Your etc., etc.,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: This, as finally altered, stood thus:

  "Immortal names emblazon'd on our line."]


[Footnote 2: Reduced to seventy-three lines.]





       *       *       *       *       *





252.--To Lord Holland.


September 27, 1812.


I have just received your very kind letter, and hope you have met with a
second copy corrected and addressed to Holland House, with some
omissions and this new couplet,

  As glared each rising flash, [1] and ghastly shone
  The skies with lightnings awful as their own.

As to remarks, I can only say I will alter and acquiesce in any thing.
With regard to the part which Whitbread [2] wishes to omit, I believe
the 'Address' will go off _quicker_ without it, though, like the agility
of the Hottentot, at the expense of its vigour. I leave to your choice
entirely the different specimens of stucco-work; and a _brick_ of your
own will also much improve my Babylonish turret. I should like Elliston
to have it, with your leave. "Adorn" and "mourn" are lawful rhymes in
Pope's 'Death of the Unfortunate Lady'.--Gray has "forlorn" and
"mourn"--and "torn" and "mourn" are in Smollett's famous 'Tears of
Scotland' [3].

As there will probably be an outcry amongst the rejected, I hope the
Committee will testify (if it be needful) that I sent in nothing to the
congress whatever, with or without a name, as your Lordship well knows.
All I have to do with it is with and through you; and though I, of
course, wish to satisfy the audience, I do assure you my first object is
to comply with your request, and in so doing to show the sense I have of
the many obligations you have conferred upon me.

Yours ever,
B.



[Footnote 1: At present:

  "As glared the volumed blaze."]


[Footnote 2: Samuel Whitbread (1758-1815) married, in 1789, Elizabeth,
daughter of General Sir Charles Grey, created (1806) Earl Grey, and
sister of the second Earl Grey, of Reform Bill fame. The son of a
wealthy brewer, whose fortune he inherited, he entered Parliament as
M.P. for Bedford in 1790. Raikes, in his 'Journal' (vol. iv. PP. 50,
51), speaks of him, at the outset of his career, as a staunch Foxite,
and "much remarked in society." Comparing him with his brother-in-law
Grey, he says,

  "Mr. Whitbread was a more steady character; his appearance was heavy;
  he was fond of agriculture, and was very plain and simple in his
  tastes. Both were reckoned good debaters in the House, but Grey was
  the most eloquent."

An independent Whig, and an advocate for peace with France, Whitbread
supported Fox against Pitt throughout the Napoleonic War, strongly
opposed its renewal after the return of the emperor from Elba, and
interested himself in such measures as moderate Parliamentary reform,
the amendment of the poor law, national education, and retrenchment of
public expenditure. On April 8, 1805, he moved the resolutions which
ended in the impeachment of Lord Melville, and took the lead in the
inquiries, which were made, March, 1809, into the conduct of the Duke of
York. He was a plain, business-like speaker, and a man of such
unimpeachable integrity that Mr., afterwards Lord, Plunket, in a speech
on the Roman Catholic claims, February 28, 1821, called him "the
incorruptible sentinel of the constitution."

When he moved the articles of impeachment against Lord Melville, Canning
scribbled the following impromptu parody of his speech ('Anecdotal
History of the British Parliament', p. 222):

  "I'm like Archimedes for science and skill;
  I'm like a young prince going straight up a hill;
  I'm like--(with respect to the fair be it said)--
  I'm like a young lady just bringing to bed.
  If you ask why the 11th of June I remember
  Much better than April, or May, or November,
  On that day, my lords, with truth I assure ye,
  My sainted progenitor set up his brewery;
  On that day, in the morn, he began brewing beer;
  On that day, too, commenced his connubial career;]
  On that day he received and he issued his bills;
  On that day he cleared out all the cash from his tills;
  On that day he died, having finished his summing,
  And the angels all cried, 'Here's old Whitbread a-coming!'
  So that day still I hail with a smile and a sigh,
  For his beer with an E, and his bier with an I;
  And still on that day, in the hottest of weather,
  The whole Whitbread family dine all together.--
  So long as the beams of this house shall support
  The roof which o'ershades this respectable Court,
  Where Hastings was tried for oppressing the Hindoos;
  So long as that sun shall shine in at those windows,
  My name shall shine bright as my ancestor's shines,
  'Mine' recorded in journals, 'his' blazoned on signs!"

An active member of Parliament, a large landed proprietor, the manager
of his immense brewery in Chiswell Street, Whitbread also found time to
reduce to order the chaotic concerns of Drury Lane Theatre. He was, with
Lord Holland and Harvey Combe, responsible for the request to Byron to
write an address, having first rejected his own address with its
"poulterer's description of the Phoenix." He was fond of private
theatricals, and Dibdin ('Reminiscences', vol. ii. pp. 383, 384) gives
the play-bill of an entertainment given by him at Southill. In the first
play, 'The Happy Return', he took the part of "Margery;" and in the
second, 'Fatal Duplicity', that of "Eglantine," a very young lady, loved
by "Sir Buntybart" and "Sir Brandywine." In his capacity as manager of
Drury Lane, Whitbread is represented by the author of 'Accepted
Addresses' (1813) as addressing "the M--s of H--d"--

  "My LORD,--

  "As I now have the honour to be
  By 'Man'ging' a 'Playhouse' a double M.P.,
  In this my address I think fit to complain
  Of certain encroachments on great Drury Lane," etc., etc.

Whitbread strongly supported the cause of the Princess of Wales. Miss
Berry ('Journal', vol. iii. p. 25) says that he dictated the letters
which the Princess wrote to the Queen, who had desired that she should
not attend the two drawing-rooms to be held in June, 1814. "They were
good," she adds, "but too long, and sometimes marked by Whitbread's want
of taste."

The strain of his multifarious activities affected both his health and
his mind, and he committed suicide July 6, 1815.]


[Footnote 3:

  "By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
  By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd."

(Pope.)

  "Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn,
  Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn."

(Gray.)

  "Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
  Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn."

(Smollett.)]





       *       *       *       *       *





253.--To John Murray.


Cheltenham, September 27, 1812.

Dear Sir,--I sent in no 'Address' whatever to the Committee; but out of
nearly one hundred (this is _confidential_), none have been deemed worth
acceptance; and in consequence of their _subsequent_ application to
_me_, I have written a prologue, which _has_ been received, and will be
spoken. The MS. is now in the hands of Lord Holland.

I write this merely to say, that (however it is received by the
audience) you will publish it in the next edition of _Childe Harold_;
and I only beg you at present to keep my name secret till you hear
further from me, and as soon as possible I wish you to have a correct
copy, to do with as you think proper.

I am, yours very truly, BYRON.

P.S.--I should wish a few copies printed off _before_, that the
Newspaper copies may be correct _after_ the _delivery_.





       *       *       *       *       *





254.--To Lord Holland.


September 28, 1812.


Will this do better? The metaphor is more complete.

  Till slowly ebb'd the {_lava of the_/spent volcanic} wave,
  And blackening ashes mark'd the Muse's grave.

If not, we will say "burning wave," and instead of "burning clime," in
the line some couplets back, have "glowing."

Is Whitbread determined to castrate all my _cavalry_ lines [1]? I don't
see why t'other house should be spared; besides it is the public, who
ought to know better; and you recollect Johnson's was against similar
buffooneries of Rich's--but, certes, I am not Johnson. [2]

Instead of "effects," say "labours"--"degenerate" will do, will it? Mr.
Betty is no longer a babe, therefore the line cannot be personal. Will
this do?

  Till ebb'd the lava of {_the burning_}/{that molten} wave [3]

with "glowing dome," in case you prefer "burning" added to this "wave"
metaphorical. The word "fiery pillar" was suggested by the "pillar of
fire" in the book of Exodus, which went before the Israelites through
the Red Sea. I once thought of saying "like Israel's pillar," and making
it a simile, but I did not know,--the great temptation was leaving the
epithet "fiery" for the supplementary wave. I want to work up that
passage, as it is the only new ground us prologuizers can go upon--

  This is the place where, if a poet
  Shined in description, he might show it.

If I part with the possibility of a future conflagration, we lessen the
compliment to Shakspeare. However, we will e'en mend it thus:

  Yes, it shall be--the magic of that name,
  That scorns the scythe of Time, the torch of Flame,
  On the same spot, etc., etc.

There--the deuce is in it, if that is not an improvement to Whitbread's
content. Recollect, it is the "name," and not the "magic," that has a
noble contempt for those same weapons. If it were the "magic," my
metaphor would be somewhat of the maddest--so the "name" is the
antecedent. But, my dear Lord, your patience is not quite so
immortal--therefore, with many and sincere thanks, I am,

Yours ever most affectionately.

P.S.--I foresee there will be charges of partiality in the papers; but
you know I sent in no _Address_; and glad both you and I must be that I
did not, for, in that case, their plea had been plausible. I doubt the
Pit will be testy; but conscious innocence (a novel and pleasing
sensation) makes me bold.



[Footnote 1: The lines which were omitted by the Committee ran thus:

  "'Nay, lower still, the Drama yet deplores
  That late she deigned to crawl upon all-fours.
  When Richard roars in Bosworth for a horse,
  If you command, the steed must come in course.
  If you decree, the Stage must condescend'
  To soothe the sickly taste we dare not mend.
  _Blame not our judgment should we acquiesce,
  And gratify you more by showing less_.
  Oh, since your Fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
  Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;
  _That public praise be ne'er again disgraced,
  From_ {brutes to man recall}/{_babes and brutes redeem} a nation's
    taste_;
  Then pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
  When Reason's voice is echoed back by ours."

The last couplet but one was altered in a subsequent copy, thus:

  "'The past reproach let present scenes refute,
  Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute'."

On February 18, 1811, at Covent Garden, a troop of horses were
introduced in 'Bluebeard'. For the manager, Juvenal's words, "_Lucri
bonus est odor ex re Qualibet_" ('Sat'. xiv. 204) may have been true;
but, as the dressing-room of the equine comedians was under the
orchestra, the stench on the first night was to the audience
intolerable. At the same theatre, April 29, 1811, the horses were again
brought on the stage in Lewis's 'Timour the Tartar'. At the same
theatre, on the following December 26, a live elephant appeared. The
novelty had, however, been anticipated in the Dublin Theatre during the
season of 1771-72 (Genest's 'English Stage', vol. viii. p. 287). At the
Haymarket, and Drury Lane, the introduction of live animals was
ridiculed. 'The Quadrupeds of Quedlinburgh' was given at the Haymarket,
July 26, 1811, as a burlesque on 'Timour the Tartar' and the horses. The
Prologue, by Colman the Younger, attacks the passion for German plays
and animal actors:

  "Your taste, recover'd half from foreign quacks,
  Takes airings, now, on English horses' backs;
  While every modern bard may raise his name,
  If not on _lasting praise_, on _stable fame_."

At the Lyceum, during the season 1811-12, 'Quadrupeds, or the
Manager's Last Kick', in which the tailors were mounted on asses and
mules, was given by the Drury Lane Company with success. It was this
introduction of animal performers which Byron wished to attack.]


[Footnote 2: The following are the lines in Johnson's 'Prologue' to
which Byron refers:

  "Then crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refined,
  For years the power of Tragedy declined;
  From bard to bard the frigid caution crept,
  Till Declamation roared, whilst Passion slept.
  Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread,
  Philosophy remained though Nature fled.
  But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit,
  She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of Wit;
  Exulting Folly hailed the joyous Day,
  And Pantomime and Song confirmed her sway.
  But who the coming changes can presage,
  And mark the future periods of the Stage?
  Perhaps if skill could distant times explore,
  New Behns, new Durfeys, yet remain in store;
  Perhaps, where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died,
  On flying cars new sorcerers may ride;
  Perhaps (for who can guess th' effects of chance?)
  Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet may dance."

John Rich (circ. 1682-1761) was the creator of pantomime in England,
which he introduced at Lincoln's Inn Fields in April, 1716, and in
which, under the stage name of Lun, he played the part of Harlequin. At
Lincoln's Inn Fields, January 29, 1728, he produced 'The Beggar's
Opera', which, after being refused at Drury Lane, made "Gay 'rich', and
Rich 'gay'." "Great Faustus" probably alludes to the war between the two
theatres, and the rival productions of 'Harlequin Dr. Faustus' at Drury
Lane in 1723, and of 'The Necromancer, or the History of Dr. Faustus' at
Lincoln's Inn Fields in December of the same year. On December 7, 1732,
Rich opened the new theatre at Covent Garden, of which he remained
manager till his death in 1761.]


[Footnote 3: The form of this couplet, as printed, is as follows:

  "Till blackening ashes and lonely wall
  Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall."]





         *       *       *       *       *





255.--To Lord Holland.


September 28.


I have altered the _middle_ couplet, so as I hope partly to do away with
W.'s objection. I do think, in the present state of the stage, it had
been unpardonable to pass over the horses and Miss Mudie [1], etc. As
Betty is no longer a boy, how can this be applied to him? He is now to
be judged as a man. If he acts still like a boy, the public will but be
more ashamed of their blunder. I have, you see, _now_ taken it for
granted that these things are reformed. I confess, I wish that part of
the _Address_ to stand; but if W. is inexorable, e'en let it go. I have
also new-cast the lines, and softened the hint of future combustion, and
sent them off this morning. Will you have the goodness to add, or
insert, the _approved_ alterations as they arrive? They "come like
shadows, so depart," [2] occupy me, and, I fear, disturb you.

Do not let Mr. W. put his _Address_ into Elliston's hands till you have
settled on these alterations. E. will think it too long:--much depends
on the speaking. I fear it will not bear much curtailing, without
_chasms_ in the sense.

It is certainly too long in the reading; but if Elliston exerts himself,
such a favourite with the public will not be thought tedious. _I_ should
think it so, if _he_ were not to speak it.

Yours ever, etc.

P.S.--On looking again, I doubt my idea of having obviated W.'s
objection. To the other House allusion is _non sequitur_--but I wish to
plead for this part, because the thing really is not to be passed over.
Many afterpieces of the Lyceum by the _same company_ have already
attacked this "Augean _Stable_"--and Johnson, in his prologue against
"Lunn" (the harlequin manager, Rich),--"Hunt,"--"Mahomet," etc. is
surely a fair precedent. [3]



[Footnote 1: For the horses, see p. 156, 'note' 1. Miss Mudie, another
"Phenomenon," with whom the Covent Garden manager hoped to rival the
success of Master Betty, was announced in the 'Morning Post', July 29,
1805, as the "Young Roscia of the Dublin Stage." She appeared at Covent
Garden, November 23, 1805, in the part of "Peggy" in 'The Country Girl',
Miss Brunton being "Alithea," C. Kemble "Harcourt," and Moody "Murray."
Being hissed by the audience, she walked with great composure to the
front of the stage, and said, as reported in the 'Morning Post'
(November 25, 1805)

  "Ladies and gentlemen,--I know nothing I have done to offend you, and
  has set ('sic') those who are sent here to hiss me; I will be
  very much obliged to you to turn them out."

This unfortunate speech made matters worse; the audience refused to hear
her, and her part was finished by Miss Searle.

Miss Mudie was said to be only eight years old. But J. Kemble, being
asked if she were really such a child, answered, "'Child'! Why, sir,
when I was a very young actor in the York Company, that little creature
kept an inn at Tadcaster, and had a large family" (Clark Russell's
'Representative Actors', p. 363, 'note' 2). The 'Morning Post' (April 5,
1806) says that Miss Mudie afterwards joined a children's troupe in
Leicester Place, where, "though deservedly discountenanced at a great
theatre, she will, no doubt, prove an acquisition to the infant
establishment" (Ashton's 'Dawn of the XIXth Century in England', pp.
333-336).]


[Footnote 2: Macbeth, act iv. sc. 1.]


[Footnote 3: For Lun, or Rich, see p. 157, end of 'note' 1. Hunt, in the
notes to Johnson's 'Prologue' (Gilfillan's edition of Johnson's
'Poestical Works', p. 38), is said to be "a famous stage-boxer,
Mahomet, a rope-dancer."]





       *       *       *       *       *





256.--To William Bankes.


Cheltenham, September 28, 1812.


MY DEAR BANKES,--When you point out to one how people can be intimate at
the distance of some seventy leagues, I will plead guilty to your
charge, and accept your farewell, but not _wittingly_, till you give me
some better reason than my silence, which merely proceeded from a notion
founded on your own declaration of _old_, that you hated writing and
receiving letters. Besides, how was I to find out a man of many
residences? If I had addressed you _now_, it had been to your borough,
where I must have conjectured you were amongst your constituents. So
now, in despite of Mr. N. and Lady W., you shall be as "much better" as
the Hexham post-office will allow me to make you. I do assure you I am
much indebted to you for thinking of me at all, and can't spare you even
from amongst the superabundance of friends with whom you suppose me
surrounded.

You heard that Newstead [1] is sold--the sum L140,000; sixty to remain
in mortgage on the estate for three years, paying interest, of course.
Rochdale is also likely to do well--so my worldly matters are mending. I
have been here some time drinking the waters, simply because there are
waters to drink, and they are very medicinal, and sufficiently
disgusting. In a few days I set out for Lord Jersey's [2], but return
here, where I am quite alone, go out very little, and enjoy in its
fullest extent the _dolce far niente_. What you are about I cannot
guess, even from your date;--not dauncing to the sound of the gitourney
in the Halls of the Lowthers? one of whom is here, ill, poor thing, with
a phthisic. I heard that you passed through here (at the sordid inn
where I first alighted) the very day before I arrived in these parts. We
had a very pleasant set here; at first the Jerseys, Melbournes [3],
Cowpers [4], and Hollands, but all gone; and the only persons I know are
the Rawdons [5] and Oxfords [6], with some later acquaintances of less
brilliant descent.

But I do not trouble them much; and as for your rooms and your
assemblies "they are not dreamed of in our philosophy!!"--Did you read
of a sad accident in the Wye t'other day [7]? A dozen drowned; and Mr.
Rossoe, a corpulent gentleman, preserved by a boat-hook or an eel-spear,
begged, when he heard his wife was saved--no--_lost_--to be thrown in
again!!--as if he could not have thrown himself in, had he wished it;
but this passes for a trait of sensibility. What strange beings men are,
in and out of the Wye!

I have to ask you a thousand pardons for not fulfilling some orders
before I left town; but if you knew all the cursed entanglements I _had_
to wade through, it would be unnecessary to beg your forgiveness.--When
will Parliament (the new one) meet [8]?--in sixty days, on account of
Ireland, I presume: the Irish election will demand a longer period for
completion than the constitutional allotment. Yours, of course, is safe,
and all your side of the question. Salamanca is the ministerial
watchword, and all will go well with you. I hope you will speak more
frequently, I am sure at least you _ought_, and it will be expected. I
see Portman means to stand again. Good night.

Ever yours most affectionately,

[Greek: Mpairon.]



[Footnote 1: Newstead was put up at Garraway's in the autumn of 1812;
but only L90,000 were bid, and the property was therefore withdrawn.
Subsequently it was privately sold to a Mr. Claughton, who found himself
unable to complete the purchase, and forfeited L25,000 on the contract.
Newstead was eventually sold, in November, 1817, to Colonel Wildman,
Byron's Harrow schoolfellow, for L94,500.]


[Footnote 2: For Lady Jersey, see p. 112, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter
230]. The following passage, from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', gives an
account of the party at Middleton:

  "In 1812 at Middelton (Lord Jersey's), amongst a goodly company of
  Lords, Ladies, and wits, etc., there was poor old Vice Leach, the
  lawyer, attempting to play off the fine gentleman. His first
  exhibition, an attempt on horseback, I think, to escort the women--God
  knows where--in the month of November, ended in a fit of the
  Lumbago--as Lord Ogleby says, 'a grievous enemy to Gallantry and
  address'--and if he could have but heard Lady Jersey quizzing him (as
  I did) next day for the _cause_ of his malady, I don't think that he
  would have turned a 'Squire of dames' in a hurry again. He seemed to
  me the greatest fool (in that line) I ever saw. This was the last I
  saw of old Vice Leach, except in town, where he was creeping into
  assemblies, and trying to look young--and gentlemanly.

  "Erskine too!--Erskine was there--good but intolerable. He jested, he
  talked, he did everything admirably, but then he 'would' be applauded
  for the same thing twice over. He would read his own verses, his own
  paragraphs, and tell his own story again and again; and then 'the
  trial by Jury!!!'--I almost wished it abolished, for I sate next him
  at dinner, and, as I had read his published speeches, there was no
  occasion to repeat them to me. Chester (the fox-hunter), surnamed
  'Cheek Chester,' and I sweated the Claret, being the only two who did
  so. Cheek, who loves his bottle, and had no notion of meeting with a
  'bonvivant' in a scribbler, in making my eulogy to somebody one
  evening, summed it up in 'by G-d, he 'drinks like a Man'!'"]


[Footnote 3:  Sir Peniston Lamb, created an Irish baron as Lord
Melbourne in 1770, an Irish viscount in 1780, and an English peer in
1815, married, in 1769, Elizabeth, only daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke,
of Halnaby, Yorkshire, one of the cleverest and most beautiful women of
the day. Horace Walpole, writing to Mason, May 12, 1778, mentions her
when she was at the height of her beauty.

  "On Tuesday," he says, "I supped, after the opera, at Mrs. Meynel's
  with a set of the most fashionable company, which, take notice, I very
  seldom do now, as I certainly am not of the age to mix often with
  young people. Lady Melbourne was standing before the fire, and
  adjusting her feathers in the glass. Says she, 'Lord, they say the
  stocks will blow up! That will be very comical.'"

Greville ('Memoirs', ed. 1888, vol. vi. p. 248) associates her name with
that of Lord Egremont. Reynolds painted her with her eldest son in his
well-known picture 'Maternal Affection'. Her second son, William,
afterwards Prime Minister, used to say,

  "Ah! my mother was a most remarkable woman; not merely clever and
  engaging, but the most sagacious woman I ever knew"

('Memoirs of Viscount Melbourne', vol. i. p. 135). Lady Melbourne, whom
Byron spoke of as

  "the best, the kindest, and ablest female I have ever known, old or
  young,"

died in 1818, her husband in 1828. He thus described her to Lady
Blessington ('Conversations', p. 225):

  "Lady M., who might have been my mother, excited an interest in my
  feelings that few young women have been able to awaken. She was a
  charming person--a sort of modern Aspasia, uniting the energy of a
  man's mind with the delicacy and tenderness of a woman's. She wrote
  and spoke admirably, because she felt admirably. Envy, malice, hatred,
  or uncharitableness, found no place in her feelings. She had all of
  philosophy, save its moroseness, and all of nature, save its defects
  and general 'faiblesse'; or if some portion of 'faiblesse' attached
  to her, it only served to render her more forbearing to the errors of
  others. I have often thought, that, with a little more youth, Lady M.
  might have turned my head, at all events she often turned my heart, by
  bringing me back to mild feelings, when the demon passion was strong
  within me. Her mind and heart were as fresh as if only sixteen summers
  had flown over her, instead of four times that number."]


[Footnote 4: Peter, fifth Earl Cowper (1778-1837), married, in 1805
Emily Mary Lamb, daughter of Lord Melbourne; she married, secondly, in
1839, Lord Palmerston.]


[Footnote 5: Francis Rawdon, second Earl of Moira (1754-1826), created
Lord Rawdon (1783), and Marquis of Hastings (1817), married, in 1804,
the Countess of Loudoun.]


[Footnote 6: Edward Harley (1773-1848) succeeded his uncle as fifth Earl
of Oxford in 1790, and married, in 1794, Jane Elizabeth, daughter of the
Rev. James Scott, Vicar of Itchin, Hants. It is probably of Lady Oxford,
whose picture was painted by Hoppner, that Byron spoke to Lady
Blessington ('Conversations', p. 255),

  "Even now the autumnal charms of Lady----are remembered by me with
  more than admiration. She resembled a landscape by Claude Lorraine,
  with a setting sun, her beauties enhanced by the knowledge that they
  were shedding their last dying beams, which threw a radiance around. A
  woman... is only grateful for her 'first' and 'last' conquest. The
  first of poor dear Lady----'s was achieved before I entered on this
  world of care; but the 'last', I do flatter myself, was reserved for
  me, and a 'bonne bouche' it was."

The following passage certainly relates to Lady Oxford:

  "There was a lady at that time," said Byron (Medwin's 'Conversations',
  pp. 93, 94), "double my own age, the mother of several children who
  were perfect angels, with whom I had formed a 'liaison' that continued
  without interruption for eight months. The autumn of a beauty like
  her's is preferable to the spring in others. She told me she was never
  in love till she was thirty; and I thought myself so with her when she
  was forty. I never felt a stronger passion; which she returned with
  equal ardour.... She had been sacrificed, almost before she was a
  woman, to one whose mind and body were equally contemptible in the
  scale of creation; and on whom she bestowed a numerous family, to
  which the law gave him the right to be called father. Strange as it
  may seem, she gained (as all women do) an influence over me so strong,
  that I had great difficulty in breaking with her, even when I knew she
  had been inconstant to me: and once was on the point of going abroad
  with her, and narrowly escaped this folly."

To be near the Oxfords at Eywood, in Herefordshire, Byron took Kinsham
Court, a dower-house of the family, where Bishop Harley died in 1788. At
one time, as is evident from his correspondence with Hanson, he was bent
on going abroad with Lady Oxford. In the end he only accompanied her to
Portsmouth. Of Lady Oxford, Uvedale Price wrote thus to Rogers (Clayden,
'Rogers and his Contemporaries', vol. i. pp. 397, 398):

  "This is a melancholy subject"--[the death, by consumption of Lord
  Aberdeen's children]--"and I must go to another. Poor Lady Oxford! I
  had heard with great concern of her dangerous illness, but hoped she
  might get through it, and was much, very much grieved to hear that it
  had ended fatally. I had, as you know, lived a great deal with her
  from the time she came into this country, immediately after her
  marriage; but for some years past, since she went abroad, had scarcely
  had any correspondence or intercourse with her, till I met her in town
  last spring. I then saw her twice, and both times she seemed so
  overjoyed to see an old friend, and expressed her joy so naturally and
  cordially, that I felt no less overjoyed at seeing her after so long
  an absence. She talked, with great satisfaction, of our meeting for a
  longer time this next spring, little thinking of an eternal
  separation. There could not, in all respects, be a more ill-matched
  pair than herself and Lord Oxford, or a stronger instance of the cruel
  sports of Venus, or, rather, of Hymen--

             'Cui placet impares
    Formas atque animos sub juga ahenea
             Saevo mittere cum joco.'

  "It has been said that she was, in some measure, forced into the
  match. Had she been united to a man whom she had loved, esteemed, and
  respected, she herself might have been generally respected and
  esteemed, as well as loved; but in her situation, to keep clear of all
  misconduct required a strong mind or a cold heart; perhaps both, and
  she had neither. Her failings were in no small degree the effect of
  circumstances; her amiable qualities all her own. There was something
  about her, in spite of her errors, remarkably attaching, and that
  something was not merely her beauty. 'Kindness has resistless charms,'
  and she was full of affectionate kindness to those she loved, whether
  as friends or as lovers. As a friend, I always found her the same,
  never at all changeful or capricious. As I am not a very rigid
  moralist, and am extremely open to kindness, 'I could have better
  spared a better woman.'"]



[Footnote 7: An account of the accident is given in the Chronicle of the
'Annual Register', September 21, 1812. The party consisted of ten
people, three of whom were saved. Among those rescued was Mr.
Rothery--not Rossoe, as Byron gives it.]


[Footnote 8: The new Parliament met November 30, 1812. Wellington won
the battle of Salamanca on the previous July 22.]





       *       *       *       *       *





257.--To Lord Holland.


September 29, 1812.

Shakespeare certainly ceased to reign in _one_ of his kingdoms, as
George III. did in America, and George IV. [1] may in Ireland? Now, we
have nothing to do out of our own realms, and when the monarchy was
gone, his majesty had but a barren sceptre. I have _cut away_, you will
see, and altered, but make it what you please; only I do implore, for my
_own_ gratification, one lash on those accursed quadrupeds--"a long
shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me." [2] I have altered "wave," etc., and
the "fire," and so forth for the timid.

Let me hear from you when convenient, and believe me, etc.

P.S.--Do let _that_ stand, and cut out elsewhere. I shall choke, if we
must overlook their damned menagerie.



[Footnote 1: Some objection, it appears, had been made to the passage,
"and Shakspeare _ceased to reign_."]


[Footnote 2: Bob Acres, in 'The Rivals' (act v. se. 3), says, "A long
shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me."]





       *       *       *       *       *





258.--To Lord Holland.


September 30, 1812.


I send you the most I can make of it; for I am not so well as I was, and
find I "pull in resolution." [1]

I wish much to see you, and will be at Tetbury by twelve on Saturday;
and from thence I go on to Lord Jersey's. It is impossible not to allude
to the degraded state of the Stage, but I have lightened _it_, and
endeavoured to obviate your _other_ objections. There is a new couplet
for Sheridan, allusive to his Monody [2]. All the alterations I have
marked thus ],--as you will see by comparison with the other copy. I
have cudgelled my brains with the greatest willingness, and only wish I
had more time to have done better.

You will find a sort of clap-trap laudatory couplet inserted for the
quiet of the Committee [3], and I have added, towards the end, the
couplet you were pleased to _like_. The whole Address is seventy-three
lines, still perhaps too long; and, if shortened, you will save time,
but, I fear, a little of what I meant for sense also.

With myriads of thanks, I am ever, etc.

My sixteenth edition of respects to Lady H.--How she must laugh at all
this!

I wish Murray, my publisher, to print off some copies as soon as your
Lordship returns to town--it will ensure correctness in the papers
afterwards.



[Footnote 1: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5.]


[Footnote 2: Sheridan's 'Monody on Garrick'.]


[Footnote 3: The Committee of Selection consisted, says the 'Satirist'
(November 1, 1812, p. 395),

  "of one peer and two commoners, one poet and two prosers, one Lord and
  two Brewers; and the only points in which they coincided were in being
  all three parliament men, all three politicians, all three in
  opposition to the Government of the country. Their names, as we
  understand, were Vassal Holland, Samuel Whitbread, and Harvey
  Christian Combe."]





       *       *       *       *       *





259.--To Lord Holland.


Far be from him that hour which asks in vain
Tears such as flow for Garrick in his strain;

_or_,

Far be that hour that vainly asks in turn
Such verse for him as {_crown'd his_/wept o'er} Garrick's urn.


September 30, 1812.

Will you choose between these added to the lines on Sheridan [1]?

I think they will wind up the panegyric, and agree with the train of
thought preceding them.

Now, one word as to the Committee--how could they resolve on a rough
copy of an _Address_ never sent in, unless you had been good enough to
retain in memory, or on paper, the thing they have been good enough to
adopt? By the by, the circumstances of the case should make the
Committee less _avidus gloriae_, for all praise of them would look plaguy
suspicious. If necessary to be stated at all, the simple facts bear them
out. They surely had a right to act as they pleased. My sole object is
one which, I trust, my whole conduct has shown; viz. that I did nothing
insidious--sent in no Address _whatever_--but, when applied to, did my
best for them and myself; but, above all, that there was no undue
partiality, which will be what the rejected will endeavour to make out.
Fortunately--most fortunately--I sent in no lines on the occasion. For I
am sure that had they, in that case, been preferred, it would have been
asserted that _I_ was known, and owed the preference to private
friendship. This is what we shall probably have to encounter; but, if
once spoken and approved, we sha'n't be much embarrassed by their
brilliant conjectures; and, as to criticism, an _old_ author, like an
old bull, grows cooler (or ought) at every baiting.

The only thing would be to avoid a party on the night of
delivery--afterwards, the more the better, and the whole transaction
inevitably tends to a good deal of discussion. Murray tells me there are
myriads of ironical Addresses [2] ready--_some_, in imitation of what is
called _my style_. If they are as good as the 'Probationary Odes' [3],
or Hawkins's 'Pipe of Tobacco' [4], it will not be bad fun for the
imitated.

Ever, etc.



[Footnote 1: These added lines, as may be seen by reference to the
printed Address, were not retained.]


[Footnote 2: Probably the reference is to 'Rejected Addresses, or the
New Theatrum Poetarum' (1812), by James (1775-1839) and Horace
(1779-1849) Smith. "Cui Bono?" the parody on Byron, is the joint
composition of James and Horace. The manuscript was offered to Murray
for L20, but declined by him. It was afterwards published by John
Miller, of Bow Street, Covent Garden, who also published 'Horace in
London'.]


[Footnote 3: 'Probationary Odes', which generally forms, with 'Political
Eclogues', the third portion of the 'Rolliad', is really distinct from
that work. It is the result of an imaginary contest for the
laureate-ship. Each candidate was to deliver a "Probationary Birthday
Ode," and among the candidates are Dr. Pretyman, Archbishop Markham,
Thomas and Joseph Warton, Sir Cecil Wray, Sir Joseph Mawbey, Henry
Dundas, Lord Thurlow, and other Tories of the day. The plan of the work
is said to have been suggested by Joseph Richardson (1755-1803), who
wrote Odes iv. (Sir Richard Hill) and xix. (Lord Mountmorres).]


[Footnote 4: 'In Praise of a Pipe of Tobacco' (1736), written by Isaac
Hawkins Browne (1705-1760), was an ode in imitation of Swift, Pope,
Thomson, and other contemporary poets. Browne represented Wenlock in the
Whig interest in the Parliaments of 1744 and 1747. Johnson spoke of him
(Boswell, 'Johnson', April 5, 1775) as "one of the first wits of this
country," who "got into Parliament, and never opened his mouth."]





       *       *       *       *       *





260.--To Lord Holland.


October 2, 1812.


A copy of this _still altered_ is sent by the post, but this will arrive
first. It must be "humbler"--"_yet aspiring_" does away the modesty,
and, after all, _truth is truth_. Besides, there is a puff direct
altered, to please your _plaguy renters_.

I shall be at Tetbury by 12 or 1--but send this for you to ponder over.
There are several little things marked thus / altered for your perusal.
I have dismounted the cavalry, and, I hope, arranged to your general
satisfaction.

Ever, etc.

At Tetbury by noon.--I hope, after it is sent, there will be no more
elisions. It is not now so long--73 lines--two less than allotted. I
will alter all Committee objections, but I hope you won't permit
_Elliston_ to have any _voice_ whatever,--except in speaking it.





       *       *       *       *       *





261.--To John Murray.


Cheltenham, Oct. 12, 1812.


DEAR SIR,--I have a _very strong objection_ to the engraving of the
portrait [1], and request that it may, on no account, be prefixed; but
let _all_ the proofs be burnt, and the plate broken. I will be at the
expense which has been incurred; it is but fair that _I_ should, since I
cannot permit the publication. I beg, as a particular favour, that you
will lose no time in having this done, for which I have reasons that I
will state when I see you. Forgive all the trouble I have occasioned
you.

I have received no account of the reception of the _Address_ [2], but
see it is vituperated in the papers, which does not much embarrass an
_old author_. I leave it to your own judgment to add it, or not, to your
next edition when required. Pray comply _strictly_ with my wishes as to
the engraving, and believe me, etc.

Yours very truly,

BYRON.

P.S.--Favour me with an answer, as I shall not be easy until I hear that
the _proofs_, etc., are destroyed. I hear that the _Satirist_ has
reviewed _Childe Harold_ [3], in what manner I need not ask; but I wish
to know if the old personalities are revived? I have a better reason for
asking this than any that merely concerns myself; but in publications of
that kind, others, particularly female names, are sometimes introduced.



[Footnote 1: A miniature by Sanders. Besides this miniature, Sanders had
also painted a full-length of Byron, from which the portrait prefixed to
the quarto edition of Moore's 'Life' is engraved. In reference to the
latter picture, Byron says, in a note to Rogers,

  "If you think the picture you saw at Murray's worth your acceptance,
  it is yours; and you may put a glove or mask on it, if you like"
  (Moore).]


[Footnote 2: On Saturday, October 10, Drury Lane reopened with 'The
Devil to Pay' and 'Hamlet'. Then, after the whole body of actors had
sung "God save the King" and "Rule, Britannia," Elliston delivered
Byron's address.]


[Footnote 3: 'The Satirist, a Monthly Meteor' (see 'Letters', vol. i. p.
321, 'note' 3 [Footnote 3 of Letter 159]), ran from October, 1807, to
1814. Up to 1812 it was the property of George Manners, who sold it in
that year to W. Jerdan. It reviewed 'Childe Harold' in October, 1812
(pp. 344-358); and again in December of the same year (pp. 542-550). In
the first of the two notices, the 'Satirist' quotes the "judgment of our
predecessors," that unless Byron "improved wonderfully, he could never
be a poet," and continues thus:

  "It is with unaffected satisfaction we find that he has improved
  wonderfully, and that he is a poet. Indeed, when we consider the
  comparatively short interval which has elapsed, and contrast the
  character of his recent with that of his early work, we confess
  ourselves astonished at the intellectual progress which Lord Byron has
  made, and are happy to hold him up as another example of the
  extraordinary effects of study and cultivation, 'even' on minds
  apparently of the most unpromising description."

The reviewer severely condemns the morbid bitterness of the poet's
thought and feeling, but yet affirms that the poems

  "abound with beautiful imagery, clothed in a diction free, forcible,
  and various. 'Childe Harold', although avowedly a fragment, contains
  many fragments which would do honour to any poet, of any period, in
  any country."]





       *       *       *       *       *





262.--To Lord Holland.


Cheltenham, Oct. 14, 1812.


MY DEAR LORD,--I perceive that the papers, yea, even Perry's [1], are
somewhat ruffled at the injudicious preference of the Committee. My
friend Perry has, indeed, 'et tu, Brute'-d me rather scurvily, for which
I will send him, for the 'Morning Chronicle', the next epigram I
scribble, as a token of my full forgiveness.

Do the Committee mean to enter into no explanation of their proceedings?
You must see there is a leaning towards a charge of partiality. You
will, at least, acquit me of any great anxiety to push myself before so
many elder and better anonymous, to whom the twenty guineas (which I
take to be about two thousand pounds 'Bank' currency) and the honour
would have been equally welcome. "Honour," I see, "hath skill in
paragraph-writing."

I wish to know how it went off at the second reading, and whether any
one has had the grace to give it a glance of approbation. I have seen no
paper but Perry's and two Sunday ones. Perry is severe, and the others
silent. If, however, you and your Committee are not now dissatisfied
with your own judgments, I shall not much embarrass myself about the
brilliant remarks of the journals. My own opinion upon it is what it
always was, perhaps pretty near that of the public.

Believe me, my dear Lord, etc., etc.

P.S.--My best respects to Lady H., whose smiles will be very
consolatory, even at this distance.




[Footnote 1: James Perry (1756-1821) purchased, in 1789, the 'Morning
Chronicle', originally established by Woodfall in 1769. In Perry's hands
the paper became the leading organ of the Whigs. He was the first editor
to introduce a succession of parliamentary reporters. He gathered round
him a remarkable staff of contributors, including Ricardo, Sir James
Mackintosh, Porson (who married his sister), Charles Lamb, Sheridan,
Coleridge, Hazlitt, Lord Campbell, Moore, Campbell, Byron, and Burns.
The 'Morning Chronicle' (October 12, 1812) says:

  "Mr. Elliston then came forward and delivered the following 'Prize'
  Address. We cannot boast of the eloquence of the delivery. It was
  neither gracefully nor correctly recited. The merits of the production
  itself we submit to the criticism of our readers. We cannot suppose
  that it was selected as the most poetical composition of all the
  scores that were submitted to the Committee. But, perhaps by its
  tenor, by its allusions to the fire, to Garrick, to Siddons, and to
  Sheridan, it was thought most applicable to the occasion,
  notwithstanding its being in parts unmusical, and in general tame."

Again (October 14), in a notice of 'Rejected Addresses', the 'Morning
Chronicle' returns to the subject:

  "A wag has already published a small volume of 'Addresses rejected',
  in which, with admirable wit, all the poets of the day are assembled,
  contesting for the Prize Address at Drury Lane. And certainly he has
  assigned to the pen of Lord B. a superior 'poem' to that which has
  gained the prize."

The Address was also severely handled in 'A Critique on the Address
written by Lord Byron, which was Spoken at the opening of the New
Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, October' 10, 1812. By Lord--------(London,
no date). The author is "astonished at the glaring faults and general
insipidity" of the address, and, after a detailed criticism, concludes
that "public indignation" will sympathize with the rejected poets, and
"pursue the rival patrons and the rival bard."

Rogers, writing to Moore, October 22, 1812 ('Memoirs, etc., of Thomas
Moore', vol. viii. p. 123), says,

  "Poor Byron! what I hear and read of his prologue makes me very angry.
  Of such value is public favour! So a man is to be tried by a copy of
  verses thrown off perhaps at hazard, and 'invita Minerva!'"]





       *       *       *       *       *





263.--To John Hanson.


Cheltenham, Octr. 18th, 1812.


Dear Sir,--With perfect confidence in you I sign the note; but is not
Claughton's delay very strange? let us take care what we are about. I
answered his letter, which I enclose to you, very _cautiously;_ the
wines and China, etc., I will not demur much upon; but the _vase_ and
cup (not the _skull cup_) and some little coffee things brought from the
East, or made for the purpose of containing relics brought from thence,
I will not part with, and if he refuses to ratify, I will take such
steps as the Law will allow on the form of the contract for compelling
him to ratify it.

Pray write. I am invited to Lord O.'s and Lord H.'s; but if you wish
very much to meet me I can come to town.

I suppose the tythe purchase will be made in my name. What is to be done
with Deardon? [1]

Mrs. M[assingberd] [2] is dead, and I would wish something settled for
the Daughter who is still responsible. Will you give a glance into that
business, and if possible first settle something about the Annuities.

I shall perhaps draw within a L100 next week, but I will delay for your
answer on C.'s business.

Ever yours, sincerely and affectionately,

BYRON.

My love to all the family.

I wish to do something for young Rushton, if practicable at _Rochdale_;
if not, think of some situation where he might occupy himself to avoid
Idleness, in the mean time.



[Footnote 1: Deardon was the lessee of the Rochdale coal-pits.

  "When Mr. France was here," writes Mrs. Byron to Hanson, July 13, 1811
  (Koelbing's 'Englische Studien', vol. xxv. p. I53), "he told me there
  had been an injunction procured to prevent Deardin from working the
  Coal Pits that was in dispute between Lord Byron and him, but since
  France was here, there has been a Man from Lancashire who says they
  are worked by Deardin the same as ever. I also heard that the Person
  you sent down to take an account of the Coals was bribed by Deardin,
  and did not give an account of half of what was got."]


[Footnote 2: For Mrs. Massingberd, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 100, at end
of 'note' 3 [Footnote 1 of Letter 52]. Byron's pecuniary transactions,
though not unimportant in their influence on his career, are difficult
to unravel. The following statement, in his own handwriting, with regard
to the Annuities was apparently prepared for some legal proceedings, and
is dated January 16, 1812:

  "Lord Byron, to the best of his knowledge and recollection, in Dec.,
  1805--January, 1806 applied to King, in consequence of an
  advertisement in the papers, who acquainted Lord Byron that his
  minority prevented all money transactions without the security of
  competent persons. Through Mr. K. he became acquainted with Mr.
  Dellevelly, another of the tribe of Israel, and subsequently with a
  Mr. Howard of Golden Square.

  "After many delays, during which Lord B. had interviews with Howard,
  once, he thinks, in Golden Square, but more frequently in Piccadilly,
  Mrs. M[assingberd] agreed to become security jointly with her
  daughter. Lord B. knows Howard's person perfectly well, has not seen
  him subsequent to the transaction, but recollects Howard's mentioning
  to him that he, Lord B., was acting imprudently, stating that he made
  it a rule to advise young men against such proceedings. Lord B.
  recollects, on the day on which the money was paid, that he remained
  in the next room till the papers were signed, Mrs. M[assingberd]
  having stated that the parties wished him to be kept out of sight
  during the business, and wished to avoid even mentioning his name.
  Mrs. M[assingberd] deducted the interest for two years and a half, and
  L100 for Howard's papers."

Two other Annuities were effected, in both of which Mrs. Massingberd
figured as a security, and in one the manager of Dorant's Hotel. It was
the interest on these minority loans which crippled Byron. Two were
still unpaid in 1817.]





       *       *       *       *       *





264.--To John Murray.


Cheltenham, Oct. 18, 1812,

Dear Sir,--Will you have the goodness to get this Parody of a peculiar
kind [1] (for all the first lines are _Busby's_ entire), inserted in
several of the papers (_correctly_--and copied _correctly; my hand_ is
difficult)--particularly the 'Morning Chronicle'? Tell Mr. Perry I
forgive him all he has said, and may say against _my address_, but he
will allow me to deal with the Doctor--(_audi alteram partem_)--and not
_betray_ me. I cannot think what has befallen Mr. Perry, for of yore we
were very good friends;--but no matter, only get this inserted.

I have a poem on Waltzing for _you_, of which I make _you_ a present;
but it must be anonymous. It is in the old style of 'English Bards, and
Scotch Reviewers'.

Ever yours,

BYRON.

P.S.--With the next edition of 'Childe Harold' you may print the first
fifty or a hundred opening lines of the 'Curse of Minerva' [2] down to
the couplet beginning

  Mortal ('twas thus she spake), etc.

Of course, the moment the Satire begins, there you will stop, and the
opening is the best part.



[Footnote 1: The 'Parenthetical Address', "By Dr. Plagiary," is a parody
by Byron of Dr, Busby's 'Address', the original of which will be found
in the 'Genuine Rejected Addresses', as well as parodied in 'Rejected
Addresses' ("Architectural Atoms"). On October 14 young Busby forced his
way on to the stage of Drury Lane, attempted to recite his father's
address, and was taken into custody. On the next night, Dr. Busby,
speaking from one of the boxes, obtained a hearing for his son, who
could not, however, make his voice heard in the theatre. Then another
"rejected" author tried to recite his composition, but was hooted down.
Order was restored by Raymond reminding the audience that the
Chamberlain's licence was necessary for all stage speeches. To the
failure of the younger Busby (himself a competitor and the author of an
"Unalogue" of fifty-six lines) to make himself heard, Byron alludes in
the stage direction to the 'Parenthetical Address'--"to be spoken in an
inarticulate voice by Master P." The 'Parenthetical Address' appeared
in the 'Morning Chronicle' for October 23, 1812. In the same issue was
printed a long statement by Dr. Busby, in which, after paying a
compliment to Byron's "poetical genius," he insisted that the Committee
of Drury Lane had broken faith by not choosing one of the addresses sent
in by competitors. (See references to Dr. Busby in 'Poems', vol. i. pp.
481 and 485, 'note' 1.) Dr. Thomas Busby (1755-1838) composed the music
for Holcroft's 'Tale of Mystery', the first musical melodrama produced
on the English stage (Covent Garden, November 13, 1802). He was for some
time assistant editor of the 'Morning Post', and Parliamentary reporter
for the 'London Courant'; wrote on musical subjects, taught languages
and music, and translated Lucretius into rhymed verse (1813).]


[Footnote 2: 'The Curse of Minerva,' written at Athens, in 1811, was not
published as a whole till 1828. But the first fifty-four lines appeared
in Canto III. of 'The Corsair' (1814). (See 'The Curse of Minerva:'
Introductory note, 'Poems,' 1898, vol. i. p. 453.)]





       *       *       *       *       *





265.--To Robert Rushton.


Cheltenham, Oct. 18th, 1812.


Robert,--I hope you continue as much as possible to apply yourself to
_Accounts_ and Land-Measurement, etc. Whatever change may take place
about Newstead, there will be none as to you and Mr. Murray. It is
intended to place you in a situation in Rochdale for which your
pursuance of the Studies I recommend will best fit you. Let me hear from
you; is your health improved since I was last at the Abbey? In the mean
time, if any accident occur to me, you are provided for in my will, and
if not, you will always find in your Master a sincere Friend.
B.





       *       *       *       *       *





266.--To John Murray.


Oct. 19, 1812.


Dear Sir,--Many thanks, but I _must_ pay the 'damage', and will thank
you to tell me the amount for the engraving. I think the 'Rejected
Addresses' by far the best thing of the kind since the 'Rolliad', and
wish _you_ had published them. Tell the author "I forgive him, were be
twenty times our satirist;" and think his imitations not at all inferior
to the famous ones of Hawkins Browne. He must be a man of very lively
wit, and much less scurrilous than Wits often are: altogether, I very
much admire the performance, and wish it all success. The 'Satirist' has
taken a _new_ tone, as you will see: we have now, I think, finished with
'C. H.'s' critics. I have in 'hand' a 'Satire' on 'Waltzing', which you
must publish anonymously: it is not long, not quite 200 lines, but will
make a very small boarded pamphlet. In a few days you shall have it.

Ever yours,

BYRON.

P.S.--The editor of the 'Satirist' almost ought to be thanked for his
revocation; it is done handsomely, after five years' warfare.





       *       *       *       *       *





267.--To John Hanson.


Octr. 22d, 1812.


DEAR SIR,--I enclose you Mr. C[laughton]'s letter, from which you
yourself will judge of my own. I insisted on the _contract_, and said,
_if_ I gave up the wines, etc., it would be as a _gift_. He admits the
validity, as you perceive. I told him that _I_ wished to avoid raising
difficulties and in all respects to fulfil the bargain.

I am going to Lord Oxford's, _Eywood, Presteigne, Hereford_. In my way
back I will take Farleigh, if you are not returned to London before.

I wish to take a small _house_ for the winter any where not remote from
St. James's. Will you arrange this for me?--and think of young Rushton,
whom I promised to provide for, and must begin to think of it; he might
be a _sub_-Tythe _collector_, or a Bailiff to our agent at Rochdale, or
many other things. He has had a fair education and was well disposed; at
all events, he must no longer remain in idleness.

Let the Mule be sold and the dogs.

Pray let me hear from you when convenient, and

Believe me, ever yours truly,

BYRON.

My best remembrances to all.

I shall draw for _fifty_ this week.

Is anything done about Miss M[assingberd]? You have not mentioned her.





       *       *       *       *       *





268.--To John Murray.


Oct. 23, 1812.

DEAR SIR,--Thanks, as usual. You go on boldly; but have a care of
_glutting_ the public, who have by this time had enough of 'C. H.'
'Waltz' shall be prepared. It is rather above 200 lines, with an
introductory letter to the Publisher. I think of publishing, with 'C.
H.', the opening lines of the '_Curse of Minerva_' as far as the first
speech of Pallas,--because some of the readers like that part better
than any I have ever written; and as it contains nothing to affect the
subject of the subsequent portion, it will find a place as a
_descriptive fragment_.

The _plate_ is _broken_? between ourselves, it was unlike the picture;
and besides, upon the whole, the frontispiece of an author's visage is
but a paltry exhibition. At all events, _this_ would have been no
recommendation to the book. I am sure Sanders would not have _survived_
the engraving. By the by, the _picture_ may remain with _you_ or _him_
(which you please), till my return. The _one_ of two remaining copies is
at your service till I can give you a _better_; the other must be
_burned peremptorily_. Again, do not forget that I have an account with
you, and _that_ this is _included_. I give you too much TROUBLE to allow
you to incur EXPENSE also.

You best know how far this "Address Riot" will affect the future sale of
'C. H.' I like the volume of "_rejected A._" better and better. The
other parody which Perry has received is _mine_ also (I believe). It is
Dr. Busby's speech versified. You are removing to Albemarle Street, I
find, and I rejoice that we shall be nearer neighbours. I am going to
Lord Oxford's, but letters here will be forwarded. When at leisure, all
communications from you will be willingly received by the humblest of
your scribes. Did Mr. Ward write the review of H. Tooke's Life? [1] It
is excellent.

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1: See 'Quarterly Review', vol. vii. p. 313. The article
alluded to was written by the Hon. J. W. Ward, afterwards Earl of
Dudley.]





       *       *       *       *       *





269.--To John Hanson.


Eywood, Presteign, Hereford, Octr. 31st, 1812.


DEAR SIR,--The inclosed bill [1] will convince you how anxious I must be
for the payment of Claughton's first instalment; though it has been sent
in without due notice, I cannot blame Mr. Davies who must feel very
anxious to get rid of the business. Press C., and let me have an answer
whenever you can to this Place.

Yours ever,

B.

P.S.--I am at _Lord Oxford's_, Eywood, as above.



[Footnote 1: The bill was Byron's for L1500, and the enclosure ran as
follows:

  "Lord Byron.

  "A Bill for L1500, drawn by Scrope B. Davies, lies due at Sir _James
  Esdaile_ and Co's., No. 21, _Lombard-Street_.

  "All Drafts intended for the Payment of Bills, to be brought before
  Half past Three o'Clock.

  "Please to call between 3 and Five o'Clock."

The same day Byron writes a second letter to Hanson:

  "Do pray press Claughton, as Mr. D.'s business must be settled at all
  events. I send you his letter, and I am more uncomfortable than I can
  possibly express myself upon the subject. Pray write."]





         *       *       *       *       *





270.--To John Hanson.


Presteign, Novr. 8th, 1812.


DEAR SIR,--Not being able (and to-day being Sunday also) to procure a
stamp, as the Post town is very remote, I must request this letter to be
considered as an Order for paying fifteen hundred pounds to S.B. Davies,
Esq., and the same sum to your own account for the Tythe purchase. Mr.
D.'s receipt can be indorsed on the bond.

I shall be in London the latter end of the week. I set out from this
place on the 12th. As to Mr. C., the Law must decide between us; I shall
abide by the Contract. Your answer will not reach me in time, so do not
write to me while here.

Pray let Mr. D. be paid and you also--come what may.[1] I always foresaw
that C. would _shirk_; but he did it with his eyes open. What question
can arise as to the title? has it never been examined? I never heard of
it before, and surely, in all our law suits, that question must have
come to issue.

I hope we shall meet in town. I will wait on you the moment I arrive.

My best respects to your family; believe me, Ever yours sincerely,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Byron was prepared to make some sacrifices to extricate
himself from debt, or go abroad. The following letter to Hanson is dated
December 10, 1812:

  "DEAR SIR,--I have to request that you will pay the bearer (my Groom)
  the wages due to him (12 pds. 10s.), and dismiss him immediately, as I
  have given up my horses, and place the sum to my account.

  "Ever yours,

  "BYRON."

Four days later, December 14, 1812, he writes again to Hanson:

  "DEAR SIR,--I request your attention to the enclosed. See what can be
  done with Howard, and urge Claughton. If this kind of thing continues,
  I must quit a country which my debts render uninhabitable,
  notwithstanding every sacrifice on my part.

  "Yours ever,

  "B."]





       *       *       *       *       *





271.--To John Hanson.


Presteign, Novr. 16th, 1812.


DEAR SIR,--The floods having rendered the road impassable, I am detained
here, but trust by the latter end of the week to proceed to Cheltenham,
where I shall expect a letter from you to tell me if I am wanted in
town.

I shall not be in time for the Prince's address; but I wish you to write
down for my _Parliamentary_ robes (Mrs. Chaworth had them, at least Mrs.
Clarke the mother); though I rather think those were the Coronation and
not the House robes. At least enquire.

I hope Mr. D. is paid; and, if Mr. C. demurs, we must bring an action
according to Contract.

I trust you are well, and well doing in my behalf and your own.

Ever yours most sincerely,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





272.--To John Murray.


Cheltenham, November 22, 1812.


DEAR SIR,--On my return here from Lord Oxford's, I found your obliging
note, and will thank you to retain the letters, and any other subsequent
ones to the same address, till I arrive in town to claim them, which
will probably be in a few days. I have in charge a curious and very long
MS. poem, written by Lord Brooke (the _friend_ of Sir _Philip Sidney_),
which I wish to submit to the inspection of Mr. Gifford, with the
following queries:--first, whether it has ever been published, and
secondly (if not), whether it is worth publication? It is from Lord
Oxford's Library, and must have escaped or been overlooked amongst the
MSS. of the Harleian Miscellany. The writing is Lord Brooke's, except a
different hand towards the close. It is very long, and in the six-line
stanza. It is not for me to hazard an opinion upon its merits; but I
would take the Liberty, if not too troublesome, to submit it to Mr.
Gifford's judgment, which, from his excellent edition of Massinger, I
should conceive to be as decisive on the writings of that age as on
those of our own.

Now for a less agreeable and important topic.--How came Mr. Mac-Somebody
[1], without consulting you or me, to prefix the Address to his volume
of "_dejected addresses?"_ Is not this somewhat larcenous? I think the
ceremony of leave might have been asked, though I have no objection to
the thing itself; and leave the "hundred and eleven" to tire themselves
with "base comparisons." I should think the ingenuous public tolerably
sick of the subject, and, except the parodies, I have not interfered,
nor shall; indeed I did not know that Dr. Busby had published his
apologetical letter and postscript [2], or I should have recalled them.
But, I confess, I looked upon his conduct in a different light before
its appearance. I see some mountebank has taken Alderman Birch's name
[3] to vituperate the Doctor; he had much better have pilfered his
pastry, which I should imagine the more valuable ingredient--at least
for a Puff.--Pray secure me a copy of Woodfall's new 'Junius' [4],

and believe me,

Dear Sir, yours very sincerely,

B.



[Footnote 1: B. McMillan]


[Footnote 2: This probably refers to Busby's apologetic letter in the
'Morning Chronicle' for October 23, 1812.]


[Footnote 3: Alderman Birch was a pastry-cook in Cornhill.]


[Footnote 4: In the Catalogue of Byron's books, sold April 5, 1816,
appear two copies of 'Junius':

"Junius's Letters, 2 vol. _russia_, 1806."

"Junius's Letters, by Woodfall, 3 vol., _Large Paper_, 1812."]





       *       *       *       *       *





273.--To William Bankes.


December 26, [1812].


The multitude of your recommendations has already superseded my humble
endeavours to be of use to you; and, indeed, most of my principal
friends are returned, Leake from Joannina, Canning and Adair from the
city of the Faithful, and at Smyrna no letter is necessary, as the
consuls are always willing to do every thing for personages of
respectability. I have sent you _three_; one to Gibraltar, which, though
of no great necessity, will, perhaps, put you on a more intimate footing
with a very pleasant family there. You will very soon find out that a
man of any consequence has very little occasion for any letters but to
ministers and bankers, and of them we have already plenty, I will be
sworn.

It is by no means improbable that I shall go in the spring; and if you
will fix any place of rendezvous about August, I will _write_ or _join_
you.--When in Albania, I wish you would inquire after Dervise Tahiri and
Vascillie (or Bazil), and make my respects to the viziers, both there
and in the Morea. If you mention my name to Suleyman of Thebes, I think
it will not hurt you; if I had my dragoman, or wrote Turkish, I could
have given you letters of _real service;_ but to the English they are
hardly requisite, and the Greeks themselves can be of little advantage.
Liston [1] you know already, and I do not, as he was not then minister.
Mind you visit Ephesus and the Troad, and let me hear from you when you
please. I believe G. Forresti is now at Yanina; but if not, whoever is
there will be too happy to assist you. Be particular about _firmauns;_
never allow yourself to be bullied, for you are better protected in
Turkey than any where; trust not the Greeks; and take some
knicknackeries for _presents--watches, pistols,_ etc., etc., to the Beys
and Pachas. If you find one Demetrius, at Athens or elsewhere, I can
recommend him as a good dragoman. I hope to join you, however; but you
will find swarms of English now in the Levant.

Believe me, etc.



[Footnote 1: Robert Liston, afterwards Sir Robert Liston (1742-1836),
succeeded Adair as Ambassador at Constantinople in 1811.]





       *       *       *       *       *





274.--To John Murray.


Eywood, Presteign, January 8, 1813.


Dear Sir,--You have been imposed upon by a letter forged in my name to
obtain the picture left in your possession. This I know by the
confession of the culprit [1] and as she is a woman (and of rank), with
whom I have unfortunately been too much connected, you will for the
present say very little about it; but if you have the letter _retain_
it--write to me the particulars. You will also be more cautious in
future, and not allow anything of mine to pass from your hands without
my _Seal_ as well as Signature.

I have not been in town, nor have written to you since I left it. So I
presume the forgery was a skilful performance.--I shall endeavour to get
back the picture by fair means, if possible.

Yours ever,

BYRON.

P.S.--Keep the letter if you have it. I did not receive your parcel, and
it is now too late to send it on, as I shall be in town on the 17th. The
_delinquent_ is one of the first families in this kingdom; but, as
Dogberry says, this is "flat burglary." [2]

Favour me with an answer. I hear I am scolded in the 'Quarterly'; but
you and it are already forgiven. I suppose that made you bashful about
sending it.



[Footnote 1: The culprit was Lady Caroline Lamb, who imitated Byron's
handwriting with remarkable skill.]


[Footnote 2: 'Much Ado about Nothing', act iv. sc. 2.]





       *       *       *       *       *





275.--To Francis Hodgson.


February 3, 1813.


My Dear Hodgson,--I will join you in any bond for the money you require,
be it that or a larger sum. With regard to security, as Newstead is in a
sort of abeyance between sale and purchase, and my Lancashire property
very unsettled, I do not know how far I can give more than personal
security, but what I can I will. At any rate you can try, and as the sum
is not very considerable, the chances are favourable. I hear nothing of
my own concerns, but expect a letter daily. Let me hear from you where
you are and will be this month. I am a great admirer of the 'R. A.'
['Rejected Addresses'], though I have had so great a share in the cause
of their publication, and I like the 'C. H.' ['Childe Harold'] imitation
one of the best. [1] Lady Oxford has heard me talk much of you as a
relative of the Cokes, etc., and desires me to say she would be happy to
have the pleasure of your acquaintance. You must come and see me at
K[insham]. I am sure you would like _all_ here if you knew them.

The "Agnus" is furious. You can have no idea of the horrible and absurd
things she has said and done [2] since (really from the best motives) I
withdrew my homage. "Great pleasure" is, certes, my object, but "_why
brief_, Mr. Wild?" [3] I cannot answer for the future, but the past is
pretty secure; and in it I can number the last two months as worthy of
the gods in 'Lucretius'. I cannot review in the "_Monthly;_" in fact I
can just now do nothing, at least with a pen; and I really think the
days of Authorship are over with me altogether. I hear and rejoice in
Eland's and Merivale's intentions [4].

Murray has grown great, and has got him new premises in the fashionable
part of the town [5].

We live here so shut out of the _monde_ that I have nothing of general
import to communicate, and fill this up with a "happy new year," and
drink to you and Drury.

Ever yours, dear H., B.

I have no intention of continuing "_Childe Harold._" There are a few
additions in the "body of the book" of description, which will merely
add to the number of pages in the next edition. I have taken Kinsham
Court. The business of last summer I broke off [6], and now the
amusement of the gentle fair is writing letters literally threatening my
life, and much in the style of "Miss Mathews" in "_Amelia_," or "Lucy"
in the "_Beggar's Opera_." Such is the reward of restoring a woman to
her family, who are treating her with the greatest kindness, and with
whom I am on good terms. I am still in _palatia Circes_, and, being no
Ulysses, cannot tell into what animal I may be converted; as you are
aware of the turn of both parties, your conjectures will be very
correct, I daresay, and, seriously, I am very much _attached_. She has
had her share of the denunciations of the brilliant Phryne, and regards
them as much as I do. I hope you will visit me at K. which will not be
ready before spring, and I am very sure you would like my neighbours if
you knew them. If you come down now to Kington [7], pray come and see me.



[Footnote 1:

  "Byron often talks of the authors of the 'Rejected Addresses', and
  always in terms of unqualified praise. He says that the imitations,
  unlike all other imitations, are full of genius. 'Parodies,' he said,
  'always give a bad impression of the original, but in the 'Rejected
  Addresses' the reverse was the fact;' and he quoted the second and
  third stanzas, in imitation of himself, as admirable, and just what he
  could have wished to write on a similar subject"

(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 134).]


[Footnote 2:

  "The Bessboroughs," writes Lady H. Leveson Gower to Lady G. Morpeth,
  September 12, 1812 ('Letters of Harriet, Countess Granville', vol. i.
  pp. 40, 41), "have been unpacked about a couple of hours. My aunt
  looks stout and well, but poor Caroline most terribly the contrary.
  She is worn to the bone, as pale as death and her eyes starting out of
  her head. She seems indeed in a sad way, alternately in tearing
  spirits and in tears. I hate her character, her feelings, and herself
  when I am away from her, but she interests me when I am with her, and
  to see her poor careworn face is dismal, in spite of reason and
  speculation upon her extraordinary conduct. She appears to me in a
  state very (little) short of insanity, and my aunt describes it as at
  times having been decidedly so."]


[Footnote 3: The context and allusion seem to require another word than
"_brief_;" but the sentence is written as printed. In Fielding's 'Life
of Mr. Jonathan Wild' (Bk. III. chap. viii.) and in

  "a dialogue matrimonial, which passed between Jonathan Wild, Esquire,
  and Laetitia his wife" ('nee' Laetitia Snap), "Laetitia asks, 'But
  pray, Mr. Wild, why b--ch? Why did you suffer such a word to escape
  you?'"]


[Footnote 4: The republication of the 'Anthology']


[Footnote 5: Murray's removal from 32, Fleet Street, to 50, Albemaile
Street.]


[Footnote 6: With Lady Caroline Lamb.]


[Footnote 7: Near Lower Moor, the residence of Hodgson's relatives, the
Cokes.]





       *       *       *       *       *





276.--To John Hanson.


3d Feb'y, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Will you forward the inclosed immediately to Corbet, whose
address I do not exactly remember? It is of consequence, relative to a
foolish woman [1] I never saw, who fancies I want to marry her.

Yours ever, B.

P.S.--I wish you would see Corbet and talk to him about it, for she
plagues my soul out with her damned letters.



[Footnote 1: The lady in question seems to have been Lady Falkland (see
'Letters', vol. 1, p. 216, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 117], and the
letter dated March 5, 1813 [Letter 281 in this volume.])]





       *       *       *       *       *





277.--To John Murray.


February 20, 1813.


Dear Sir,--In "_Horace in London_" [1] I perceive some stanzas on Lord
Elgin in which (waving the kind compliment to myself [2]) I heartily
concur. I wish I had the pleasure of Mr. Smith's acquaintance, as I
could communicate the curious anecdote you read in Mr. T.'s letter. If
he would like it, he can have the _substance_ for his second Edition; if
not, I shall add it to _our_ next, though I think we already have enough
of Lord Elgin.

What I have read of this work seems admirably done. My praise, however,
is not much worth the Author's having; but you may thank him in my name
for _his_. The idea is new--we have excellent imitations of the Satires,
etc. by Pope; but I remember but one imitative Ode in his works, and
_none_ any where else. I can hardly suppose that _they_ have lost any
fame by the fate of the Farce [3]; but even should this be the case, the
present publication will again place them on their pinnacle.

Yours truly,

B.



[Footnote 1: 'Horace in London; consisting of Imitations of the First
Two Books of the Odes of Horace', by James and Horace Smith (1813), was
a collection of imitations, the best of which are by James Smith,
republished from Hill's 'Monthly Mirror', where they originally
appeared.]


[Footnote 2: In Book 1. ode xv. of 'Horace in London', entitled "The
Parthenon," Minerva thus speaks:

  "All who behold my mutilated pile
  Shall brand its ravager with classic rage,
  And soon a titled bard from Britain's Isle,
  Thy country's praise and suffrage shall engage,
  And fire with Athens' wrongs an angry age!"


[Footnote 3: Horace Smith's unsuccessful comedy, 'First Impressions; or,
Trade in the West', was performed at Drury Lane. The prologue, spoken by
Powell, beseeches a judgment from the audience:

 "Such as mild Justice might herself dispense,
  To _Inexperience and a First Offence_."]





       *       *       *       *       *





278.--To Robert Rushton.


4, Bennet Street, St. James's, Feb. 24th, 1813.


I feel rather surprised to have heard nothing from you or your father in
answer to Fletcher's last letter. I wish to know whether you intend
taking a share in a farm with your brother, or prefer to wait for some
other situation in Lancashire;--the first will be the best, because, at
your time of life, it is highly improper to remain idle. If this
_marriage_ which is spoken of for you is at all advantageous, I can have
no objection; but I should suppose, after being in my service from your
infancy, you will at least let me know the name of your _intended_, and
her expectations. If at all respectable, nothing can be better for your
settlement in life, and a proper provision will be made for you; at all
events let me hear something on the subject, for, as I have some
intention of leaving England in the Summer, I wish to make my
arrangements with regard to yourself before that period. As you and Mr.
Murray have not received any money for some time, if you will draw on
_me_ for _fifty_ pounds (payable at Messrs. Hoare's, Bankers, Fleet
Street), and tell Mr. J[oseph] Murray to draw for the _same sum_ on his
_own_ account, both will be paid by me.

Etc., etc.,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





279.--To John Hanson.


F'y. 27th, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I have called several times, and you may suppose am very
anxious to hear something from or of Mr. Claughton.

It is my determination, on account of a malady to which I am subject,
and for other weighty reasons, to go abroad again almost immediately. To
this you will object; but, as my intention cannot be altered, I have
only to request that you will assist me as far as in your power to make
the necessary arrangements.

I have every confidence in you, and will leave the fullest powers to act
in my absence. If this man still hesitates, I must sell my part of
Rochdale for what it will bring, even at a loss, and fight him out about
Newstead; without this, I have no funds to go on with, and I do not wish
to incur further debts if possible.

Pray favour me with a short reply to this, and say when I can see you.
Excuse me to Mrs. H. for my non-appearance last night; I was detained in
the H. of L. till too late to dress for her party. Compliments to all.

Ever yours,

BN.





       *       *       *       *       *





280.--To John Hanson.


March 1st, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I am sorry that I could not call today but will tomorrow.
Your objections I anticipated and can only repeat that I cannot act
otherwise; so pray hasten some arrangement--for with, or without, I must
go.

A person told me yesterday there was one who would give within 10000 of
C.'s price and take the title as it was. C. is a fool or is shuffling.

Think of what I said about _Rochdale_, for I will sell it for what I can
get, and will not stay three months longer in this country. I again
repeat I will leave all with full powers to you. I commend your
objection which is a proof of an honourable mind--which however I did
not need to convince me of your character. If you have any news send a
few lines.

Ever yours,

BN.





       *       *       *       *       *





281.--To----Corbet.


Mh. 5th, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Lady F[alkland?] has returned by Mr. Hanson the only two
letters I ever wrote her, both some time ago, and neither containing the
least allusion which could make any person suppose that I had any
intention further than regards the children of her husband. My servant
returned the packet and letter of yesterday at the moment of receiving
them; by her letter to Mr. H. it should seem they have not been
redelivered. I am sorry for this, but it is not my fault, and they ought
never to have been sent. After her Ladyship's mistakes, so often
repeated, you will not blame me for declining all further interference
in her affairs, and I rely much upon your word in contradicting her
foolish assertions, and most absurd imaginations. She now says that "I
need not leave the country on her account." How the devil she knew that
I was about to leave it I cannot guess; but, however, for the first time
she has _dreamed_ right. But _her_ being the cause is still more
ludicrous than the rest. First, she would have it that I returned here
for love of a woman I _never saw_, and now that I am going, for the same
whom I _have never seen_, and certainly never wished, nor wish, to see!
The maddest _consistency_ I ever heard of. I trust that she has regained
her senses, as she tells Mr. H. she will not scribble any more, which
will also save _you_ from the troublesome correspondence of

Your obliged and obedient servant,

BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *





282.--To John Hanson.


March 6th, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I must be ready in April at whatever risk,--at whatever loss.
You will therefore advertize Rochdale; if you decline this, I will sell
it for what it will bring, even though but a few thousand pounds.

With regard to Claughton, I shall only say that, if he knew the
ruin,--the misery, he occasions by his delay, he would be sorry for his
conduct, and I only hope that he and I may not meet, or I shall say
something he will not like to hear. I have called often. I shall call
today at three or between three and four; again and again, I can only
beg of you to forward my plans, for here no power on earth shall make me
remain six weeks longer.

Ever yours,

B.




       *       *       *       *       *





283.--To Charles Hanson.


Mh. 24th, 1813.


My Dear Charles,--This is very evasive and dissatisfactory. What is to
be done I cannot tell, but your father had better see his letter and
this of mine. A long litigation neither suits my inclination nor
circumstances; it were better to take back the estate, and raise it to
what it will bear, which must be at least double, to dismantle the house
and sell the materials, and sell Rochdale. Something I must determine on
and that quickly. I want to go abroad immediately; it is utterly
impossible for me to remain here; every thing I have done to extricate
myself has been useless. Your father said "_sell_;" I have sold, and see
what has become of it! If I go to Law with this fellow, after five years
litigation at the present depreciation of money, the _price_ will not be
worth the _property_; besides how much of it will be spent in the
contest! and how am I to live in the interim? Every day land rises and
money falls. I shall tell Mr. Cn. he is a _scoundrel_, and have done
with him, and I only hope he will have spirit enough to resent the
appellation, and defend his own rascally conduct. In the interim of his
delay in his journey, I shall leave town; on Sunday I shall set out for
Herefordshire, from whence, when wanted, I will return.

Pray tell your father to get the money on Rochdale, or I must sell it
directly. I must be ready by the last week in _May_, and am consequently
pressed for time.

I go first to Cagliari in Sardinia, and on to the Levant.

Believe me, dear Charles,

Yours truly,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





284.--To Samuel Rogers. [1]


March 25, 1813.


I enclose you a draft for the usurious interest due to Lord
B[oringdon]'s _protege_;--I also could wish you would state thus much
for me to his Lordship. Though the transaction speaks plainly in itself
for the borrower's folly and the lender's usury, it never was my
intention to _quash_ the demand, as I _legally_ might, nor to withhold
payment of principal, or, perhaps, even _unlawful_ interest. You know
what my situation has been, and what it is. I have parted with an estate
(which has been in my family for nearly three hundred years, and was
never disgraced by being in possession of a _lawyer_, a _churchman_, or
a _woman_, during that period,) to liquidate this and similar demands;
and the payment of the purchase is still withheld, and may be, perhaps,
for years. If, therefore, I am under the necessity of making those
persons _wait_ for their money, (which, considering the terms, they can
afford to suffer,) it is my misfortune.

When I arrived at majority in 1809,1 offered my own security on _legal_
interest, and it was refused. _Now_, I will not accede to this. This man
I may have seen, but I have no recollection of the names of any parties
but the _agents_ and the securities. The moment I can, it is assuredly
my intention to pay my debts. This person's case may be a hard one; but,
under all circumstances, what is mine? I could not foresee that the
purchaser of my estate was to demur in paying for it.

I am glad it happens to be in my power so far to accommodate my
Israelite, and only wish I could do as much for the rest of the Twelve
Tribes.

Ever yours, dear R.,

BN.



[Footnote 1: The following was Rogers's reply:--

  "Friday Morning.

  "My Dearest Byron,--I have just received your note, but I _will not_
  execute your Commission; and, moreover, I will tell Lord Boringdon
  that I refused to do it. I know your situation; and I should never
  sleep again, if by any interference of mine, for by so harsh a word I
  must call it, you should be led by your generosity, your pride, or any
  other noble motive, to do more than you are called upon to do.

  "I mentioned the thing to Lord Holland last night, and he entirely
  agreed with me, that you are not called upon to do it. The Principal
  and the legal interest are all that these extortioners are entitled
  to; and, you must forgive me, but I will not do as you require. I
  shall keep the draft till I see you.

  "Yours ever and ever,

  "SAML. ROGERS."]





       *       *       *       *       *





285.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


4, Bennet Street, St. James's, March 26th, 1813.


My Dearest Augusta,--I did not answer your letter, because I could not
answer as I wished, but expected that every week would bring me some
tidings that might enable me to reply better than by apologies. But
Claughton has not, will not, and, I think, cannot pay his money, and
though, luckily, it was stipulated that he should never have possession
till the whole was paid, the estate is still on my hands, and your
brother consequently not less embarrassed than ever. This is the truth,
and is all the excuse I can offer for inability, but not unwillingness,
to serve you.

I am going abroad again in June, but should wish to see you before my
departure. You have perhaps heard that I have been fooling away my time
with different "_regnantes_;" but what better can be expected from me? I
have but one _relative_, and her I never see. I have no connections to
domesticate with, and for marriage I have neither the talent nor the
inclination. I cannot fortune-hunt, nor afford to marry without a
fortune. My parliamentary schemes are not much to my taste--I spoke
twice last Session, [1] and was told it was well enough; but I hate the
thing altogether, and have no intention to "strut another hour" on that
stage. I am thus wasting the best part of life, daily repenting and
never amending.

On Sunday, I set off for a fortnight for Eywood, near Presteign, in
Herefordshire--with the _Oxfords_. I see you put on a _demure_ look at
the name, which is very becoming and matronly in you; but you won't be
sorry to hear that I am quite out of a more serious scrape with another
singular personage which threatened me last year, and trouble enough I
had to steer clear of it I assure you. I hope all my nieces are well,
and increasing in growth and number; but I wish you were not always
buried in that bleak common near Newmarket.

I am very well in health, but not happy, nor even comfortable; but I
will not bore you with complaints. I am a fool, and deserve all the ills
I have met, or may meet with, but nevertheless very _sensibly_, dearest
Augusta,

Your most affectionate brother, BYRON.



[Footnote 1: What is generally supposed to have been Byron's second
speech (see Appendix II. (2)) was made, April 21, 1813, on Lord
Donoughmore's motion for a Committee on Roman Catholic claims.

The following impressions of his short parliamentary career are recorded
by Byron himself:

  "I have never heard any one who fulfilled my ideal of an orator.
  Grattan would have been near it, but for his harlequin delivery. Pitt
  I never heard. Fox but once, and then he struck me as a debater, which
  to me seems as different from an orator as an improvisatore, or a
  versifier, from a poet. Grey is great, but it is not oratory. Canning
  is sometimes very like one. Windham I did not admire, though all the
  world did; it seemed sad sophistry. Whitbread was the Demosthenes of
  bad taste and vulgar vehemence, but strong, and English. Holland is
  impressive from sense and sincerity. Lord Lansdowne good, but still a
  debater only. Grenville I like vastly, if he would prune his speeches
  down to an hour's delivery. Burdett is sweet and silvery as Belial
  himself, and I think the greatest favourite in Pandemonium; at least I
  always heard the country gentlemen and the ministerial devilry praise
  his speeches _up_ stairs, and run down from Bellamy's when he was upon
  his legs. I heard Bob Milnes make his _second_ speech; it made no
  impression. I like Ward--studied, but keen, and sometimes eloquent.
  Peel, my school and form fellow (we sat within two of each other),
  strange to say, I have never heard, though I often wished to do so;
  but, from what I remember of him at Harrow, he _is_, or _should_ be,
  among the best of them. Now I do _not_ admire Mr. Wilberforce's
  speaking; it is nothing but a flow of words--'words, words, alone.'

  "I doubt greatly if the English _have_ any eloquence, properly so
  called; and am inclined to think that the Irish _had_ a great deal,
  and that the French _will_ have, and have had in Mirabeau. Lord
  Chatham and Burke are the nearest approaches to orators in England. I
  don't know what Erskine may have been at the _bar_, but in the House,
  I wish him at the bar once more. Lauderdale is shrill, and Scotch, and
  acute. Of Brougham I shall say nothing, as I have a personal feeling
  of dislike to the man.

  "But amongst all these, good, bad, and indifferent, I never heard the
  speech which was not too long for the auditors, and not very
  intelligible, except here and there. The whole thing is a grand
  deception, and as tedious and tiresome as maybe to those who must be
  often present. I heard Sheridan only once, and that briefly, but I
  liked his voice, his manner, and his wit: and he is the only one of
  them I ever wished to hear at greater length.

  "The impression of Parliament upon me was, that its members are not
  formidable as _speakers_, but very much so as an _audience_; because
  in so numerous a body there may be little eloquence, (after all, there
  were but _two_ thorough orators in all antiquity, and I suspect still
  _fewer_ in modern times,) but there must be a leaven of thought and
  good sense sufficient to make them _know_ what is right, though they
  can't express it nobly.

  "Horne Tooke and Roscoe both are said to have declared that they left
  Parliament with a higher opinion of its aggregate integrity and
  abilities than that with which they entered it. The general amount of
  both in most Parliaments is probably about the same, as also the
  number of _speakers_ and their talent. I except _orators_, of course,
  because they are things of ages, and not of septennial or triennial
  reunions. Neither House ever struck me with more awe or respect than
  the same number of Turks in a divan, or of Methodists in a barn, would
  have done. Whatever diffidence or nervousness I felt (and I felt both,
  in a great degree) arose from the number rather than the quality of
  the assemblage, and the thought rather of the _public without_ than
  the persons within,--knowing (as all know) that Cicero himself, and
  probably the Messiah, could never have altered the vote of a single
  lord of the bedchamber, or bishop. I thought _our_ House dull, but the
  other animating enough upon great days.

  "I have heard that when Grattan made his first speech in the English
  Commons, it was for some minutes doubtful whether to laugh at or cheer
  him. The _debut_ of his predecessor, Flood, had been a complete
  failure, under nearly similar circumstances. But when the ministerial
  part of our senators had watched Pitt (their thermometer) for the cue,
  and saw him nod repeatedly his stately nod of approbation, they took
  the hint from their huntsman, and broke out into the most rapturous
  cheers. Grattan's speech, indeed, deserved them; it was a
  _chef-d'oeuvre_. I did not hear _that_ speech of his (being then at
  Harrow), but heard most of his others on the same question--also that
  on the war of 1815. I differed from his opinions on the latter
  question, but coincided in the general admiration of his eloquence.

  "When I met old Courtenay, the orator, at Rogers's the poet's, in
  1811-12, I was much taken with the portly remains of his fine figure,
  and the still acute quickness of his conversation. It was _he_ who
  silenced Flood in the English House by a crushing reply to a hasty
  _debut_ of the rival of Grattan in Ireland. I asked Courtenay (for I
  like to trace motives) if he had not some personal provocation; for
  the acrimony of his answer seemed to me, as I read it, to involve it.
  Courtenay said 'he had; that, when in Ireland (being an Irishman), at
  the bar of the Irish House of Commons, Flood had made a personal and
  unfair attack upon _himself_, who, not being a member of that House,
  could not defend himself, and that some years afterwards, the
  opportunity of retort offering in the English Parliament, he could not
  resist it.' He certainly repaid Flood with interest, for Flood never
  made any figure, and only a speech or two afterwards, in the English
  House of Commons. I must except, however, his speech on Reform in
  1790, which Fox called 'the best he ever heard upon that subject.'"]





       *       *       *       *       *





286.--To John Murray.


March 29th, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Westall has, I believe, agreed to illustrate your book [1],
and I fancy one of the engravings will be from the pretty little girl
[2] you saw the other day, though without her name, and merely as a
model for some sketch connected with the subject. I would also have the
portrait (which you saw to-day) of the friend who is mentioned in the
text at the close of Canto 1st, and in the notes,--which are subjects
sufficient to authorise that addition.

Believe me, yours truly, B'N.



[Footnote 1: An edition of the first two cantos of 'Childe Harold', to
be illustrated by Richard Westall (1765-1836), who painted Byron's
portrait in 1813-14.]


[Footnote 2: Lady Charlotte Harley, daughter of Lord Oxford, to whom,
under the name of Ianthe, the introductory lines to 'Childe Harold' were
afterwards addressed. Lady Charlotte married, in 1820, Brigadier-General
Bacon.]





       *       *       *       *       *





287.--To John Hanson.


Presteigne, April 15th, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I wrote to you requesting an answer last week, and again
apprising you of my determination of leaving England early in May, and
proceeding no further with Claughton.

Now, having arrived, I shall write to that person immediately to give up
the whole business. I am sick of the delays attending it, and can wait
no longer, and I have had too much of _law_ already at Rochdale to place
Newstead in the same predicament.

I shall only be able to see you for a few days in town, as I shall sail
before the 20th of May.

Believe me, yours ever, B.

P.S.--My best compliments to Mrs. H. and the family.





       *       *       *       *       *





288.--To John Hanson.


Presteigne, April 17th, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I shall follow your advice and say nothing to our shuffling
purchaser, but leave him to you, and the fullest powers of _Attorney_,
which I hope you will have ready on my arrival in town early next week.
I wish, if possible, the arrangement with Hoare to be made immediately,
as I must set off forthwith. I mean to remain _incog_. in London for the
short time previous to my embarkation.

I have not written to Claughton, nor shall, of course, after your
counsel on the subject. I wish you would turn in your mind the
expediency of selling Rochdale. I shall never make any thing of it, as
it is.

I beg you will provide (as before my last voyage) the fullest powers to
act in my absence, and bring my cursed concerns into some kind of order.
You must at least allow that I have acted according to your advice about
Newstead, and I shall take no step without your being previously
consulted.

I hope I shall find you and Mrs. H., etc., well in London, and that you
have heard something from this dilatory gentleman.

Believe me, ever yours truly,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





289.--To John Murray.


April 21, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I shall be in town by Sunday next, and will call and have
some conversation on the subject of Westall's proposed designs. I am to
sit to him for a picture at the request of a friend of mine [1]; and as
Sanders's is not a good one, you will probably prefer the other. I wish
you to have Sanders's taken down and sent to my lodgings
immediately--before my arrival. I hear that a certain malicious
publication on Waltzing [2] is attributed to me. This report, I suppose,
you will take care to contradict, as the Author, I am sure, will not
like that I should wear his cap and bells. Mr. Hobhouse's quarto will be
out immediately; pray send to the author for an early copy which I wish
to take abroad with me.

Dear Sir, I am, yours very truly, B.

P.S.--I see the 'Examiner' [3] threatens some observations upon you next
week. What can you have done to share the wrath which has heretofore
been principally expended upon the Prince? I presume all your Scribleri
will be drawn up in battle array in defence of the modern Tonson--Mr.
Bucke [4], for instance. Send in my account to Bennet Street, as I wish
to settle it before sailing.



[Footnote 1: This picture, exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1815, is
now in the possession of the Baroness Burdett-Coutts.]


[Footnote 2: Byron's 'Waltz' was published anonymously in the spring of
1813, not, apparently, by Murray, but by Sherwood, Neely, and Jones,
Paternoster Row.]


[Footnote 3: In the 'Examiner' for April, 1813, occurs the paragraph: "A
word or two on Mr. Murray's (the 'splendid bookseller') judgment in the
Fine Arts--next week, 'if room'."]


[Footnote 4: Charles Bucke (1781-1846), a voluminous writer of verse,
plays, and miscellaneous subjects, published, in 1813, his 'Philosophy
of Nature; or, the Influence of Scenery on the Mind and Heart'. He
supported himself by his pen, and that indifferently. Byron seems to
suggest that he was a dependent of Murray's. In 1817 he sent to the
Committee of Management at Drury Lane his tragedy, 'The Italians; or,
the Fatal Accusation', and it was accepted. In February, 1819, he
withdrew the play, in consequence of a quarrel with Edmund Kean, and
published it with extracts from the correspondence and a Preface, which
sent it through numerous editions. The play itself was, after being
withdrawn, played at Drury Lane, April 3, 1819. Bucke and his Preface
were answered in 'The Assailant Assailed', and in 'A Defence of Edmund
Kean, Esq'. (both in 1819), and the opinion of the town condemned both
him and his tragedy.]








       *       *       *       *       *





CHAPTER VII.

MAY, 1813-DECEMBER, 1813.

THE 'GIAOUR' AND 'BRIDE OF ABYDOS'.





       *       *       *       *       *





290.--To John Murray.


May 13, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I send a corrected, and, I hope, amended copy of the lines
for the "fragment" already sent this evening. [1] Let the enclosed be
the copy that is sent to the Devil (the printers) and burn the other.

Yours, etc., B'N.



[Footnote 1: 'The Giaour', which was now in the press, was expanded,
either in the course of printing, or in the successive editions, from
400 lines to 1400. It was published in May, 1813.]





       *       *       *       *       *





291.--To Thomas Moore.


May 19, 1813.


  Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,
  Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown, [1]--
  For hang me if I know of which you may most brag,
  Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag;

         *       *       *       *       *

  But now to my letter--to _yours_ 'tis an answer--
  To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir,
  All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on
  (According to compact) the wit in the dungeon [2]--
  Pray Phoebus at length our political malice
  May not get us lodgings within the same palace!
  I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,
  And for Sotheby's [3] Blues have deserted Sam Rogers;
  And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got,
  Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote.
  But to-morrow at four, we will both play the _Scurra_,
  And you'll be Catullus, the Regent, Mamurra. [4]


Dear M.,--having got thus far, I am interrupted by----. 10 o'clock.

Half-past 11.----is gone. I must dress for Lady Heathcote's.--Addio.



[Footnote 1: Moore's 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag. By
Thomas Brown, the Younger', was published in 1813.]


[Footnote 2: The "wit in the dungeon" was James Henry Leigh Hunt
(1784-1859), who was educated at Christ's Hospital, and began his
literary life with "a collection of poems, written between the ages of
twelve and sixteen," and published in 1801 as 'Juvenilia'. In 1808 he
and his brother John started a weekly newspaper called the 'Examiner',
which advocated liberal principles with remarkable independence. On
February 24, 1811, Hunt published an article in defence of Peter
Finnerty, convicted for a libel on Castlereagh, and exhorting public
writers to be bold in the cause of individual liberty. The same number
contained an article on the savagery of military floggings, for which he
was prosecuted, defended by Brougham, and acquitted. His acquittal drew
from Shelley a letter of congratulation, addressed to Hunt as "one of
the most fearless enlighteners of the public mind" (Dowden's 'Life of
Shelley', vol. i. p. 113).

In March, 1812, the 'Morning Post' printed a poem, speaking of the
Prince Regent as the "Maecenas of the Age," the "Exciter of Desire," the
"Glory of the People," an "Adonis of Loveliness," etc. The 'Examiner'
for March 12, 1812, thus translated this adulation into "the language of
truth:"

  "What person, unacquainted with the true state of the case, would
  imagine, in reading these astounding eulogies, that this 'Glory of the
  People' was the subject of millions of shrugs and reproaches!... that
  this 'Exciter of Desire' (bravo! Messieurs of the 'Post'!), this
  'Adonis in Loveliness,' was a corpulent man of fifty!--in short, this
  'delightful, blissful, wise, pleasureable, honourable, virtuous,
  true', and 'immortal' prince was a violator of his word, a libertine
  over head and ears in disgrace, a despiser of domestic ties, the
  companion of gamblers and demireps, a man who has just closed half a
  century without one single claim on the gratitude of his country or
  the respect of posterity."

Crabb Robinson, who met Leigh Hunt, four days later, at Charles Lamb's,
says ('Diary', vol. i. p. 376),

  "Leigh Hunt is an enthusiast, very well intentioned, and, I believe,
  prepared for the worst. He said, pleasantly enough, 'No one can accuse
  me of not writing a libel. Everything is a libel, as the law is now
  declared, and our security lies only in their shame.'"

For this libel John and Leigh Hunt were convicted in the Court of King's
Bench on December 9, 1812. In the following February they were sentenced
to two years' imprisonment and a fine of L500 a-piece. John was
imprisoned in Coldbath-fields, Leigh in the Surrey County Gaol. They
were released on February 2 or 3, 1815.

Shelley, on reading the sentence, proposed a subscription for

  "the brave and enlightened man... to whom the public owes a debt as
  the champion of their liberties and virtues"

(Dowden, 'Life of Shelley', vol. i. p. 325). Keats wrote a sonnet to
Hunt on the day he left his prison, beginning:

  "What though for showing truth to flatter'd state,
  Kind Hunt was shut in prison."

A political alliance was thus cemented, which, for the time, was
disastrous to the literary prospects of Shelley and Keats. To Hunt
Shelley dedicated the 'Cenci', and Keats his first volume of 'Poems'
(1817). He is the "gentlest of the wise" in Shelley's 'Adonais'; and, in
a suppressed stanza of the same poem, the poet speaks of Hunt's "sweet
and earnest looks," "soft smiles," and "dark and night-like eyes." The
words inscribed on Shelley's tomb--"_Cor Cordium_"--were Hunt's choice.
In his various papers Hunt zealously championed his friends. In the
'Examiner' for September to October, 1819, he defended Shelley's
personal character; in the same paper for June to July, 1817, he praised
Keats's first volume of 'Poems'; he reviewed "Lamia" in the 'Indicator'
for August 2-9, 1820, and "La Belle Dame sans Merci" in that for May 10,
1820. In his 'Foliage' (1818) are three sonnets addressed to Keats.

Shelley believed in Hunt to the end. It was mainly through him that Hunt
came to Pisa in June, 1822, to join with Byron in 'The Liberal'. But he
doubted whether the alliance between the "wren and the eagle" could
continue ('Life of Shelley', vol. ii. p. 519). Keats, on the other hand,
lost his faith in Hunt. In a letter to Haydon (May, 1817), speaking of
Hunt, he says,

  "There is no greater Sin after the seven deadly than to flatter
  oneself into an idea of being a great Poet."

Again (March, 1818) he writes,

  "It is a great Pity that People should, by associating themselves with
  the finest things, spoil them. Hunt has damned Hampstead, and masks,
  and sonnets, and Italian tales."

He writes still more severely (December, 1818-January, 1819),

  "If I were to follow my own inclinations, I should never meet any one
  of that set again, not even Hunt, who is certainly a pleasant fellow
  in the main when you are with him; but in reality he is vain,
  egotistical, and disgusting in matters of taste and morals. Hunt does
  one harm by making fine things petty, and beautiful things hateful.
  Through him I am indifferent to Mozart. I care not for white
  Busts--and many a glorious thing when associated with him becomes a
  nothing."

Haydon considered that Hunt was the "great unhinger" of Keats's best
dispositions ('Works of Keats', ed. H.B. Forman, vol. iv. p. 359); and
Severn attributes Keats's temporary "mawkishness" to Hunt's society
('ibid'., p. 376).

Nathaniel Hawthorne ('Our Old Home', p. 229, ed. 1884) says of Hunt, and
means it as high praise, that

  "there was not an English trait in him from head to foot--morally,
  intellectually, or physically. Beef, ale or stout, brandy or
  port-wine, entered not at all into his composition."

He was, in fact, a man of weak fibre, who allowed himself to sponge upon
his friends, such as Talfourd, Haydon, and Shelley. Though Dickens
denied ('All the Year Round', Dec. 24, 1859) that "Harold Skimpole" was
intended for Hunt, the picture was recognized as a portrait. On the
other hand, Hunt was a man of kindly and genial disposition.

  "He loves everything," says Crabb Robinson ('Diary', vol. ii. p. 192),
  "he catches the sunny side of everything, and, excepting that he has a
  few polemical antipathies, finds everything beautiful."

In his essays, the best of which appeared in the 'Indicator' (1819-21),
he communicates some of his own sense of enjoyment to those of his
readers who are content to take him as he is. His circle is limited; but
in it his observation is minute and suggestive. The Vale of Health is to
him, in a degree proportioned to their respective powers, what the
Temple was to Lamb. His style is neat, pretty, and would be affected if
it were not the man himself. As a literary journalist, a dramatic
critic, and an essayist, he has a place in literature. His poetry is
less successful; his affectations, innate vulgarity, and habit of pawing
his subjects repel even those who are attracted by its sweetness. Yet
his 'Story of Rimini' (1816), which he dedicated to Byron, was admired
in its day. Byron, though he condemned its affected style, thought the
poem a "devilish good one." Moore held the same opinion; and Jeffrey,
writing to him May 28, 1816 ('Memoirs, etc., of Thomas Moon,' vol. ii.
p. 100), says,

  "I certainly shall not be ill-natured to 'Rimini'. It is very sweet
  and very lively in many places, and is altogether piquant, as being by
  far the best imitation of Chaucer and some of his Italian
  contemporaries that modern times have produced."

No two men could be more unlike than Byron and Hunt, or have less in
common. Yet, with a singular capacity for self-delusion, Hunt told his
wife that the texture of Byron's mind resembled his to a thread
('Correspondence of L. Hunt', vol. i. p. 88). The friendship began in
political sympathy; but two years later (see Byron's letter to Moore,
June 1, 1818) it had, on one side at least, cooled. In June, 1822, Hunt
came to Pisa to launch The Liberal, with the aid of Shelley and Byron.
'The Liberal: Verse and Prose from the South', started in 1822, lived
through four numbers, and died in July, 1823. During that time Byron
expressed to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 77)

  "a very good opinion of the talents and principle of Mr. Hunt, though,
  as he said, 'our tastes are so opposite that we are totally unsuited
  to each other ... in short, we are more formed to be friends at a
  distance, than near.'"

For the best part of two years Hunt was Byron's guest: he repaid his
hospitality by publishing his 'Lord Byron and Some of his
Contemporaries' (1828). Though Lady Blessington said the book "gave, in
the main, a fair account" of Byron (Crabb Robinson's 'Diary', vol. iii.
p. 13), its publication was a breach of honour. As such it was justly
attacked by Moore in "The 'Living Dog' and the 'Dead Lion'":

  "Next week will be published (as 'Lives' are the rage)
  The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange,
Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once in the cage
  Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change.

"Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call 'sad,'
  'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends;
And few dogs have such opportunities had
  Of knowing how Lions behave--among friends.

"How that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks,
  Is all noted down by this Boswell so small;
And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks
  That the Lion was no such great things after all.

"Though he roared pretty well--this the puppy allows--
  It was all, he says, borrowed--all second-hand roar;
And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows
  To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour.

"'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a 'Cynic' could ask,
  To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits
Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task,
  And judges of Lions by puppy-dog habits.

"Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case)
  With sops every day from the Lion's own pan,
He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass,
  And--does all a dog, so diminutive, can.

"However, the book's a good book, being rich in
  Examples and warnings to lions high-bred,
How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen,
  Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead.

"Exeter 'Change'.

T. PIDCOCK."

For the reply of Hunt or one of his friends, "The Giant and the Dwarf,"
see Appendix VI.]


[Footnote 3: William Sotheby (1757-1833), once a cavalry officer,
afterwards a man of letters and of fortune, published his 'Oberon' in
1798, and his 'Georgics' in 1800 (see 'English Bards, etc.', line 818,
and 'note'). The following passage from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts'
(1821) refers to him:

  "Sotheby is a good man; rhymes well (if not wisely), but is a bore. He
  seizes you by the button. One night of a rout, at Mrs. Hope's, he had
  fastened upon me (something about Agamemnon or Orestes--or some of his
  plays), notwithstanding my symptoms of manifest distress, (for I was
  in love and had just nicked a minute when neither mothers, nor
  husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips, were near my then idol, who was
  beautiful as the Statues of the Gallery where we stood at the time).
  Sotheby, I say, had seized upon me by the button, and the
  heart-strings, and spared neither. W. Spencer, who likes fun, and
  don't dislike mischief, saw my case, and, coming up to us both, took
  me by the hand and pathetically bade me farewell, 'for,' said he, 'I
  see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then went away. 'Sic me servavit
  Apollo.'"]


[Footnote 4: See Catullus, xxix. 3:

  "Quis hoc potest videre, quis potest pati,
  Nisi impudicus et vorax, et aleo,
  Mamurram habere, quod Comata Gallia
  Habebat uncti et ultima Britannia?"

See also xli. 4, xliii. 5 (compare Horace, 'Sat'. i. 5. 37), and lvii.
2.]





       *       *       *       *       *





292.--To John Murray.


May 22nd, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I return the "_Curiosities of Literature_." [1] Pray is it
fair to ask if the "_Twopenny Postbag_" is to be reviewed in this No.?
because, if not, I should be glad to undertake it, and leave it to
Chance and the Editor for a reception into your pages.

Yours truly,

B.

P.S.--You have not sent me Eustace's 'Travels'. [2]



[Footnote 1: The first volume of Isaac Disraeli's 'Curiosities of
Literature' was published in 1791. The remaining volumes were published
at intervals: vol. ii., 1793; vol. iii., 1817; vols. iv. and v., in
1823; vol. vi., 1834.]


[Footnote 2: John Chetwode Eustace ('circ'. 1762-1815) published his
'Tour through Italy' in 1813.]





       *       *       *       *       *





293.--To John Murray.


May 23rd, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I question whether ever author before received such a
compliment from his _master_. I am glad you think the thing is tolerably
_vamped_ and will be _vendible_.

Pray look over the proof again. I am but a careless reviser, and let me
have 12 struck off, and one or two for yourself to serve as MS. for the
thing when published in the body of the volume. If Lady Caroline Lamb
sends for it, do _not_ let her have it, till the copies are all ready,
and then you can send her one.

Yours truly,

[Greek: Mpairon].

P.S.--H.'s book is out at last; I have my copy, which I have lent
already.





       *       *       *       *       *





294.--To John Murray.


June 2, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I presented a petition to the house yesterday, [1] which gave
rise to some debate, and I wish you to favour me for a few minutes with
the 'Times' and 'Herald' to look on their hostile report.

You will find, if you like to look at my 'prose', my words nearly
'verbatim' in the 'M. Chronicle'.

B'N.



[Footnote 1: The petition was from Major Cartwright, and was presented
June 1, 1813. (For Byron's speech, see Appendix II. (3).) Returning from
the House, he called on Moore, and, while the latter was dressing for
dinner, walked up and down the next room,

  "spouting in a sort of mock heroic voice, detached sentences of the
  speech he had just been delivering. 'I told them,' he said, 'that it
  was a most flagrant violation of the Constitution--that, if such
  things were permitted, there was an end of English freedom, and
  that--'

  "'But what was this dreadful grievance?' asked Moore.

  "'The grievance?' he repeated, pausing as if to consider, 'oh,
  _that_ I forget.'"]





      *       *       *       *       *





295.--To Thomas Moore.


My Dear Moore,--"When Rogers" [1] must not see the inclosed, which I
send for your perusal. I am ready to fix any day you like for our visit.
Was not Sheridan good upon the whole? The "Poulterer" was the first and
best. [2]

Ever yours, etc.


  1.

  When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent,
  (I hope I am not violent),
  Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.


  2.

  And since not ev'n our Rogers' praise
  To common sense his thoughts could raise--
  Why _would_ they let him print his lays?


  3.

         *       *       *       *       *

  4.

         *       *       *       *       *

  5.

  To me, divine Apollo, grant--O!
  Hermilda's first and second canto,
  I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;


  6.

  And thus to furnish decent lining,
  My own and others' bays I'm twining--
  So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.





       *       *       *       *       *





296.--To John Hanson.


June 3d, 1813.


Dear Sir,--When you receive this I shall have left town for a week, and,
as it is perfectly right we should understand each other, I think you
will not be surprised at my persisting in my intention of going abroad.
If the Suit can be carried on in my absence,--_well_; if not, it must be
given up. One word, one letter, to Cn. would put an end to it; but this
I shall not do, at all events without acquainting you before hand; nor
at all, provided I am able to go abroad again. But at all hazards, at
all losses, on this last point I am as determined as I have been for the
last six months, and you have always told me that you would endeavour to
assist me in that intention. Every thing is ordered and ready now. Do
not trifle with me, for I am in very solid serious earnest, and if utter
ruin _were_, or _is_ before me, on the one hand--and wealth at home on
the other,--I have made my choice, and go I will.

If you wish to write, address a line before Saturday to Salthill Post
Office; Maidenhead, I believe, but am not sure, is the Post town; but I
shall not be in town till Wednesday next.

Believe me, yours ever,

BN.

P.S.--Let all the books go to Mr. Murray's immediately, and let the
plate, linen, etc., which I find _excepted_ by the _contract_, be sold,
particularly a large silver vase--with the _contents_ not removed as
they are curious, and a silver cup (not the skull) be sold also--both
are of value.

The Pictures also, and every moveable that is mine, and can be converted
into cash; all I want is a few thousand pounds, and then adieu. You
shan't be troubled with me these ten years, if ever.





       *       *       *       *       *





297.--To Francis Hodgson.


June 6, 1813.


MY DEAR HODGSON,--I write to you a few lines on business. Murray has
thought proper at his own risk, and peril, and profit (if there be any)
to publish 'The Giaour'; and it may possibly come under your ordeal in
the 'Monthly' [1] I merely wish to state that in the published copies
there are additions to the amount of ten pages, _text_ and _margin_
(_chiefly_ the last), which render it a little less unfinished (but more
unintelligible) than before. If, therefore, you review it, let it be
from the published copies and not from the first sketch. I shall not
sail for this month, and shall be in town again next week, when I shall
be happy to hear from you but more glad to see you. You know I have no
time or turn for correspondence(!). But you also know, I hope, that I am
not the less

Yours ever,

[Greek: MPAIRON].



[Footnote 1: 'The Giaour' was reviewed in the 'Monthly Review' for June,
1813 (N.S. vol. lxxi. p. 202). In the Editor's copy is added in MS. at
the end of the article, as indicating the author of the review, the word
"Den."]





       *       *       *       *       *





298.--To Francis Hodgson.


June 8th, 1813.


My dear Hodgson,--In town for a night I find your card. I had written to
you at Cambridge merely to say that Murray has thought it expedient to
publish 'The Giaour' at his own risk (and reimbursement, if he can), and
that, as it will probably be in your department in the 'Monthly', I
wished to state that, in the published copies, there are additions to
the tune of 300 lines or so towards the end, and, if reviewed, it should
_not_ be from the privately printed copy. So much for scribbling.

I shall manage to see you somewhere before I sail, which will be next
month; till then I am yours here, and afterwards any where and every
where,

Dear H., _tutto tuo_,

BN.





       *       *       *       *       *





299.--To John Murray.


Je. 9, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I regret much that I have no profane garment to array you
with for the masquerade. As my motions will be uncertain, you need not
write nor send the proofs till my return.

Yours truly,

BN.

P.S.--My wardrobe is out of town--or I could have dressed you as an
Albanian--or a Turk--or an officer--or a Waggoner.





       *       *       *       *       *





300.--To John Murray.


June 12, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Having occasion to send a servant to London, I will thank you
to inform me whether I left with the other things 3 miniatures in your
care (--if not--I know where to find them), and also to "report
progress" in unpacking the books? The bearer returns this evening.

How does Hobhouse's work go on, or rather off--for that is the essential
part? In yesterday's paper, immediately under an advertisement on
"Strictures in the Urethra," I see--most appropriately consequent--a
poem with "_strictures_ on Ld B., Mr. Southey and others,"[1] though I
am afraid neither "Mr. S.'s" poetical distemper, nor "mine," nor
"others," is of the suppressive or stranguary kind. You may read me the
prescription of this kill or cure physician. The medicine is compounded
at White and Cochrane's, Fleet Street. As I have nothing else to do, I
may enjoy it like Sir Fretful, or the Archbishop of Grenada, or any
other personage in like predicament.

Recollect that my lacquey returns in the Evening, and that I set out for
Portsmouth [2] to-morrow. All here are very well, and much pleased with
your politeness and attention during their stay in town.

Believe me, yours truly,

B.

P.S.--Are there anything but books? If so, let those _extras_ remain
untouched for the present. I trust you have not stumbled on any more
"Aphrodites," and have burnt those. I send you both the advertisements,
but don't send me the first treatise--as I have no occasion for
_Caustic_ in that quarter.



[Footnote 1: In the 'Morning Chronicle' (June 10, 1813) appeared
advertisements of the two following books:--'Practical Observations on
the best mode of curing Strictures, etc., with Remarks on Inefficacy,
etc., of Caustic Applications'. By William Wadd. Printed for J. Callow,
Soho. 'Modern Poets; a Dialogue in Verse, containing some Strictures on
the Poetry of Lord Byron, Mr. Southey, and Others'. Printed for White,
Cochrane, and Co., Fleet Street.

In a note on 'Modern Poets' (p. 7) occurs the following passage:

  "In 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers' the same respectable corps
  of critics is successively exhibited, in the course of only ten lines,
  under the following significant but somewhat incongruous forms, viz.
  (1) Northern Wolves, (2) Harpies, (3) Bloodhounds."

In proof the writer quotes lines 426-437 of the Satire. Then follows a
long review of 'Childe Harold', in which the critic condemns Harold, the
hero, as "an uncouth incumbrance of this flighty Lord;" the want of
"plot ... action and fable, interest, order, end;" and asks:

  "Shall he immortal bays aspire to wear
  Who immortality from man would tear,
  Repress the sigh which hopes a happier home,
  And chase the visions of a life to come?"]


[Footnote 2: For Byron's intention to go abroad with Lord and Lady
Oxford, see p. 164, 'note' 3 [Footnote 6 of Letter 256.]]





       *       *       *       *       *





301.--To John Murray.


[Maidenhead], June 13, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Amongst the books from Bennet St. is a small vol. of
abominable poems by the Earl of Haddington which must not be in ye
Catalogue on Sale--also--a vol. of French Epigrams in the same
predicament.

On the title page of Meletius is an inscription in writing which must be
_erased_ and made illegible.

I have read the strictures, which are just enough, and not grossly
abusive, in very fair couplets. There is a note against Massinger near
the end, but one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. The
author detects some incongruous figures in a passage of 'E. Bds'., page
23., but which edition I do not know. In the _sole_ copy in your
possession--I mean the _fifth_ edition--you may make these alterations,
that I may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks:--For
"_hellish_ instinct," substitute "_brutal_ instinct;" "_harpies_" alter
to "_felons_;" and for "blood-hounds" write "hell-hounds." These be
"very bitter words, by my troth," and the alterations not much sweeter;
but as I shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a
satisfaction to me in the way of amendment. The passage is only 12
lines.

You do not answer me about H.'s book; I want to write to him, and not to
say anything unpleasing. If you direct to Post Office, Portsmouth, till
_called_ for, I will send and receive your letter. You never told me of
the forthcoming critique on 'Columbus' [1] which is not _too_ fair; and
I do not think justice quite done to the 'Pleasures', which surely
entitles the author to a higher rank than that assigned to him in the
'Quarterly'. But I must not cavil at the decisions of the _invisible
infallibles_; and the article is very well written. The general horror
of "_fragments_" [2] makes me tremulous for "_The Giaour_;" but you
would publish it--I presume, by this time, to your repentance. But as I
consented, whatever be its fate, I won't now quarrel with you, even
though I detect it in my pastry; but I shall not open a pye without
apprehension for some weeks.

The Books which may be marked G.O. I will carry out. Do you know
Clarke's 'Naufragia' [3]? I am told that he asserts the _first_ volume
of 'Robinson Crusoe' was written by the first Lord Oxford, when in the
Tower, and given by him to Defoe; if true, it is a curious anecdote.
Have you got back Lord Brooke's MS.? and what does Heber say of it?
Write to me at Portsmouth.

Ever yours, etc.,

Bn.



[Footnote 1: Rogers's _Columbus_ was reviewed by Ward in the _Quarterly_
for March, 1813. The reviewer detects "evident marks of haste" in the
poem.]


[Footnote 2: _The Giaour_, like _Columbus_, was written in fragments.]


[Footnote 3: James Stanier Clarke, a Navy Chaplain (1765-1834),
published, in 1805, 'Naufragia, or Historical Memoirs of Shipwrecks'. In
that work he does not himself attribute the _first_ volume of 'Robinson
Crusoe' to Lord Oxford. The following is the passage to which Byron
refers ('Naufragia', vol. i. pp. 12, 13): "But before I conclude this
Section, I wish to make the admirers of this Nautical Romance mindful of
a Report, which prevailed many years ago; that Defoe, after all, was not
the real author of Robinson Crusoe. This assertion is noticed in an
article in the seventh volume of the 'Edinburgh Magazine' [vol. vii. p.
269]. Dr. Towers, in his 'Life' of Defoe in the 'Biographia', is
inclined to pay no attention to it; but was that writer aware of the
following letter, which also appeared in the 'Gentleman's Magazine' for
1788? (vol. lviii. part i. p. 208). At least no notice is taken of it in
his 'Life' of Defoe:

  "'Dublin, February 25.

  "Mr. Urban,--In the course of a late conversation with a nobleman of
  the first consequence and information in this kingdom, he assured me,
  that Mr. Benjamin Holloway, of Middleton Stony, assured him, some time
  ago: that he knew for fact, that the celebrated Romance of 'Robinson
  Crusoe' was really written by the Earl of Oxford, when confined in the
  Tower of London: that his Lordship gave the manuscript to Daniel
  Defoe, who frequently visited him during his confinement: and that
  Defoe, having afterwards added the second volume, published the whole
  as his own production. This anecdote I would not venture to send to
  your valuable magazine, if I did not think my information good, and
  imagine it might be acceptable to your numerous readers,
  not-withstanding the work has heretofore been generally attributed to
  the latter. W. W.'

"It is impossible for me to enter on a discussion of this literary
subject; though I thought the circumstance ought to be more generally
known. And yet I must observe, that I always discerned a very striking
falling off between the composition of the first and second volumes of
this Romance--they seem to bear evident marks of having been the work of
different writers."

A volume of memoranda in the handwriting of Warton, the Laureate,
preserved in the British Museum, contains the following:

  "Mem. Jul. 10, 1774. In the year 1759, I was told by the Rev. Mr.
  Benjamin Holloway, rector of Middleton Stony, in Oxfordshire, then
  about 70 years old, and in the early part of his life domestic
  Chaplain to Lord Sunderland, that he had often heard Lord Sunderland
  say that Lord Oxford, while a prisoner in the Tower of London, wrote
  the first volume of the History of Robinson Crusoe, merely as an
  amusement under confinement; and gave it to Daniel De Foe, who
  frequently visited Lord Oxford in the Tower, and was one of his
  Pamphlet writers. That De Foe, by Lord Oxford's permission, printed it
  as his own, and, encouraged by its extraordinary success, added
  himself the second volume, the inferiority of which is generally
  acknowledged. Mr. Holloway also told me, from Lord Sunderland, that
  Lord Oxford dictated some parts of the manuscript to De Foe. Mr.
  Holloway was a grave conscientious clergyman, not vain of telling
  anecdotes, very learned, particularly a good orientalist, author of
  some theological tracts, bred at Eton School, and a Master of Arts at
  St. John's College, Cambridge. He lived many years with great respect
  in Lord Sunderland's family, and was like to the late Duke of
  Marlborough. He died, as I remember, about the year 1761." ]





       *       *       *       *       *





302.--To John Murray.


June 18, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Will you forward the enclosed answer to the kindest letter I
ever received in my life, my sense of which I can neither express to Mr.
Gifford himself nor to any one else?

Ever yours,

B'N.





       *       *       *       *       *





303.--To W. Gifford.


June 18, 1813.


My Dear Sir,--I feel greatly at a loss how to write to you at all--still
more to thank you as I ought. If you knew the veneration with which I
have ever regarded you, long before I had the most distant prospect of
becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would
not surprise you.

Any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape
of the text of the 'Baviad', or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, [1]
would have been obeyed; I should have endeavoured to improve myself by
your censure: judge then if I shall be less willing to profit by your
kindness. It is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my
betters: I receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return
my brass for your Gold by expressing more fully those sentiments of
admiration, which, however sincere, would, I know, be unwelcome.

To your advice on Religious topics, I shall equally attend. Perhaps the
best way will be by avoiding them altogether. The already published
objectionable passages have been much commented upon, but certainly have
been rather _strongly_ interpreted. I am no Bigot to Infidelity, and did
not expect that, because I doubted the immortality of Man, I should be
charged with denying the existence of a God. It was the comparative
insignificance of ourselves and _our world_, when placed in competition
with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to
imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be over-rated.

This, and being early disgusted with a Calvinistic Scotch school, where
I was cudgelled to Church for the first ten years of my life, afflicted
me with this malady; for, after all, it is, I believe, a disease of the
mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria.

I regret to hear you talk of ill-health. May you long exist! not only to
enjoy your own fame, but outlive that of fifty such ephemeral
adventurers as myself.

As I do not sail quite so soon as Murray may have led you to expect (not
till July) I trust I have some chance of taking you by the hand before
my departure, and repeating in person how sincerely and affectionately I
am

Your obliged servant,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 198 [Footnote 4 of Letter 192.]]





       *       *       *       *       *





304.--To John Murray.


June 22, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I send you a _corrected_ copy of the lines with several
_important_ alterations,--so many that this had better be sent for proof
rather than subject the other to so many blots.

You will excuse the eternal trouble I inflict upon you. As you will see,
I have attended to your Criticism, and softened a passage you proscribed
this morning.

Yours veritably,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





305.--To Thomas Moore.


June 22, 1813.


Yesterday I dined in company with Stael, the "Epicene," [1] whose
politics are sadly changed. She is for the Lord of Israel and the Lord
of Liverpool--a vile antithesis of a Methodist and a Tory--talks of
nothing but devotion and the ministry, and, I presume, expects that God
and the government will help her to a pension.

Murray, the [Greek: anax] of publishers, the Anak of stationers, has a
design upon you in the paper line. He wants you to become the staple and
stipendiary editor of a periodical work. What say you? Will you be
bound, like "Kit Smart, to write for ninety-nine years in the
_Universal Visitor?_" [2]

Seriously, he talks of hundreds a year, and--though I hate prating of
the beggarly elements--his proposal may be to your honour and profit,
and, I am very sure, will be to our pleasure.

I don't know what to say about "friendship." I never was in friendship
but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as
love. I am afraid, as Whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted
to knight him, that I am "too old;" [3] but nevertheless, no one wishes
you more friends, fame, and felicity, than

Yours, etc.



[Footnote 1:

  "'And ah! what verse can grace thy stately mien,
  Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen,
  Neckar's fair daughter, Stael the 'Epicene'!
  Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and pumple nose
  The bloom of young desire unceasing glows!
  Fain would the Muse--but ah! she dares no more,
  A mournful voice from lone 'Guyana's' shore,
  Sad Quatremer, the bold presumption checks,
  Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex.'

  "These lines contain the Secret History of Quatremer's deportation. He
  presumed, in the Council of Five Hundred, to arraign Madame de Stael's
  conduct, and even to hint a doubt of her sex. He was sent to 'Guyana'.
  The transaction naturally brings to one's mind the dialogue between
  Falstaff and Hostess Quickly in Shakespeare's 'Henry IV'."

'Canning's New Morality', lines 293-301 (Edmonds' edition of the 'Poetry
of the Anti-Jacobin', pp. 282, 283).

Anne Louise Germaine Necker (1766-1817), only child of the Minister
Necker and his wife Suzanne Curchod, Gibbon's early love, married, in
1786, the Swedish Ambassador Baron de Stael Holstein, who died in 1802.
She married, as her second husband, in 1811, M. de Rocca, a young French
officer, who had been severely wounded in Spain, but survived her by a
year (Madame de Recamier, 'Souvenirs', vol. i. p. 272). Her book, 'De
l'Allemagne', seized and destroyed by Napoleon, was brought out in June,
1813, by John Murray. Byron thought her

  "certainly the cleverest, though not the most agreeable woman he had
  ever known. 'She declaimed to you instead of conversing with you,'
  said he, 'never pausing except to take breath; and if during that
  interval a rejoinder was put in, it was evident that she did not
  attend to it, as she resumed the thread of her discourse as though it
  had not been interrupted'"

(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 26). Croker ('Croker Papers',
vol. i. p. 327) describes her as

  "ugly, and not of an intellectual ugliness. Her features were coarse,
  and the ordinary expression rather vulgar, she had an ugly mouth, and
  one or two irregularly prominent teeth, which perhaps gave her
  countenance an habitual gaiety. Her eye was full, dark, and
  expressive; and when she declaimed, which was almost whenever she
  spoke, she looked eloquent, and one forgot that she was plain."

Madame de Stael

  "did not affect to conceal her preference for the society of men to
  that of her own sex,"

and was entirely above, or below, studying the feminine arts of
pleasing. In 1802 Miss Berry called on her in Paris.

  "Found her in an excessively dirty 'cabinet'--sofa singularly so;
  her own dress, a loose spencer with a bare neck"

('Journal', vol. ii. p. 145). A similar experience is mentioned by Crabb
Robinson ('Diary', 1804).

  "On the 28th of January," he writes, "I first waited on Madame de
  Stael. I was shown into her bedroom, for which, not knowing Parisian
  customs, I was unprepared. She was sitting, most decorously, 'in'
  her bed, and writing. She had her night-cap on, and her face was not
  made up for the day. It was by no means a captivating spectacle; but I
  had a very cordial reception, and two bright black eyes smiled
  benignantly on me."

Of her political opinions Sir John Bowring ('Autobiographical
Recollections', pp. 375, 376) has left a sketch.

  "Madame de Stael was a perfect aristocrat, and her sympathies were
  wholly with the great and prosperous. She saw nothing in England but
  the luxury, stupidity, and pride of the Tory aristocracy, and the
  intelligence and magnificence of the Whig aristocracy. These latter
  talked about truth, and liberty and herself, and she supposed it was
  all as it should be. As to the millions, the people, she never
  inquired into their situation. She had a horror of the
  'canaille', but anything of 'sangre asul' had a charm for
  her. When she was dying she said, 'Let me die in peace; let my last
  moments be undisturbed.' Yet she ordered the cards of every visitor to
  be brought to her. Among them was one from the Duc de Richelieu.
  'What!' exclaimed she indignantly, 'What! have you sent away the
  'Duke'? Hurry! Fly after him. Bring him back. Tell him that,
  though I die for all the world, I live for 'him'.'"

Napoleon's hatred of her was intense. "Do not allow that jade, Madame de
Stael," he writes to Fouche, December 31, 1806 ('New Letters of Napoleon
I.', p. 35), "to come near Paris." Again, March 15, 1807 ('ibid.', p.
39), "You are not to allow Madame de Stael to come within forty leagues
of Paris. That wicked schemer ought to make up her mind to behave
herself at last." In a third letter, April 19, 1807 ('ibid.', p. 40), he
speaks of her as "paying court, one day to the great--a patriot, a
democrat, the next!... a fright, ... a worthless woman" (Leon Lecestre's
'Lettres inedites de Napoleon I'er', 2nd ed. vol. i. pp. 84, 88, 93).]


[Footnote 2:

  "Old Gardner the bookseller employed Rolt and Smart to write a monthly
  miscellany called the 'Universal Visitor'. There was a formal written
  contract, which Allen the printer saw.... They were bound to write
  nothing else; they were to have, I think, a third of the profits of
  his sixpenny pamphlet; and the contract was for ninety-nine years"

(Boswell's 'Life of Dr. Johnson', ed. Birrell, vol. iii. p. 192).]


[Footnote 3:

  "But first the Monarch, so polite,
  Ask'd Mister Whitbread if he'd be a 'Knight'.
  Unwilling in the list to be enroll'd,
  Whitbread contemplated the Knights of 'Peg',
  Then to his generous Sov'reign made a leg,
  And said, 'He was afraid he was 'too old','" etc.

Peter Pindar's 'Instructions to a Laureat'.]





       *       *       *       *       *





306.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


4, Bennet Street, June 26th, 1813.


MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--Let me know when you arrive, and when, and where,
and how, you would like to see me,--any where in short but at _dinner_.
I have put off going into ye country on purpose to _waylay_ you.

Ever yours, Byron





       *       *       *       *       *





307.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


[June, 1813.]


MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--And if you knew _whom_ I had put off besides my
journey--you would think me grown strangely fraternal. However I won't
overwhelm you with my _own praises_.

Between one and two be it--I shall, in course, prefer seeing you all to
myself without the incumbrance of third persons, even of _your_ (for I
won't own the relationship) fair cousin of _eleven page_ memory [1],
who, by the bye, makes one of the finest busts I have seen in the
Exhibition, or out of it. Good night!

Ever yours, BYRON.

P.S.--Your writing is grown like my Attorney's, and gave me a qualm,
till I found the remedy in your signature.



[Footnote 1: 'Letters', vol. i. p. 54 [end of Footnote 3 of Letter 13.],
Lady Gertrude Howard married, in 1806, William Sloane Stanley, and died
in 1870.]





       *       *       *       *       *





308.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


[Sunday], June 27th, 1813.


MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--If you like to go with me to ye Lady Davy's [1] [
to-night, I _have_ an invitation for you.

There you will see the _Stael_, some people whom you know, and _me_ whom
you do _not_ know,--and you can talk to which you please, and I will
watch over you as if you were unmarried and in danger of always being
so. Now do as you like; but if you chuse to array yourself before or
after half past ten, I will call for you. I think our being together
before 3d people will be a new _sensation_ to _both_.

Ever yours,

B.



[Footnote 1: Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829), the son of a wood-carver of
Penzance, was apprenticed to John Borlase, a surgeon at Penzance, in
whose dispensary he became a chemist. He wrote poetry as a young man,
but soon abandoned the pursuit for science. Two poems on Byron by Davy,
one written in 1823, the other in 1824, will be found in Dr. Davy's
'Memoirs of the Life of Sir H. Davy', vol. ii. pp. 168, 169. In October,
1798, he joined Dr. Beddoes at Bristol, where he superintended the
laboratory at his Pneumatic Institution. His 'Researches, Chemical and
Philosophical' (1799), made him famous. At the Royal Institution in
London, founded in 1799, Davy became assistant-lecturer in chemistry,
and director of the chemical laboratory. There his lecture-room was
crowded by some of the most distinguished men and women of the day.
Within the next few years his discoveries in electricity and galvanism,
(1806-7) brought him European celebrity; his lectures on agricultural
chemistry (1810) marked a fresh era in farming, and inaugurated the new
movement of "science with practice." His famous discovery of the Safety
Lamp was made in 1816. He was created a baronet in 1818. A skilful
fisherman, he wrote, when in declining health, 'Salmonia, or Days of
Fly-fishing', published in 1827. Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 57),
speaking of Davy in 1815, says,

  "He is now about thirty-three, but with all the freshness and bloom of
  five-and-twenty, and one of the handsomest men I have seen in England.
  He has a great deal of vivacity, talks rapidly, though with great
  precision, and is so much interested in conversation, that his
  excitement amounts to nervous impatience, and keeps him in constant
  motion."

Davy married, in 1812, a rich widow, Jane Aprecce, 'nee' Kerr
(1780-1855). The marriage brought him wealth; but it also, it is said,
impaired the simplicity of his character, and made him ambitious of
social distinction. Miss Berry ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 535) supped with
Lady Davy in May, 1813, to meet the Princess of Wales, and notes that
among the other guests was Byron. Lady Davy, who was so dark a brunette
that Sydney Smith said she was as brown as a dry toast, was for many
years a prominent figure in the society of London and Rome. It was of
her that Madame de Stael said that she had "all Corinne's talents
without her faults or extravagances." Ticknor, who called on her in
June, 1815,

  "found her in her parlour, working on a dress, the contents of her
  basket strewed about the table, and looking more like home than
  anything since I left it. She is small, with black eyes and hair, a
  very pleasant face, an uncommonly sweet smile, and, when she speaks,
  has much spirit and expression in her countenance. Her conversation is
  agreeable, particularly in the choice and variety of her phraseology,
  and has more the air of eloquence than I have ever heard before from a
  lady." ('Life of George Ticknor', vol. i. P. 57).]





       *       *       *       *       *





309.--To John Murray.


July 1st, 1813.


DEAR SIR,--There is an error in my dedication. [1] The word "_my_" must
be struck out--"my" admiration, etc.; it is a false construction and
disagrees with the signature. I hope this will arrive in time to prevent
a _cancel_ and serve for a proof; recollect it is only the "my" to be
erased throughout.

There is a critique in the 'Satirist', [2] which I have read,--fairly
written, and, though _vituperative_, very fair in judgment. One part
belongs to you, _viz_., the 4_s_. and 6_d_ charge; it is unconscionable,
but you have no conscience.

Yours truly,

B.



[Footnote 1: The dedication was originally printed thus:

  "To Samuel Rogers, Esq., as a slight but most sincere token of my
  admiration of his genius."]


[Footnote 2: 'The Satirist' for July 1, 1813 (pp. 70-88), reviews the
'Giaour' at length. It condemns it for its fragmentary character and
consequent obscurity, its carelessness and defects of style; but it also
admits that the poem "abounds with proofs of genius:"

  "A word in conclusion. The noble lord appears to have an
  aristocratical solicitude to be read only by the opulent. Four
  shillings and sixpence for forty-one octavo pages of poetry! and those
  pages verily happily answering to Mr. Sheridan's image of a rivulet of
  text flowing through a meadow of margin. My good Lord Byron, while you
  are revelling in all the sensual and intellectual luxury which the
  successful sale of Newstead Abbey has procured for you, you little
  think of the privations to which you have subjected us unfortunate
  Reviewers, ... in order to enable us to purchase your lordship's
  expensive publication."]





       *       *       *       *       *





310.--To Thomas Moore.


4, Benedictine Street, St. James's, July 8, 1813.


I presume by your silence that I have blundered into something noxious
in my reply to your letter, for the which I beg leave to send beforehand
a sweeping apology, which you may apply to any, or all, parts of that
unfortunate epistle. If I err in my conjecture, I expect the like from
you in putting our correspondence so long in quarantine. God he knows
what I have said; but he also knows (if he is not as indifferent to
mortals as the _nonchalant_ deities of Lucretius), that you are the last
person I want to offend. So, if I have,--why the devil don't you say it
at once, and expectorate your spleen?

Rogers is out of town with Madame de Stael, who hath published an Essay
against Suicide, [1] which, I presume, will make somebody shoot
himself;--as a sermon by Blenkinsop, in _proof_ of Christianity, sent a
hitherto most orthodox acquaintance of mine out of a chapel of ease a
perfect atheist. Have you found or founded a residence yet? and have you
begun or finished a poem? If you won't tell me what _I_ have done, pray
say what you have done, or left undone, yourself. I am still in
equipment for voyaging, and anxious to hear from, or of, you _before_ I
go, which anxiety you should remove more readily, as you think I sha'n't
cogitate about you afterwards. I shall give the lie to that calumny by
fifty foreign letters, particularly from any place where the plague is
rife,--without a drop of vinegar or a whiff of sulphur to save you from
infection.

The Oxfords have sailed almost a fortnight, and my sister is in town,
which is a great comfort,--for, never having been much together, we are
naturally more attached to each other. I presume the illuminations have
conflagrated to Derby (or wherever you are) by this time. [2] We are
just recovering from tumult and train oil, and transparent fripperies,
and all the noise and nonsense of victory. Drury Lane had a large
_M.W._, which some thought was Marshal Wellington; others, that it might
be translated into Manager Whitbread; while the ladies of the vicinity
of the saloon conceived the last letter to be complimentary to
themselves. I leave this to the commentators to illustrate. If you don't
answer this, I sha'n't say what _you_ deserve, but I think _I_ deserve a
reply. Do you conceive there is no Post-Bag but the Twopenny? [3]
Sunburn me, if you are not too bad.



[Footnote 1:

  "Madame de Stael treats me as the person whom she most delights to
  honour; I am generally ordered with her to dinner, as one orders beans
  and bacon: she is one of the few persons who surpass expectation; she
  has every sort of talent, and would be universally popular, if, in
  society, she were to confine herself to her inferior talents--
  pleasantry, anecdote, and literature. I have reviewed her 'Essay on
  Suicide' in the last 'Edinburgh Review': it is not one of her best,
  and I have accordingly said more of the author and the subject than of
  the work."

Sir J. Mackintosh ('Life', vol. ii. p. 269).]


[Footnote 2: One result of the illuminations in honour of the battle of
Vittoria (June 21, 1813), which took place July 7, was a great fire at
Woolwich. Moore was at this time living at Mayfield Cottage near
Ashbourne, in Derbyshire.]


[Footnote 3: Moore's 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag',
was published, without his name, in 1813.]





       *       *       *       *       *





311.--To Thomas Moore.


July 13, 1813.


Your letter set me at ease; for I really thought (as I hear of your
susceptibility) that I had said--I know not what--but something I should
have been very sorry for, had it, or I, offended you;--though I don't
see how a man with a beautiful wife--_his own_ children,--quiet--fame
--competency and friends, (I will vouch for a thousand, which is more
than I will for a unit in my own behalf,) can be offended with any thing.

Do you know, Moore, I am amazingly inclined--remember I say but
_inclined_--to be seriously enamoured with Lady A[delaide] F[orbes]
[1]--but this----has ruined all my prospects. However, you know her;
is she _clever_, or sensible, or good-tempered? either _would_ do--I
scratch out the _will_. I don't ask as to her beauty--that I see; but my
circumstances are mending, and were not my other prospects blackening, I
would take a wife, and that should be the woman, had I a chance. I do
not yet know her much, but better than I did.

I want to get away, but find difficulty in compassing a passage in a
ship of war. They had better let me go; if I cannot, patriotism is the
word--"nay, an they'll mouth, I'll rant as well as they." [2]

Now, what are you doing?--writing, we all hope, for our own sakes.
Remember you must edit my posthumous works, with a Life of the Author,
for which I will send you Confessions, dated "Lazaretto," Smyrna, Malta,
or Palermo--one can die any where.

There is to be a thing on Tuesday ycleped a national fete [3]. The
Regent and----are to be there, and every body else, who has shillings
enough for what was once a guinea. Vauxhall is the scene--there are six
tickets issued for the modest women, and it is supposed there will be
three to spare. The passports for the lax are beyond my arithmetic.

P. S.--The Stael last night attacked me most furiously--said that I had
"no right to make love--that I had used----barbarously--that I had no
feeling, and was totally _in_sensible to _la belle passion_, and _had_
been all my life." I am very glad to hear it, but did not know it
before. Let me hear from you anon.



[Footnote 1:

  "Lady A. F----'was' also very handsome. It is melancholy to talk of
  women in the past tense. What a pity, that of all flowers, none fade
  so soon as beauty! Poor Lady A. F--has not got married. Do you know, I
  once had some thoughts of her as a wife; not that I was in love, as
  people call it, but I had argued myself into a belief that I ought to
  marry, and, meeting her very often in society, the notion came into my
  head, not heart, that she would suit me. Moore, too, told me so much
  of her good qualities--all which was, I believe, quite true--that I
  felt tempted to propose to her, but did not, whether 'tant mieux' or
  'tant pis', God knows, supposing my proposal accepted."

(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', pp. 108, 109).

Lady Adelaide Forbes, whom Byron in Rome compared to the "Belvedere
Apollo," was the daughter of George, sixth Earl of Granard, and his
wife, Lady Selina Rawdon, daughter of the first Earl of Moira. Born in
1789, she died at Dresden, in 1858, unmarried. Lord Moira was Moore's
patron, and, through this connection and political sympathies, Moore was
acquainted with Lord Granard and his family.]


[Footnote 2: Byron possibly quoted the actual words from 'Hamlet' (act
v. sc. 1), referring to Moore's attack on the Regent in 'The Two-penny
Post-bag':

      "Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
  I'll rant as well as thou."

But the letter is destroyed.]


[Footnote 3: The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 12 contains the
announcement that "the Prince Regent has projected a 'Grand National
Fete' in honour of the battle of Vittoria. It is to be held at Vauxhall
Gardens." The 'fete' was held on Tuesday, July 20, beginning with a
banquet, at which such toasts were drunk as "The Marquis of Wellington,"
"Sir Thomas Graham and the other officers engaged," "The Spanish Armies
and the brave Guerillas." The 'baton' of Marshal Jourdan was "disposed
among the plate, so as to be obvious to all." The proceedings ended with
illuminations and dancing.]





       *       *       *       *       *





312.--To John Hanson.


Sunday, July 18th, 1813.


DEAR SIR,--A Report is in general circulation (which has distressed my
friends, and is not very pleasing to me), that the Purchaser of Newstead
is a _young_ man, who has been over-reached, ill-treated, and ruined, by
me in this transaction of the sale, and that I take an unfair advantage
of the _law_ to enforce the contract. This must be contradicted by a
true and open statement of the circumstances attending, and subsequent
to, the sale, and that immediately and publicly. Surely, if anyone is
ill treated it is myself. He bid his own price; he took time before he
bid at all, and now, when I am actually granting him further time as a
favour, I hear from all quarters that I have acted unfairly. Pray do not
delay on this point; see him, and let a proper and true statement be
drawn up of the sale, etc., and inserted in the papers.

Ever yours,

B.

P.S.--Mr. C. himself, if he has either honour or feeling, will be the
first to vindicate me from so unfounded an implication. It is surely not
for his credit to be supposed _ruined_ or _over-reached_.





      *       *       *       *       *





313.--To John Murray.


July 22nd, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I have great pleasure in accepting your invitation to meet
anybody or nobody as you like best.

Pray what should you suppose the book in the inclosed advertisement to
be? is it anything relating to Buonaparte or Continental Concerns? If
so, it may be worth looking after, particularly if it should turn out to
be your purchase--Lucien's _Epic_.

Believe me, very truly yours,

BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *





314.--To Thomas Moore.


July 25, 1813.


I am not well versed enough in the ways of single woman to make much
matrimonial progress.

I have been dining like the dragon of Wantley [1] for this last week. My
head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are
muddled as their dregs. I met your friends the Daltons:--she sang one of
your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, I
could have cried; he reminds me of Hunt, but handsomer, and more musical
in soul, perhaps. I wish to God he may conquer his horrible anomalous
complaint. The upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much
attached to her husband. He is right, nevertheless, in leaving this
nauseous town. The first winter would infallibly destroy her
complexion,--and the second, very probably, every thing else.

I must tell you a story. Morris [2]  (of indifferent memory) was dining
out the other day, and complaining of the Prince's coldness to his old
wassailers. D'Israeli (a learned Jew) bored him with questions--why
this? and why that? "Why did the Prince act thus?"--"Why, sir, on
account of Lord----, who ought to be ashamed of himself."--"And why
ought Lord----to be ashamed of himself?"--"Because the Prince, sir,
--------"--"And why, sir, did the Prince cut _you_?"--"Because, G--d
d--mme, sir, I stuck to my principles."--"And why did you stick to your
principles?"

Is not this last question the best that was ever put, when you consider
to whom? It nearly killed Morris. Perhaps you may think it stupid, but,
as Goldsmith said about the peas, [3] it was a very good joke when I
heard it--as I did from an ear-witness--and is only spoilt in my
narration.

The season has closed with a dandy ball; [4]--but I have dinners with
the Harrowbys, Rogers, and Frere and Mackintosh [5], where I shall drink
your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till "too much
canaries" wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of
you at the opposite side of the table. Canning has disbanded his party
by a speech from his [----]--the true throne of a Tory [6].

Conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them
think for themselves. "I have led my ragamuffins where they are well
peppered. There are but three of the 150 left alive," [7] and they are
for the _Townsend_ (_query_, might not Falstaff mean the Bow Street
officer? I dare say Malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for
life.

Since I wrote last, I have been into the country. I journeyed by
night--no incident, or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on
the outside, who, in crossing Epping Forest, actually, I believe, flung
down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glow-worm in the second
figure of number XIX--mistaking it for a footpad and dark lantern. I can
only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols wherewith I had armed
him; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by calling out
to me whenever we passed any thing--no matter whether moving or
stationary. Conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. I have
scribbled you a fearfully long letter. This sheet must be blank, and is
merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians [8] of the post from
peeping. You once complained of my _not_ writing;--I will "heap coals of
fire upon your head" by _not_ complaining of your _not_ reading.
Ever, my dear Moore, your'n (isn't that the Staffordshire termination?),
BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Under the title of "An excellent Ballad of a most dreadful
combat, fought between Moore of Moore-Hall and the Dragon of Wantley,"
this ballad forms (in the 12th edition) the Argument of 'The Dragon of
Wantley, a Burlesque Opera', performed at Covent Garden, the libretto of
which is by Sig. Carini, 'i.e.' Henry Carey:

  "Have you not heard of the 'Trojan' Horse;
    With Seventy Men in his Belly?
  This Dragon was not quite so big,
    But very near, I'll tell you;
  Devoured he poor Children three,
    That could not with him grapple;
  And at one sup he eat them up,
    As one would eat an Apple.

  "All sorts of Cattle this Dragon did eat,
    Some say he eat up Trees,
  And that the Forest sure he would
    Devour by degrees.
  For Houses and Churches were to him Geese and Turkies;
    He eat all, and left none behind,
  But some Stones, dear Jack, which he could not crack,
    Which on the Hills you'll find."]


[Footnote 2: Charles Morris (1745-1838) served in the 17th Foot, the
Royal Irish Dragoons, and finally in the Second Life Guards. He was
laureate and punch-maker to the Beef-steak Club, founded in 1735 by John
Rich, patentee of Covent Garden Theatre. The Prince of Wales became a
member of the Club in 1785, and Morris was a frequent guest at Carlton
House. Another member of the Club was the Duke of Norfolk, who gave
Morris the villa at Brockham, near Betchworth, where he lived and died.

Morris, who was an admirable song-writer and singer, attached himself
politically to the Prince's party, and attacked Pitt in such popular
ballads as "Billy's too young to drive us," and "Billy Pitt and the
Farmer." He was, however, disappointed in his hope of reward from his
political patrons, and vented his spleen in his ode, "The Old Whig Poet
to his Old Buff Waistcoat"

  "Farewell, thou poor rag of the Muse!
  In the bag of the clothesman go lie;
  A farthing thou'lt fetch from the Jews,
  Which the hard-hearted Christians deny," etc.

Some of his poems deserve the censure of 'The Shade of Pope' (line 225):

  "There reeling Morris and his bestial songs."

But others, in their ease and vivacity, hold their own with all but the
best of Moore's songs. A collection of them was printed in two volumes
by Bentley, in 1840, under the title of 'Lyra Urbanica'.]


[Footnote 3: In Forster's 'Life of Goldsmith' (vol. i. p. 34) it is
related that Goldsmith ran away from Trinity College, Dublin, because he
had been beaten by one of the Fellows. He started for Cork with a
shilling in his pocket, on which he lived for three days. He told
Reynolds that he thought

  "a handful of grey pease, given him by a girl at a wake (after fasting
  for twenty-four hours) the most comfortable repast he had ever made."

Byron may mean that any joke seems good to a man who had not heard one
for a day.]


[Footnote 4:

  "I liked the Dandies," says Byron, in his 'Detached Thoughts'; "they
  were always very civil to _me_, though in general they disliked
  literary people, and persecuted and mystified Madme. de Stael, Lewis,
  Horace Twiss, and the like, damnably. They persuaded Madme. de Stael
  that Alvanley had a hundred thousand a year, etc., etc., till she
  praised him to his _face_ for his _beauty!_ and made a set at him for
  Albertine ('Libertine', as Brummell baptized her, though the poor girl
  was, and is, as correct as maid or wife can be, and very amiable
  withal), and a hundred other fooleries besides. The truth is, that,
  though I gave up the business early, I had a tinge of Dandyism in my
  minority, and probably retained enough of it to conciliate the great
  ones at four and twenty. I had gamed and drunk and taken my degrees in
  most dissipations, and, having no pedantry, and not being overbearing,
  we ran quietly together. I knew them all more or less, and they made
  me a member of Watier's (a superb club at that time), being, I take
  it, the only literary man (except 'two' others, both men of the world,
  M[oore] and S[pencer]) in it. Our Masquerade was a grand one; so was
  the Dandy Ball too--at the Argyle,--but 'that' (the latter) was given
  by the four chiefs--B[rummel?], M[idmay?], A[lvanley?], and
  P[ierreoint?], if I err not."]


[Footnote 5: Sir James Mackintosh (1765-1832), after studying medicine,
was called to the English Bar in 1795. Originally a supporter of the
French Revolution, he answered Burke's 'Reflections' with his 'Vindiciae
Gallicae' (1791). He is "Mr. Macfungus" in the 'Anti-Jacobin's' account
of the "Meeting of the Friends of Freedom." But his revolutionary
sympathies rapidly cooled, and he publicly disavowed them in his
'Introductory Discourse on the Study of the Law of Nature and Nations'
(1799). He remained, however, throughout his life, a Whig. His lectures
on "'The Law of Nature and Nations'," delivered at Lincoln's Inn, in
1799, brought him into prominence, both at the Bar and in society. In
1803 he was knighted on accepting the Recordership of Bombay. He
returned to England in 1812, entered Parliament as member for Nairn,
advocated some useful measures, became a Privy Councillor in 1828, and
held office in the Whig Ministry of 1830 as Commissioner of the Board of
Control. In politics, as well as in literature, he disappointed
expectation. His principal works, besides those mentioned above, were
his 'Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy' (1830), and his
'History of the Revolution in England in 1688' (1834).

His great intellectual powers were shown to most advantage in society.
Rogers ('Table-Talk', pp. 197, 198) thought him one of the three acutest
men he had ever known.

  "He had a prodigious memory, and could repeat by heart more of Cicero
  than you could easily believe.... I never met a man with a fuller mind
  than Mackintosh,--such readiness on all subjects, such a talker."

  "Till subdued by age and illness," wrote Sydney Smith ('Life of
  Mackintosh', vol. ii. p. 500), "his conversation was more brilliant
  and instructive than that of any human being I ever had the good
  fortune to be acquainted with."

As in political life, so in society, he was too much of the lecturer.
Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 265) thought him "a little too precise, a
little too much made up in his manners and conversation." But on all
sides there is evidence to confirm the testimony of Rogers
('Table-Talk', p. 207) that he was a man "who had not a particle of envy
or jealousy in his nature."]


[Footnote 6: George Canning (1770-1827) had been offered the Foreign
Office in 1812 after the assassination of Perceval, on condition that
Castlereagh should lead the House of Commons. He refused the offer.
Elected M.P. for Liverpool in 1812, he had, in July, 1813, disbanded his
followers, and in 1814 left England. He supported Lord Liverpool in
carrying the repressive measures known as the Six Acts (1817-20), and,
on the death of Lord Londonderry, in 1822, entered the Government as
Secretary for Foreign Affairs. It is to the private speech to his
followers, in July, 1813, that Byron refers.

The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 29, 1813, has the following paragraph:

  "Mr. Canning it seems has (to use a French phrase) 'reformed' his
  political corps. He assembled them at the close of the Session, and
  with many expressions of regret for the failure of certain
  negociations, which might have been favourable to them as a body,
  relieved them from their oaths of allegiance, and recommended them to
  pursue in future their objects separately. The Right Honourable
  gentleman, perhaps, finds it more convenient for himself to act
  unencumbered; and both he and one or two others may find their
  interest in disbanding the squad; but some of them are turned off
  'without a character'."

The 'Courier' for July 29, quoting the first part of the statement,
adds,

  "We believe ... that Mr. Canning is not indisposed to join the present
  Cabinet, and may wish one or two of his particular friends to come in
  with him."]


[Footnote 7:

  "I have led my ragamuffins where they are pepper'd: there's but three
  of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end,
  to beg during life."

('Henry IV'., Part I. act v. sc. 3). Townshend, the Bow Street officer,
is described by Cronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 286) as

  "a little fat man with a flaxen wig, Kersey-mere breeches, a blue
  straight-cut coat, and a broad-brimmed white hat. To the most daring
  courage he added great dexterity and cunning; and was said, 'in
  propria persona', to have taken more thieves than all the other Bow
  Street officers put together."]


[Footnote 8:

  "Epistolam, quam attulerat Phileros tabellarius."

(Cic., 'Fam'.,9, 15).]





       *       *       *       *       *





315.--To Thomas Moore.


July 27, 1813.


When you next imitate the style of "Tacitus," pray add, _de moribus
Germannorum_;--this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could
only be taken from the _Woods_, and, as such, I attribute it entirely to
your sylvan sequestration at Mayfield Cottage. You will find, on casting
up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle. I
shall bring my action;--if you don't discharge, expect to hear from my
attorney. I have forwarded your letter to Ruggiero [1]; but don't make a
postman of me again, for fear I should be tempted to violate your
sanctity of wax or wafer.

Believe me, ever yours _ indignantly_, BN.



[Footnote 1: _i. e._ Samuel Rogers.]





       *       *       *       *       *





316.--To Thomas Moore.


July 28, 1813.


Can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of Rogers, without
actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? This is the
second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a
miraculous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own.
If you do so again, I can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. I shall
send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing,--four thousand
couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking; that privilege,
sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too susceptible
senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself. I
won't frank _from_ you, or _for_ you, or _to_ you--may I be curst if I
do, unless you mend your manners. I disown you--I disclaim you--and by
all the powers of Eulogy, I will write a panegyric upon you--or
dedicate a quarto--if you don't make me ample amends.

P.S.--I am in training to dine with Sheridan [1] and Rogers this
evening. I have a little spite against R., and will shed his "Clary
wines pottle-deep." [2] This is nearly my ultimate or penultimate
letter; for I am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. Perhaps I may
wait a few weeks for Sligo, but not if I can help it.



[Footnote 1: In his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron has noted the following
impressions of Sheridan:

  "In society I have met Sheridan frequently: he was superb! He had a
  sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, as
  he did every body else--high names, and wits, and orators, some of
  them poets also. I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de
  Stael, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others (whose
  names, as friends, I set not down) of good fame and ability. Poor
  fellow! he got drunk very thoroughly and very soon. It occasionally
  fell to my lot to pilot him home--no sinecure, for he was so tipsy
  that I was obliged to put on his cocked hat for him. To be sure, it
  tumbled off again, and I was not myself so sober as to be able to pick
  it up again.

  "The last time I met him was, I think, at Sir Gilbert Elliot's, where
  he was as quick as ever--no, it was not the last time; the last time
  was at Douglas Kinnaird's. I have met him in all places and
  parties--at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of
  Tavistock's, at Robins's the auctioneer's, at Sir Humphry Davy's, at
  Sam Rogers's,--in short, in most kinds of company, and always found
  him very convivial and delightful.

  "I have seen Sheridan weep two or three times. It may be that he was
  maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive, for who would see

    'From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow,
    And Swift expire a driveller and a show'?

  "Once I saw him cry at Robins's the auctioneer's, after a splendid
  dinner, full of great names and high spirits. I had the honour of
  sitting next to Sheridan. The occasion of his tears was some
  observation or other upon the subject of the sturdiness of the Whigs
  in resisting office and keeping to their principles: Sheridan turned
  round: 'Sir, it is easy for my Lord G. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or
  Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either
  'presently' derived, or 'inherited' in sinecure or acquisitions from
  the public money, to boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from
  temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept
  aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal
  passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what
  it was to have a shilling of their own.' And in saying this he wept.

  "There was something odd about Sheridan. One day, at dinner, he was
  slightly praising that pert pretender and impostor, Lyttelton (the
  Parliamentary puppy, still alive, I believe). I took the liberty of
  differing from him; he turned round upon me, and said, 'Is that your
  real opinion?' I confirmed it. Then said he, 'Fortified by this
  concurrence, I beg leave to say that it, in fact, is 'my' opinion
  also, and that he is a person whom I do absolutely and utterly
  despise, abhor, and detest.' He then launched out into a description
  of his despicable qualities, at some length, and with his usual wit,
  and evidently in earnest (for he hated Lyttelton). His former
  compliment had been drawn out by some preceding one, just as its
  reverse was by my hinting that it was unmerited.

  "I have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a shilling of
  his own.' To be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other
  people's.

  "In 1815 I had occasion to visit my lawyer in Chancery Lane; he was
  with Sheridan. After mutual greetings, etc., Sheridan retired first.
  Before recurring to my own business, I could not help inquiring 'that'
  of Sheridan. 'Oh,' replied the attorney, 'the usual thing! to stave
  off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'--'Well,' said I,
  'and what do you mean to do?'--'Nothing at all for the present,' said
  he: 'would you have us proceed against old Sherry? what would be the
  use of it?' and here he began laughing, and going over Sheridan's good
  gifts of conversation.

  "Now, from personal experience, I can vouch that my attorney is by no
  means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of
  impression out of the statute or record; and yet Sheridan, in half an
  hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner,
  that I almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man,
  with all the laws, and some justice, on his side) out of the window,
  had he come in at the moment.

  "Such was Sheridan! he could soften an attorney! There has been
  nothing like it since the days of Orpheus.

  "One day I saw him take up his own ''Monody on Garrick'.' He lighted
  upon the Dedication to the Dowager Lady Spencer. On seeing it, he flew
  into a rage, and exclaimed 'that it must be a forgery, that he had
  never dedicated any thing of his to such a damned canting bitch,'
  etc., etc.--and so went on for half an hour abusing his own
  dedication, or at least the object of it. If all writers were equally
  sincere, it would be ludicrous.

  "He told me that, on the night of the grand success of his 'School for
  Scandal' he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a
  row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen.
  Latterly, when found drunk one night in the kennel, and asked his name
  by the watchmen, he answered, 'Wilberforce.'

  "When dying he was requested to undergo 'an operation.' He replied
  that he had already submitted to two, which were enough for one man's
  lifetime. Being asked what they were, he answered, 'having his hair
  cut, and sitting for his picture."

  "I have met George Colman occasionally, and thought him extremely
  pleasant and convivial. Sheridan's humour, or rather wit, was always
  saturnine, and sometimes savage; he never laughed (at least that 'I'
  saw, and I watched him), but Colman did. If I had to 'choose' and
  could not have both at a time I should say, 'Let me begin the evening
  with Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.' Sheridan for dinner, Colman
  for supper; Sheridan for claret or port but Colman for every thing,
  from the madeira and champagne at dinner the claret with a 'layer' of
  'port' between the glasses up to the punch of the night, and down to
  the grog, or gin and water, of daybreak;--all these I have threaded
  with both the same. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life guards,
  but Colman a whole regiment--of 'light infantry', to be sure, but
  still a regiment."]


[Footnote 2:

  "Potations pottle deep"

'Othello', act ii. sc. 3, line 54.]





       *       *       *       *       *





317.--To John Murray.


July 31, 1813.


Dear Sir--As I leave town early tomorrow, the proof must be sent
to-night, or many days will be lost. If you have any _reviews_ of the
'Giaour' to send, let me have them now. I am not very well to day. I
thank you for the 'Satirist', which is short but savage on this unlucky
affair, and _personally_ facetious on me which is much more to the
purpose than a tirade upon other peoples' concerns [1].

Ever yours,
B.



[Footnote 1: In the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. pp. 150, 151) is an article
headed "Scandalum Magnatum," with the motto from 'Rejected Addresses':

                  With horn-handled knife,
    To kill a tender lamb as dead as mutton."

  "A short time back (say the newspapers, and newspapers never say 'the
  thing which is not') Lady H. gave a ball and supper. Among the company
  were Lord B--n, Lady W--, and Lady C. L--b. Lord B., it would appear,
  is a favourite with the latter Lady; on this occasion, however, he
  seemed to lavish his attention on another fair object. This preference
  so enraged Lady C. L. that in a paroxysm of jealousy she took up a
  dessert-knife and stabbed herself. The gay circle was, of course,
  immediately plunged in confusion and dismay, which however, was soon
  succeeded by levity and scandal. The general cry for medical
  assistance was from Lady W--d: Lady W--d!!! And why? Because it was
  said that, early after her marriage, Lady W--also took a similar
  liberty with her person for a similar cause, and was therefore
  considered to have learned from experience the most efficacious remedy
  for the complaint. It was also whispered that the Lady's husband had
  most to grieve, that the attempt had not fully succeeded. Lady C. L.
  is still living.

  "The poet has told us how 'Ladies wish to be who love their Lords;'
  but this is the first public demonstration in our times to show us how
  Ladies wish to be who love, not their own, but others' Lords. 'Better
  be with the dead than thus,' cried the jealous fair; and, casting a
  languishing look at Lord B--, who, Heaven knows, is more like Pan than
  Apollo, she whipt up as pretty a little dessert-knife as a Lady could
  desire to commit suicide with,

    'And stuck it in her wizzard.'

  "The desperate Lady was carried out of the room, and the affair
  endeavoured to be hushed up, etc., etc." ]





       *       *       *       *       *





318.--To John Wilson Croker [1].


Bt. Str., August 2, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I was honoured with your unexpected and very obliging letter,
when on the point of leaving London, which prevented me from
acknowledging my obligation as quickly as I felt it sincerely. I am
endeavouring all in my power to be ready before Saturday--and even if I
should not succeed, I can only blame my own tardiness, which will not
the less enhance the benefit I have lost. I have only to add my hope of
forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my
best wishes for your public and private welfare, I have the honour to
be, most truly, Your obliged and most obedient servant,
BYRON.



[Footnote 1: J. W. Croker (1780-1857),--the "Wenham" of Thackeray, the
"Rigby" of Disraeli, and the "Con Crawley" of Lady Morgan's 'Florence
Macarthy', had been made Secretary to the Admiralty in 1809. At his
request Captain Carlton of the 'Boyne', "just then ordered to re-enforce
Sir Edward Pellew" in the Mediterranean, had consented to receive Byron
into his cabin for the voyage,]





       *       *       *       *       *





319.--To John Murray.

If you send more proofs, I shall never finish this infernal
story--"_Ecce signum_"--thirty-three more lines enclosed! to the utter
discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage.
B.





       *       *       *       *       *





320.--To John Murray.


Half-past two in the morning, Aug. 10, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_, for I am _bitten_ again, and have
_quantities_ for other parts of the bravura. Yours ever,
B.

P. S.--You shall have them in the course of the day.





       *       *       *       *       *





321.--To James Wedderburn Webster.


August 12, 1813.


My Dear Webster,--I am, you know, a detestable correspondent, and write
to no one person whatever; you therefore cannot attribute my silence to
any thing but want of good breeding or good taste, and not to any more
atrocious cause; and as I confess the fault to be entirely
mine--why--you will pardon it.

I have ordered a copy of the 'Giaour' (which is nearly doubled in
quantity in this edition) to be sent, and I will first scribble my name
in the title page. Many and sincere thanks for your good opinion of
book, and (I hope to add) author.

Rushton shall attend you whenever you please, though I should like him
to stay a few weeks, and help my other people in forwarding my chattels.
Your taking him is no less a favor to me than him; and I trust he will
behave well. If not, your remedy is very simple; only don't let him be
idle; honest I am sure he is, and I believe good-hearted and quiet. No
pains has been spared, and a good deal of expense incurred in his
education; accounts and mensuration, etc., he ought to know, and I
believe he does.

I write this near London, but your answer will reach me better in Bennet
Street, etc. (as before). I am going very soon, and if you would do the
same thing--as far as Sicily--I am sure you would not be sorry. My
sister, Mrs. L. goes with me--her spouse is obliged to retrench for a
few years (but _he_ stays at home); so that his _link boy_ prophecy (if
ever he made it) recoils upon himself.

I am truly glad to hear of Lady Frances's good health. Have you added to
your family? Pray make my best respects acceptable to her Ladyship.

Nothing will give me more pleasure than to hear from you as soon and as
fully as you please. Ever most truly yours,

BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *





322.--To Thomas Moore.


Bennet Street, August 22, 1813.


As our late--I might say, deceased--correspondence had too much of the
town-life leaven in it, we will now, _paulo majora_, prattle a little of
literature in all its branches; and first of the first--criticism. The
Prince is at Brighton, and Jackson, the boxer, gone to Margate, having,
I believe, decoyed Yarmouth to see a milling in that polite
neighbourhood [1].

Mad'e. de Stael Holstein has lost one of her young barons [2], who has
been carbonadoed by a vile Teutonic adjutant,--kilt and killed in a
coffee-house at Scrawsenhawsen. Corinne is, of course, what all mothers
must be,--but will, I venture to prophesy, do what few mothers
could--write an Essay upon it. She cannot exist without a grievance--and
somebody to see, or read, how much grief becomes her. I have not seen
her since the event; but merely judge (not very charitably) from prior
observation.

In a "mail-coach copy" of the _Edinburgh_ [3] I perceive _The Giaour_ is
second article. The numbers are still in the Leith smack--_pray which
way is the wind?_ The said article is so very mild and sentimental, that
it must be written by Jeffrey _in love_ [4];--you know he is gone to
America to marry some fair one, of whom he has been, for several
_quarters, eperdument amoureux_. Seriously--as Winifred Jenkins [5]
says of Lismahago--Mr. Jeffrey (or his deputy) "has done the handsome
thing by me," and I say _nothing_. But this I will say, if you and I had
knocked one another on the head in this quarrel, how he would have
laughed, and what a mighty bad figure we should have cut in our
posthumous works. By the by, I was call'd _in_ the other day to mediate
between two gentlemen bent upon carnage, and--after a long struggle
between the natural desire of destroying one's fellow-creatures, and the
dislike of seeing men play the fool for nothing,--I got one to make an
apology, and the other to take it, and left them to live happy ever
after [6].

One was a peer, the other a friend untitled, and both fond of high
play;--and one, I can swear for, though very mild, "not fearful," and so
dead a shot, that, though the other is the thinnest of men, he would
have split him like a cane. They both conducted themselves very well,
and I put them out of _pain_ as soon as I could.

There is an American _Life_ of G. F. Cooke [7], _Scurra_ deceased,
lately published. Such a book!--I believe, since _Drunken Barnaby's
Journal_ [8] nothing like it has drenched the press. All green-room and
tap-room--drams and the drama--brandy, whisky-punch, and, _latterly_,
toddy, overflow every page. Two things are rather marvellous,--first,
that a man should live so long drunk, and, next, that he should have
found a sober biographer. There are some very laughable things in it,
nevertheless;--but the pints he swallowed, and the parts he performed,
are too regularly registered.

All this time you wonder I am not gone; so do I; but the accounts of the
plague are very perplexing--not so much for the thing itself as the
quarantine established in all ports, and from all places, even from
England. It is true, the forty or sixty days would, in all probability,
be as foolishly spent on shore as in the ship; but one likes to have
one's choice, nevertheless. Town is awfully empty; but not the worse for
that. I am really puzzled with my perfect ignorance of what I mean to
do;--not stay, if I can help it, but where to go? Sligo is for the
North;--a pleasant place, Petersburgh, in September, with one's ears and
nose in a muff, or else tumbling into one's neckcloth or
pocket-handkerchief! If the winter treated Buonaparte with so little
ceremony, what would it inflict upon your solitary traveller?--Give me a
_sun_, I care not how hot, and sherbet, I care not how cool, and _my_
Heaven is as easily made as your Persian's [9].

_The Giaour_ is now a thousand and odd lines. "Lord Fanny spins a
thousand such a day," [10] eh, Moore?--thou wilt needs be a wag, but I
forgive it. Yours ever,

BYRON.

P. S.--I perceive I have written a flippant and rather cold-hearted
letter! let it go, however. I have said nothing, either, of the
brilliant sex; but the fact is, I am at this moment in a far more
serious, and entirely new, scrape [11] than any of the last twelve
months,--and that is saying a good deal. It is unlucky we can neither
live with nor without these women.

I am now thinking of regretting that, just as I have left Newstead, you
reside near it. Did you ever see it? _do_--but don't tell me that you
like it. If I had known of such intellectual neighbourhood, I don't
think I should have quitted it. You could have come over so often, as a
bachelor,--for it was a thorough bachelor's mansion--plenty of wine and
such sordid sensualities--with books enough, room enough, and an air of
antiquity about all (except the lasses) that would have suited you, when
pensive, and served you to laugh at when in glee. I had built myself a
bath and a _vault_--and now I sha'n't even be buried in it. It is odd
that we can't even be certain of a _grave_, at least a particular one. I
remember, when about fifteen, reading your poems there, which I can
repeat almost now,--and asking all kinds of questions about the author,
when I heard that he was not dead according to the preface; wondering if
I should ever see him--and though, at that time, without the smallest
poetical propensity myself, very much taken, as you may imagine, with
that volume. Adieu--I commit you to the care of the gods--Hindoo,
Scandinavian, and Hellenic!

P.S. 2d.--There is an excellent review of Grimm's _Correspondence_ and
Madame de Stael in this No. of the _E[dinburgh] R[eview]_ [12]. Jeffrey,
himself, was my critic last year; but this is, I believe, by another
hand. I hope you are going on with your _grand coup_--pray do--or that
damned Lucien Buonaparte will beat us all. I have seen much of his poem
in MS., and he really surpasses every thing beneath Tasso. Hodgson is
translating him _against_ another bard. You and (I believe Rogers,)
Scott, Gifford, and myself, are to be referred to as judges between the
twain,--that is, if you accept the office. Conceive our different
opinions! I think we, most of us (I am talking very impudently, you will
think--_us_, indeed!) have a way of our own,--at least, you and Scott
certainly have.



[Footnote 1: The fight, in which Harry Harmer, "the Coppersmith"
(1784-1834), beat Jack Ford, took place at St. Nicholas, near Margate,
August 23, 1813.

Francis Charles Seymour Conway, Earl of Yarmouth (1777-1842), succeeded
his father as second Marquis of Hertford in 1822. The colossal
libertinism and patrician splendour of his life inspired Disraeli to
paint him as "Monmouth" in 'Coningsby', and Thackeray as "Steyne" in
'Vanity Fair'. He married, in 1798, Maria Fagniani, claimed as a
daughter by George Selwyn and by "Old Q.," and enriched by both.
Yarmouth, as an intimate friend of the Regent, and the son of the
Prince's female favourite, was the butt of Moore and the Whig satirists.
Byron gibes at Yarmouth's red whiskers, which helped to gain him the
name of "Red Herrings" in the 'Waltz', line 142, 'note' 1. Yarmouth,
like Byron, patronized the fancy, and, like him also, was a frequenter
of Manton's shooting-gallery in Davies Street; but there is no record of
their being acquainted, though the house, which Byron occupied (13,
Piccadilly Terrace) during his brief married life, was in the occupation
of Lord Yarmouth before Byron took it from the Duchess of Devonshire.]


[Footnote 2: Albert de Stael

  "led an irregular life, and met a deplorable death at Doberan, a small
  city of the duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, on the coast of the Baltic
  Sea, a favourite resort in summer for bathing, gambling, etc. Some
  officers of the etat-major of Bernadotte had gone to try their luck in
  this place of play and pleasure. They quarrelled over some louis, and
  a duel immediately ensued. I well remember that the Grand-Duke Paul of
  Mecklenburg-Schwerin told me he was there at the time, and, while
  walking with his tutors in the park, suddenly heard the clinking of
  swords in a neighbouring thicket. They ran to the place, and reached
  it just in time to see the head of Albert fall, cleft by one of those
  long and formidable sabres which were carried by the Prussian cavalry."

The above passage is quoted from the unpublished 'Souvenirs' of M.
Pictet de Sergy, given by A. Stevens in his 'Life of Madame de Stael',
vol. ii. pp. 204, 205.]


[Footnote 3: Only special copies of books published in Edinburgh came to
London by coach: the bulk was forwarded in Leith smacks.

In the 'Edinburgh Review' for July, 1813, the 'Giaour' was reviewed as a
poem "full of spirit, character, and originality," and producing an
effect at once "powerful and pathetic." But the reviewer considers that
"energy of character and intensity of emotion... presented in
combination with worthlessness and guilt," are "most powerful corrupters
and perverters of our moral nature," and he deplores Byron's exclusive
devotion to gloomy and revolting subjects.]


[Footnote 4: Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850) succeeded Sidney Smith as
editor of the 'Edinburgh Review' (founded 1802), and held the editorship
till 1829. The first number of the 'Review', says Francis Horner,
brought to light "the genius of that little man." During the first six
years of its existence, he wrote upwards of seventy articles. At the
same time, he was a successful lawyer. Called to the Scottish Bar in
1794, he became successively Dean of the Faculty of Advocates (1829),
Lord Advocate (1830), and a Judge of the Court of Sessions (1834) with
the title of Lord Jeffrey. He married, as his second wife, at New York,
in October, 1813, Charlotte Wilkes, a grandniece of John Wilkes.

Jeffrey is described at considerable length by Ticknor, in a letter,
dated February 8, 1814 ('Life of G. Ticknor', vol. i. pp. 43-47):

  "You are to imagine, then, before you a short, stout, little
  gentleman, about five and a half feet high, with a very red face,
  black hair, and black eyes. You are to suppose him to possess a very
  gay and animated countenance, and you are to see in him all the
  restlessness of a will-o'-wisp ... He enters a room with a countenance
  so satisfied, and a step so light and almost fantastic, that all your
  previous impressions of the dignity and severity of the 'Edinburgh
  Review' are immediately put to flight ... It is not possible, however,
  to be long in his presence without understanding something of his real
  character, for the same promptness and assurance which mark his
  entrance into a room carry him at once into conversation. The moment a
  topic is suggested--no matter what or by whom--he comes forth, and the
  first thing you observe is his singular fluency," etc., etc.

By the side of this description may be set that given of Jeffrey by
Francis Horner ('Life of Jeffrey', 2nd edition, vol. i. p. 212):

  "His manner is not at first pleasing; what is worse, it is of that
  cast which almost irresistibly impresses upon strangers the idea of
  levity and superficial talents. Yet there is not any man whose real
  character is so much the reverse."

The secret of his success, both as editor and critic, is that he made
the 'Review' the expression of the Whig character, both in its
excellences and its limitations. A man of clear, discriminating mind, of
cool and placid judgment, he refused to accept the existing state of
things, was persuaded that it might be safely improved, saw the
practical steps required, and had the courage of his convictions. He was
suspicious of large principles, somewhat callous to enthusiasm or
sentiment, intolerant of whatever was incapable of precise expression.
His intellectual strength lay not in the possession of one great gift,
but in the simultaneous exercise of several well-adjusted talents. His
literary taste was correct; but it consisted rather in recognizing
compliance with accepted rules of proved utility than  in the readiness
to appreciate novelties of thought and treatment. Hence his criticism,
though useful for his time, has not endured beyond his day. It may be
doubted whether more could be expected from a man who was eminently
successful in addressing a jury. "He might not know his subject, but he
knew his readers" (Bagehot's 'Literary Studies', vol. i. p. 30).

Byron, believing him to have been the author of the famous article on
'Hours of Idleness', attacked him bitterly in 'English Bards, and Scotch
Reviewers'; (lines 460-528). He afterwards recognized his error. 'Don
Juan' (Canto X. stanza xvi.) expresses his mature opinion of a critic
who, whatever may have been his faults, was as absolutely honest as
political prejudice would permit:

  "And all our little feuds, at least all 'mine',
  Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe
  (As far as rhyme and criticism combine
  To make such puppets of us things below),
  Are over; Here's a health to 'Auld Lang Syne!'
  I do not know you, and may never know
  Your face--but you have acted, on the whole,
  Most nobly; and I own it from my soul."

Jeffrey reviewed 'Childe Harold' in the 'Edinburgh Review', No. 38, art.
10; the 'Giaour', No. 42, art. 2; the 'Corsair' and 'Bride of Abydos',
No. 45, art. 9; Byron's 'Poetry', No. 54, art. I; 'Manfred', No. 56,
art. 7; 'Beppo', No. 58, art. 2; 'Marino Faliero', No. 70, art. I;
Byron's 'Tragedies', No. 72, art. 5.]


[Footnote 5: Winifred Jenkins is the maid to Miss Tabitha Bramble, who
marries Captain Lismahago, in Smollett's 'Humphrey Clinker'.]


[Footnote 6: Lord Foley and Scrope Davies.]


[Footnote 7: G. F. Cooke (1755-1812), from 1794 to 1800 was the hero of
the Dublin stage, with the exception of an interval, during which he
served in the army. On October 31, 1800, he appeared at Covent Garden as
"Richard III.," and afterwards played such parts in tragedy as "Iago"
and "Shylock" with great success. In comedy he was also a favourite,
especially as "Kitely" in 'Every Man in his Humour', and "Sir Pertinax
MacSycophant" in 'The Man of the World'. His last appearance on the
London stage was as "Falstaff," June 5, 1810. In that year he sailed for
New York, and, September 26, 1812, died there from his "incorrigible
habits of drinking."

Byron uses the word 'scurra', which generally means a "parasite," in its
other sense of a "buffoon." 'Memoirs of George Frederic Cooke, late of
the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden', by W. Dunlap, in 2 vols., was
published in 1813]


[Footnote 8: The original edition of 'Drunken Barnaby's Journal', a
small square volume, without date, was probably printed about 1650. The
author was supposed to be Barnaby Harrington of Queen's College, Oxford.
But Joseph Haslewood, whose edition (1818) is the best, attributed it to
Richard Brathwait (circ. 1588-1673). The title of the second edition
(1716) runs as follows: 'Drunken Barnaby's Four Journeys to the North of
England. In Latin and English Verse. Wittily and merrily (tho' near one
hundred years ago) composed; found among some old musty books, that had
a long time lain by in a corner; and now at last made publick. To which
is added, Bessy Bell'.

"Drunken Barnaby" was also the burden of an old ballad quoted by
Haslewood:

  "Barnaby, Barnaby, thou'st been drinking,
  I can tell by thy nose, and thy eyes winking;
  Drunk at Richmond, drunk at Dover,
  Drunk at Newcastle, drunk all over.
  Hey, Barnaby! tak't for a warning,
  Be no more drunk, nor dry in a morning!"]


[Footnote 9:

   "A Persian's Heav'n is easily made--
  'Tis but black eyes and lemonade."]


[Footnote 10: Pope's 'Imitations of Horace', Satire I. line 6.]


[Footnote 11: With Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.]


[Footnote 12: The review of Madame de Stael's 'Germany' was by
Mackintosh.]





       *       *       *       *       *





323.--To John Murray.


August 26, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so
carefully (God knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to
preclude your eye from discovering some _o_mission of mine or
_com_mission of y'e Printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you
know any body who can _stop_--I mean _point_-commas, and so forth? for I
am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some
difficulty, _not_ added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been
lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being
more than a canto and a half of _C. H_., which contains but 882 lines
per book, with all late additions inclusive.

The last lines Hodgson likes--it is not often he does--and when he
don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have
thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying
man, have given him a good deal to say for himself.

Do you think you shall get hold of the _female_ MS. you spoke of to day?
if so, you will let me have a glimpse; but don't tell our _master_ (not
W's), or we shall be buffeted.

I was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and
I hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness.

Our _six_ critiques!--they would have made half a _Quarterly_ by
themselves; but this is the age of criticism.

Ever yours,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





324.--To Thomas Moore.


August 28, 1813.


Ay, my dear Moore, "there _was_ a time"--I have heard of your tricks,
when "you was campaigning at the King of Bohemy." [1]

I am much mistaken if, some fine London spring, about the year 1815,
that time does not come again. After all, we must end in marriage; and I
can conceive nothing more delightful than such a state in the country,
reading the county newspaper, etc., and kissing one's wife's maid.
Seriously, I would incorporate with any woman of decent demeanour
to-morrow--that is, I would a month ago, but, at present,----

Why don't you "parody that Ode?"--Do you think [2] I should be _tetchy?_
or have you done it, and won't tell me?--You are quite right about
Giamschid, and I have reduced it to a dissyllable within this half hour
[3].

I am glad to hear you talk of Richardson [4], because it tells me what
you won't--that you are going to beat Lucien. At least tell me how far
you have proceeded. Do you think me less interested about your works, or
less sincere than our friend Ruggiero? I am not--and never was. In that
thing of mine, the _English Bards_, at the time when I was angry with
all the world, I never "disparaged your parts," although I did not know
you personally;--and have always regretted that you don't give us an
_entire_ work, and not sprinkle yourself in detached pieces--beautiful,
I allow, and quite _alone_ in our language, but still giving us a right
to expect a _Shah Nameh_ [5] (is that the name?) as well as gazelles.
Stick to the East;--the oracle, Stael, told me it was the only poetical
policy. The North, South, and West, have all been exhausted; but from
the East, we have nothing but Southey's unsaleables,--and these he has
contrived to spoil, by adopting only their most outrageous fictions. His
personages don't interest us, and yours will. You will have no
competitor; and, if you had, you ought to be glad of it. The little I
have done in that way is merely a "voice in the wilderness" for you; and
if it has had any success, that also will prove that the public are
orientalising, and pave the path for you.

I have been thinking of a story, grafted on the amours of a Peri and a
mortal--something like, only more _philanthropical_ than, Cazotte's
_Diable Amoureux_ [6].

It would require a good deal of poesy, and tenderness is not my forte.
For that, and other reasons, I have given up the idea, and merely
suggest it to you, because, in intervals of your greater work, I think
it a subject you might make much of [7].

If you want any more books, there is "Castellan's _Moeurs des
Ottomans_," the best compendium of the kind I ever met with, in six
small tomes [8].

I am really taking a liberty by talking in this style to my "elders and
my betters;"--pardon it, and don't _Rochefoucault_ [9] my motives.



[Footnote 1: Jerry Sneak, in Foote's 'Mayor of Garratt' (act ii.), says
to Major Sturgeon, "I heard of your tricks at the King of Bohemy."]


[Footnote 2:

  "The Ode of Horace--

    'Natis in usum laetitiae,' etc.;

  some passages of which I told him might be parodied, in allusion to
  some of his late adventures:

    'Quanta laboras in Charybdi!
    Digne puer meliore flamma!'"

(Moore.)]


[Footnote 3:

  "In his first edition of 'The Giaour' he had used this word as a
  trisyllable--'Bright as the gem of Giamschid'--but on my remarking to
  him, upon the authority of Richardson's Persian Dictionary, that this
  was incorrect, he altered it to 'Bright as the ruby of Giamschid.' On
  seeing this, however, I wrote to him, 'that, as the comparison of his
  heroine's eye to a "ruby" might unluckily call up the idea of its
  being bloodshot, he had better change the line to "Bright as the jewel
  of Giamschid;"' which he accordingly did in the following edition"
  (Moore).

In the 'Shah Nameh', Giamschid is the fourth sovereign of the ancient
Persians, and ruled seven hundred years. His jewel was a green
chrysolite, the reflection of which gives to the sky its blue-green
colour. Byron probably changed to "ruby" on the authority of 'Vathek'
(p. 58, ed. 1856), where Beckford writes,

  "Then all the riches this place contains, as well as the carbuncle of
  Giamschid, shall be hers."]


[Footnote 4: Moore's reference (see 'note' 1) to John Richardson's
'Dictionary of Persian, Arabic, and English' (1777), suggests to Byron
that Moore was at work on an Oriental poem, probably 'Lalla Rookh',
which would surpass the 'Charlemagne' of Lucien Buonaparte.]


[Footnote 5: The 'Shah Nameh' is a rhymed history of Persia, in which
occurs the famous episode of Sohrab and Rustem. It was written in thirty
years by Abul Kasim Firdausi, the last name being given to him by Sultan
Mahmud because he had shed over the court at Ghizni the delights of
"Paradise." Firdausi is said to have lived about 950 to 1030. (See The
'Shah Nameh', translated and abridged by James Atkinson.)]


[Footnote 6: Jacques Cazotte (1720-1792) wrote 'La Patte du Chat'
(1741); 'Mille et une Fadaises' (1742); 'Observations sur la lettre de
Rousseau au sujet de la Musique Francaise' (1754); and other works. 'Le
Diable Amoureux' appeared in 1772. Cazotte escaped the September
Massacres at the Abbaye in 1792, through the heroism of his daughter,
but was executed on the twenty-fifth of the same month.]


[Footnote 7:

  "I had already, singularly enough, anticipated this suggestion, by
  making the daughter of a Peri the heroine of one of my stories, and
  detailing the love adventures of her aerial parent in an episode. In
  acquainting Lord Byron with this circumstance, in my answer to the
  above letter, I added, 'All I ask of your friendship is--not that you
  will abstain from Peris on my account, for that is too much to ask of
  human (or, at least, author's) nature--but that, whenever you mean to
  pay your addresses to any of these aerial ladies, you will, at once,
  tell me so, frankly and instantly, and let me, at least, have my
  choice whether I shall be desperate enough to go on, with such a
  rival, or at once surrender the whole race into your hands, and take,
  for the future, to Antediluvians with Mr. Montgomery'"

(Moore).]


[Footnote 8: Brunet, 's.v.' "Breton de la Martiniere," gives the title
of the work: 'Moeurs, usages costumes des Othomans, et abrege de leur
histoire'. Par A.L. Castellan, Paris, 1812.]


[Footnote 9: Maxime LXXXV.:

  "Nous nous persuadons souvent d'aimer les gens plus puissans que nous,
  et neanmoins c'est l'interet seul qui produit notre amitie; nous ne
  nous donnons pas a eux pour le bien que nous leur voulons faire, mais
  pour celui que nous en voulons recevoir."]





       *       *       *       *       *





325.--To Thomas Moore.


August--September, I mean--1, 1813.


I send you, begging your acceptance, Castellan, and three vols. on
Turkish literature [1], not yet looked into. The _last_ I will thank you
to read, extract what you want, and return in a week, as they are lent
to me by that brightest of Northern constellations, Mackintosh
[2],--amongst many other kind things into which India has warmed him;
for I am sure your _home_ Scotsman is of a less genial description.

Your Peri, my dear M., is sacred and inviolable; I have no idea of
touching the hem of her petticoat. Your affectation of a dislike to
encounter me is so flattering, that I begin to think myself a very fine
fellow. But you are laughing at me--"Stap my vitals, Tam! thou art a
very impudent person;" [3] and, if you are not laughing at me, you
deserve to be laughed at. Seriously, what on earth can you, or have you,
to dread from any poetical flesh breathing? It really puts me out of
humour to hear you talk thus.

_The Giaour_ I have added to a good deal; but still in foolish
fragments. It contains about 1200 lines, or rather more--now printing.
You will allow me to send you a copy. You delight me much by telling me
that I am in your good graces, and more particularly as to temper; for,
unluckily, I have the reputation of a very bad one. But they say the
devil is amusing when pleased, and I must have been more venomous than
the old serpent, to have hissed or stung in your company. It may be, and
would appear to a third person, an incredible thing, but I know _you_
will believe me when I say, that I am as anxious for your success as one
human being can be for another's,--as much as if I had never scribbled a
line. Surely the field of fame is wide enough for all; and if it were
not, I would not willingly rob my neighbour of a rood of it. Now you
have a pretty property of some thousand acres there, and when you have
passed your present Inclosure Bill, your income will be doubled,
(there's a metaphor, worthy of a Templar, namely, pert and low,) while
my wild common is too remote to incommode you, and quite incapable of
such fertility. I send you (which return per post, as the printer would
say) a curious letter from a friend of mine [4], which will let you into
the origin of _The Giaour_. Write soon.

Ever, dear Moore, yours most entirely, etc.

P.S.--This letter was written to me on account of a _different story_
circulated by some gentlewomen of our acquaintance, a little too close
to the text. The part erased contained merely some Turkish names, and
circumstantial evidence of the girl's detection, not very important or
decorous.



[Footnote 1: Giovanni Battista Toderini (1728-1799) published his work
'Della Letteratura Turchesca', at Venice in 1787. Brunet says, "Cet
ouvrage curieux a ete traduit en Francais, par Cournand. Paris, 1789
('De La Litterature des Turcs')."]


[Footnote 2:

  "Yes, his manner was cold; his shake of the hand came under the genus
  'mortmain;' but his heart was overflowing with benevolence"

(Lady Holland's 'Memoir of Sydney Smith', 4th edition, vol. i. p. 440).]


[Footnote 3: A reminiscence of Sheridan's 'Trip to Scarborough' (act v.
sc. 2), itself borrowed from Vanbrugh's 'Relapse' (act iv. sc. 6), in
both of which passages Lord Foppington says, "Strike me dumb, Tam, thou
art a very impudent fellow."]


[Footnote 4: The following is the letter to which Byron refers:

  Albany, Monday, August 31, 1813.

  "MY DEAR BYRON,--You have requested me to tell you all that I heard at
  Athens about the affair of that girl who was so near being put an end
  to while you were there; you have asked me to remember every
  circumstance, in the remotest degree relating to it, which I heard. In
  compliance with your wishes, I write to you all I heard, and I cannot
  imagine it to be very far from the fact, as the circumstances happened
  only a day or two before I arrived at Athens, and, consequently, was a
  matter of common conversation at the time.

  "The new governor, unaccustomed to have the same intercourse with the
  Christians as his predecessor, had, of course, the barbarous Turkish
  ideas with regard to women. In consequence, and in compliance with the
  strict letter of the Mohammedan law, he ordered this girl to be sewed
  up in a sack, and thrown into the sea--as is, indeed, quite customary
  at Constantinople. As you were returning from bathing in the Piraeus,
  you met the procession going down to execute the sentence of the
  Waywode on this unhappy girl. Report continues to say, that on finding
  out what the object of their journey was, and who was the miserable
  sufferer, you immediately interfered; and on some delay in obeying
  your orders, you were obliged to inform the leader of the escort that
  force should make him comply; that, on further hesitation, you drew a
  pistol, and told him, that if he did not immediately obey your orders,
  and come back with you to the Aga's house, you would shoot him dead.
  On this the man turned about and went with you to the governor's
  house; here you succeeded, partly by personal threats, and partly by
  bribery and entreaty, in procuring her pardon, on condition of her
  leaving Athens. I was told that you then conveyed her in safety to the
  convent, and despatched her off at night to Thebes, where she found a
  safe asylum. Such is the story I heard, as nearly as I can recollect
  it at present. Should you wish to ask me any further questions about
  it, I shall be very ready and willing to answer them.

  "I remain, my dear Byron,

  "Yours very sincerely,

  "Sligo".]





       *       *       *       *       *





326.--To James Wedderburn Webster.


September 2nd, 1813.


My dear Webster,--You are just the same generous and I fear careless
gentleman of the years of _indifferent_ memory 1806. I--; but I must not
burthen you with my entire household. Joe [1] is, I believe, necessary
for the present as a fixture, to keep possession till every thing is
arranged; and were it otherwise, you don't know what a perplexity he
would prove--honest and faithful, but fearfully superannuated: now
_this_ I ought and do bear, but as he has not been fifty years in your
family, it would be rather hard to convert your mansion into a hospital
for decayed domestics. Rushton is, or may be made useful, and I am less
_compunctious_ on his account.

"Will I be Godfather?" [2]

Yea, verily! I believe it is the only species of parentage I shall ever
encounter, for all my acquaintance, Powerscourt, Jocelyn, yourself,
Delawarr, Stanhope, with a long list of happy _etceteras_, are married;
most of them my juniors too, and I as single and likely to remain so as,
nay more than, if I were seventy.

If it is a _girl_ why not also? Georgina, or even _Byron_ will make a
classical name for a spinster, if Mr. Richardson's _Sir Charles
Grandison_ is any authority in your estimation.

My ship is not settled. My passage in the _Boyne_ was only for _one_
Servant, and would not do, of course. You ask after the expense, a
question no less interesting to the married than the single. Unless
things are much altered, no establishment in the Mediterranean Countries
could amount to the quarter of the expenditure requisite in England for
the same or an inferior household.

I am interrupted, and have only time to offer my best thanks for all
your good wishes and intentions, and to beg you will believe me,

Equally yours ever,

B.

P.S.--Rushton shall be sent on Saturday next.



[Footnote 1: Joseph Murray]


[Footnote 2: Webster's eldest son was christened "Byron Wedderburn." He
died young, and when his father told Byron of the child's death, the
godfather

  "almost chuckled with joy or irony," and said, "Well, I cautioned you,
  and told you that my name would almost damn any thing or creature."

(MS. note by Wedderburn Webster.)]





       *       *       *       *       *





327.--To Thomas Moore.


Sept. 5, 1813.


You need not tie yourself down to a day with Toderini, but send him at
your leisure, having anatomised him into such annotations as you want; I
do not believe that he has ever undergone that process before, which is
the best reason for not sparing him now.

Rogers has returned to town, but not yet recovered of the 'Quarterly'.
What fellows these reviewers are! "these bugs do fear us all." [1]

They made you fight, and me (the milkiest of men) a satirist, and will
end by making Rogers madder than Ajax. I have been reading 'Memory'
again, the other day, and _Hope_ together, and retain all my preference
of the former [2].

His elegance is really wonderful--there is no such thing as a vulgar
line in his book.

What say you to Buonaparte? Remember, I back him against the field,
barring catalepsy and the Elements. Nay, I almost wish him success
against all countries but this,--were it only to choke the 'Morning
Post', and his undutiful father-in-law, with that rebellious bastard of
Scandinavian adoption, Bernadotte. Rogers wants me to go with him on a
crusade to the Lakes, and to besiege you on our way. This last is a
great temptation, but I fear it will not be in my power, unless you
would go on with one of us somewhere--no matter where. It is too late
for Matlock, but we might hit upon some scheme, high life or low,--the
last would be much the best for amusement. I am so sick of the other,
that I quite sigh for a cider-cellar [3], or a cruise in a smuggler's
sloop.

You cannot wish more than I do that the Fates were a little more
accommodating to our parallel lines, which prolong _ad infinitum_
without coming a jot nearer. I almost wish I were married, too--which is
saying much. All my friends, seniors and juniors, are in for it, and ask
me to be godfather,--the only species of parentage which, I believe,
will ever come to my share in a lawful way; and, in an unlawful one, by
the blessing of Lucina, we can never be certain,--though the parish may.
I suppose I shall hear from you to-morrow. If not, this goes as it is;
but I leave room for a P.S., in case any thing requires an answer.

Ever, etc.

No letter--_n'importe_. Rogers thinks the _Quarterly_ will be at _me_
this time; if so, it shall be a war of extermination--no _quarter_. From
the youngest devil down to the oldest woman of that review, all shall
perish by one fatal lampoon. The ties of nature shall be torn asunder,
for I will not even spare my bookseller; nay, if one were to include
readers also, all the better.



[Footnote 1: "Warwick was a bug that feared us all" ('Henry VI'., Part
III. act v. se. 2).]


[Footnote 2: Byron quoted to Lady Blessington "some passages from the
'Pleasures of Hope', which he said was a poem full of beauties... 'The
'Pleasures of Memory' is a very beautiful poem' (said Byron),
'harmonious, finished, and chaste; it contains not a single meretricious
ornament'" ('Conversations', pp. 352, 353).]


[Footnote 3: No. 20, Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, was a tavern called the
'Cider Cellars'. Over the entrance was the motto, 'Honos erit huic
quoque homo', supplied by Porson, who frequented the house. There Lord
Campbell heard him "recite from memory to delighted listeners the whole
of Anstey's 'Pleader's Guide'" ('Lives of the Chief Justices', vol. iii.
p. 271, note). Mr. Wheatley, in 'London Past and Present, sub voce'
"Maiden Lane," says that the

  "tavern continued to be frequented by young men, and 'much in vogue
  for devilled kidneys, oysters, and Welch rabbits, cigars, "goes" of
  brandy, and great supplies of London stout' (also for comic songs),
  till it was absorbed in the extensions of the Adelphi Theatre."]





       *       *       *       *       *





328.--To Thomas Moore.


September 8, 1813.


I am sorry to see Toderini again so soon, for fear your scrupulous
conscience should have prevented you from fully availing yourself of his
spoils. By this coach I send you a copy of that awful pamphlet _The
Giaour_, which has never procured me half so high a compliment as your
modest alarm. You will (if inclined in an evening) perceive that I have
added much in quantity,--a circumstance which may truly diminish your
modesty upon the subject.

You stand certainly in great need of a "lift" with Mackintosh. My dear
Moore, you strangely under-rate yourself. I should conceive it an
affectation in any other; but I think I know you well enough to believe
that you don't know your own value. However, 'tis a fault that generally
mends; and, in your case, it really ought. I have heard him speak of you
as highly as your wife could wish; and enough to give all your friends
the jaundice.

Yesterday I had a letter from _Ali Pacha!_ brought by Dr. Holland, who
is just returned from Albania [1]. It is in Latin, and begins
"Excellentissime _nec non_ Carissime," and ends about a gun he wants
made for him;--it is signed "Ali Vizir." What do you think he has been
about? H. tells me that, last spring, he took a hostile town, where,
forty-two years ago, his mother and sisters were treated as Miss
Cunigunde [2] was by the Bulgarian cavalry. He takes the town, selects
all the survivors of this exploit--children, grandchildren, etc. to the
tune of six hundred, and has them shot before his face. Recollect, he
spared the rest of the city, and confined himself to the Tarquin
pedigree [3],--which is more than I would. So much for "dearest friend."



[Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 246 [Letter 131], and 'note'
[Footnote 1 of Letter 131]. Dr., afterwards Sir Henry, Holland
(1788-1873) published his 'Travels in the Ionian Islands, Albania,
etc.', in 1815.]


[Footnote: Voltaire's 'Candide', ch. vii.:

  "On ne vous a done pas viole? on ne vous a point fendu le ventre,
  comme le philosophe Pangloss me l'avait assure? Si fait, dit la belle
  Cunegonde; mais on ne meurt pas toujours de ces deux accidents."]


[Footnote 3: The "false Sextus... that wrought the deed of shame," and
violated Lucretia.]





       *       *       *       *       *





329.--To Thomas Moore.


Sept. 9, 1813.


I write to you from Mr. Murray's, and I may say, from Murray, who, if
you are not predisposed in favour of any other publisher, would be happy
to treat with you, at a fitting time, for your work. I can safely
recommend him as fair, liberal, and attentive, and certainly, in point
of reputation, he stands among the first of "the trade." I am sure he
would do you justice. I have written to you so much lately, that you
will be glad to see so little now.

Ever, etc., etc.





       *       *       *       *       *





330.--To James Wedderburn Webster.


September 15th, 1813.


My dear Webster,--I shall not resist your second invitation, and shortly
after the receipt of this you may expect me. You will excuse me from the
races. As a guest I have no "antipathies" and few preferences.... You
won't mind, however, my _not_ dining with you--every day at least. When
we meet, we can talk over our respective plans: mine is very short and
simple; viz. to sail when I can get a passage. If I remained in England
I should live in the Country, and of course in the vicinity of those
whom I knew would be most agreeable.

I did not know that Jack's graven image [1] was at Newstead. If it be,
pray transfer it to Aston. It is my hope to see you so shortly, tomorrow
or next day, that I will not now trouble you with my speculations.

Ever yours very faithfully,

BYRON.

P.S.--I don't know how I came to sign myself with the "i." It is the old
spelling, and I sometimes slip into it. When I say I can't _dine_ with
you, I mean that sometimes I don't dine at all. Of course, when I do, I
conform to all hours and domestic arrangements.



[Footnote 1: "Jack's graven image" means the portrait of John Jackson
the pugilist.]





       *       *       *       *       *





331.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


[Wednesday], Sept'r. 15th, 1813.


My dear Augusta,--I joined my friend Scrope about 8, and before eleven
we had swallowed six bottles of his burgundy and Claret, which left him
very unwell and me rather feverish; we were 'tete a tete'. I remained
with him next day and set off last night for London, which I reached at
three in the morning. Tonight I shall leave it again, perhaps for Aston
or Newstead. I have not yet determined, nor does it much matter. As you
perhaps care more on the subject than I do, I will tell you when I know
myself.

When my departure is arranged, and I can get this long-evaded passage,
you will be able to tell me whether I am to expect a visit or not, and I
can come for or meet you as you think best. If you write, address to
Bennet Street.

Yours very truly,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





332.--To John Murray.


Sept. 15, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Will you pray enquire after any ship with a convoy _taking
passengers_ and get me one if possible? I mean not in a ship of war, but
anything that may be _paid_ for. I have a friend and 3 servants
--Gibraltar or Minorca--or Zante.

Yours ever,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





333.--To James Wedderburn Webster.


Stilton, September 25th, 1813.


My Dear W.,--Thus far can I "report progress," and as a solid token of
my remembrance I send you a 'cheese' of 13 lbs. to enable your digestion
to go through the race week. It will go to night; pray let your
retainers enquire after it. The date of this letter will account for so
homely a present. On my arrival in town I will write more on our
different concerns. In the mean time I wish you and yours all the
gratification on Doncaster you can wish for yourselves. My love to the
faithless Nettle [1] (who I dare say is 'wronging' me during my
absence), and my best Compliments to all in your house who will receive
them.

Ever, dear W., yours truly,

B.



[Footnote 1: A dog given by Webster to Byron. (Note by J. W. W.)]





       *       *       *       *       *





334.--To Sir James Mackintosh.


Sept. 27, 1813.


Dear Sir James,--I was to have left London on Friday, but will certainly
remain a day longer (and believe I _would a year_) to have the
honour of meeting you. My best respects to Lady Mackintosh.

Ever your obliged and faithful servant,

BYRON.





       *       *       *       *       *





335.--To Thomas Moore.


September 27, 1813.


Thomas Moore,--(Thou wilt never be called "_true_ Thomas," [1] like he
of Ercildoune,) why don't you write to me?--as you won't, I must. I was
near you at Aston the other day, and hope I soon shall be again. If so,
you must and shall meet me, and go to Matlock and elsewhere, and take
what, in _flash_ dialect, is poetically termed "a lark," with Rogers and
me for accomplices. Yesterday, at Holland House, I was introduced to
Southey--the best-looking bard I have seen for some time. To have that
poet's head and shoulders, I would almost have written his Sapphics. He
is certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and
all that, and--_there_ is his eulogy.

----read me _part_ of a letter from you. By the foot of Pharaoh, I
believe there was abuse, for he stopped short, so he did, after a fine
saying about our correspondence, and _looked_--I wish I could revenge
myself by attacking you, or by telling you that I have _had_ to defend
you--an agreeable way which one's friends have of recommending
themselves by saying--"Ay, ay, _I_ gave it Mr. Such-a-one for what he
said about your being a plagiary, and a rake, and so on." But do you
know that you are one of the very few whom I never have the satisfaction
of hearing abused, but the reverse;--and do you suppose I will forgive
_that_?

I have been in the country, and ran away from the Doncaster races. It is
odd,--I was a visitor in the same house [2] which came to my sire as a
residence with Lady Carmarthen (with whom he adulterated before his
majority--by the by, remember _she_ was not my mamma),--and they thrust
me into an old room, with a nauseous picture over the chimney, which I
should suppose my papa regarded with due respect, and which, inheriting
the family taste, I looked upon with great satisfaction. I stayed a week
with the family, and behaved very well--though the lady of the house is
young, and religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular
friend. I felt no wish for any thing but a poodle dog, which they kindly
gave me. Now, for a man of my courses not even to have _coveted_, is a
sign of great amendment. Pray pardon all this nonsense, and don't "snub
me when I'm in spirits." [3]

Ever yours,

BN.

Here's an impromptu for you by a "person of quality," written last week,
on being reproached for low spirits:

  When from the heart where Sorrow sits,
    Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
  And o'er the changing aspect flits,
    And clouds the brow, or fills the eye:
  Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink;
    My Thoughts their dungeon know too well--
  Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
    And bleed within their silent cell.



[Footnote 1: Thomas Learmont, of Ercildoune, called "Thomas the
Rhymer," is to reappear on earth when Shrove Tuesday and Good Friday
change places. He sleeps beneath the Eildon Hills.]


[Footnote 2: Aston Hall, Rotherham, at that time rented by J. Wedderburn
Webster.]


[Footnote 3: In 'She Stoops to Conquer' (act ii.) Tony Lumpkin says,

  "I wish you'd let me and my good alone, then--snubbing this way when
  I'm in spirits."]





       *       *       *       *       *





336.--To John Murray.


Sept. 29, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_ for I am bitten again and have
quantities for other parts of _The Giaour_.

Yours ever,

B.

P. S.--You shall have these in the course of the day.





       *       *       *       *       *





337.--To James Wedderburn Webster.


September 30th, 1813.


My dear Webster,--Thanks for your letter. I had answered it by
_anticipation_ last night, and this is but a postscript to my reply. My
yesterday's contained some advice, which I now see you don't want, and
hope you never will.

So! Petersham [1] has not joined you. I pity the poor women. No one can
properly repair such a deficiency; but rather than such a chasm should
be left utterly unfathomable, I, even I, the most awkward of attendants
and deplorable of danglers, would have been of your forlorn hope, on
this expedition. Nothing but business, and the notion of my being
utterly superfluous in so numerous a party, would have induced me to
resign so soon my quiet apartments never interrupted but by the sound,
or the more harmonious barking of Nettle, and clashing of billiard
balls.

On Sunday I shall leave town and mean to join you immediately. I have
not yet had my sister's answer to Lady Frances's very kind invitation,
but expect it tomorrow. Pray assure Lady Frances that I never can forget
the obligation conferred upon me in this respect, and I trust that even
Lady Catherine [2] will, in this instance, not question my "stability."

I yesterday wrote you rather a long tirade about La Comptesse, but you
seem in no immediate peril; I will therefore burn it. Yet I don't know
why I should, as you may relapse: it shall e'en go.

I have been passing my time with Rogers and Sir James Mackintosh; and
once at Holland House I met Southey; he is a person of very _epic_
appearance, and has a fine head--as far as the outside goes, and wants
nothing but taste to make the inside equally attractive.

Ever, my dear W., yours,

Biron.

P.S.--I read your letter thus: "the Countess is _miserable_" instead of
which it is "_inexorable_" a very different thing. The best way is to
let her alone; she must be a _diablesse_ by what you told me. You have
probably not _bid_ high enough. _Now_ you are not, perhaps, of my
opinion; but I would not give the tithe of a Birmingham farthing for a
woman who could or would be purchased, nor indeed for any woman _quoad
mere woman_; that is to say, unless I loved her for something more than
her sex. If she _loves_, a little _pique_ is not amiss, nor even if she
don't; the next thing to a woman's _love_ in a man's favour is her
_hatred_,--a seeming paradox but true. Get them once out of
_indifference_ and circumstance, and their passions will do wonders for
a _dasher_ which I suppose you are, though I seldom had the impudence or
patience to follow them up.



[Footnote 1: Lord Petersham was one of the chief dandies of the day.
Gronow in 1814 ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 285) found him

  "making a particular sort of blacking, which he said would eventually
  supersede every other."

His snuff-mixture was famous among tobacconists, and he gave his name to
a fashionable great-coat. In his collection of snuff-boxes, one of the
finest in England, he was supposed to have a box for every day in the
year. Gronow ('ibid'.)

  "heard him, on the occasion of a delightful old light-blue Sevres box
  he was using being admired, say, in his lisping way, 'Yes, it is a
  nice summer box, but would not do for winter wear.'"

Lord Petersham, who never went out of doors before 6 p.m., was
celebrated for his brown carriages, brown horses, brown harness, and
brown liveries.]


[Footnote 2: Lady Catherine Annesley, sister of Lady F. W. Webster,
afterwards Lady John Somerset.]





       *       *       *       *       *





338.--To Francis Hodgson.


October 1, 1813.


My Dear H.,--I leave town again for Aston on Sunday, but have messages
for you. Lord Holland desired me repeatedly to bring you; he wants to
know you much, and begged me to say so: you will like him. I had an
invitation for you to dinner there this last Sunday, and Rogers is
perpetually screaming because you don't call, and wanted you also to
dine with him on Wednesday last. Yesterday we had Curran there--who is
beyond all conception! and Mackintosh and the wits are to be seen at H.
H. constantly, so that I think you would like their society. I will be a
judge between you and the attorneo. So B[utler] may mention me to Lucien
if he still adheres to his opinion. Pray let Rogers be one; he has the
best taste extant. Bland's nuptials delight me; if I had the least hand
in bringing them about it will be a subject of selfish satisfaction to
me these three weeks. Desire Drury--if he loves me--to kick Dwyer thrice
for frightening my horses with his flame-coloured whiskers last July.
Let the kicks be hard, etc.





       *       *       *       *       *





339.--To Thomas Moore.


October 2, 1813.


You have not answered some six letters of mine. This, therefore, is my
penultimate. I will write to you once more, but, after that--I swear by
all the saints--I am silent and supercilious. I have met Curran [1] at
Holland House--he beats every body;--his imagination is beyond human,
and his humour (it is difficult to define what is wit) perfect. Then he
has fifty faces, and twice as many voices, when he mimics--I never met
his equal. Now, were I a woman, and eke a virgin, that is the man I
should make my Scamander [2].

He is quite fascinating. Remember, I have met him but once; and you, who
have known him long, may probably deduct from my panegyric. I almost
fear to meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered. He talked
a great deal about you--a theme never tiresome to me, nor any body else
that I know. What a variety of expression he conjures into that
naturally not very fine countenance of his! He absolutely changes it
entirely. I have done--for I can't describe him, and you know him. On
Sunday I return to Aston, where I shall not be far from you. Perhaps I
shall hear from you in the mean time. Good night.

Saturday morn.--Your letter has cancelled all my anxieties. I did _not
suspect_ you in _earnest_. Modest again! Because I don't do a very
shabby thing, it seems, I "don't fear your competition." If it were
reduced to an alternative of preference, I _should_ dread you, as much
as Satan does Michael. But is there not room enough in our respective
regions? Go on--it will soon be my turn to forgive. To-day I dine with
Mackintosh and Mrs. _Stale_--as John Bull may be pleased to denominate
Corinne--whom I saw last night, at Covent Garden, yawning over the
humour of Falstaff.

The reputation of "gloom," if one's friends are not included in the
_reputants_, is of great service; as it saves one from a legion of
impertinents, in the shape of common-place acquaintance. But thou
know'st I can be a right merry and conceited fellow, and rarely
_larmoyant_. Murray shall reinstate your line forthwith. [3]

I believe the blunder in the motto was mine;--and yet I have, in
general, a memory for you, and am sure it was rightly printed at first.

I do "blush" very often, if I may believe Ladies H. and M.;--but
luckily, at present, no one sees me. Adieu.



[Footnote 1: Rogers ('Table-Talk, etc'., p. 161) regretted "that so
little of Curran's brilliant talk has been preserved." John Philpot
Curran (1750-1817), after accepting the Mastership of the Rolls in
Ireland (1806), spent much of his time in England. He retired from the
Bench, where he never shone, in 1814.

In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) occurs the following passage:

  "I was much struck with the simplicity of Grattan's manners in private
  life. They were odd, but they were natural. Curran used to take him
  off, bowing to the very ground, and 'thanking God that he had no
  peculiarities of gesture or appearance,' in a way irresistibly
  ludicrous. Rogers used to call him a 'Sentimental Harlequin;' but
  Rogers backbites everybody, and Curran, who used to quiz his great
  friend Godwin to his very face, would hardly respect a fair mark of
  mimicry in another. To be sure, Curran _was_ admirable! to hear his
  description of the examination of an Irish witness was next to hearing
  his own speeches; the latter I never heard, but I have the former."

Elsewhere ('ibid'.) he returns to the subject:

  "Curran! Curran's the man who struck me most--such imagination! There
  never was anything like it, that ever I saw or heard of. His
  _published_ life--his published speeches--give you no idea of the man;
  none at all. He was a _Machine_ of imagination, as some one said that
  Piron was an 'Epigrammatic Machine.' I did not see a great deal of
  Curran,--only in 1813; but I met him at home (for he used to call on
  me), and in society, at Mackintosh's, Holland House, etc., etc. And he
  was wonderful, even to me, who had seen many remarkable men of the
  time."

The following notes on this passage are in the handwriting of Walter
Scott:

  "When Mathews first began to imitate Curran in Dublin--in society, I
  mean,--Curran sent for him and said, the moment he entered the room,
  'Mr. Mathews, you are a first-rate artist, and, since you are to do my
  picture, pray allow me to give you a sitting.' Everyone knows how
  admirably Mathews succeeded in furnishing at last the portraiture
  begun under these circumstances. No one was more aware of the truth
  than Curran himself. In his latter and feeble days, he was riding in
  Hyde Park one morning, bowed down over the saddle and bitterly
  dejected in his air. Mathews happened to observe and saluted him.
  Curran stopped his horse for a moment, squeezed Charles by the hand,
  and said in that deep whisper which the comedian so exquisitely
  mimics, 'Don't speak to me, my dear Mathews; you are the only Curran
  now!'"

  "Did you know Curran?" asked Byron of Lady Blessington
  ('Conversations', p. 176); "he was the most wonderful person I ever
  saw. In him was combined an imagination the most brilliant and
  profound, with a flexibility and wit that would have justified the
  observation applied to----, that his heart was in his head."

Moore ('Journal, etc.', vol. i. p. 40) quotes a couplet by Mrs. Battier
upon Curran, which "commemorates in a small compass two of his most
striking peculiarities, namely, his very unprepossessing personal
appearance, and his great success, notwithstanding, in pursuits of
gallantry...:

  "'For though his monkey face might fail to woo her,
  Yet, ah! his monkey tricks would quite undo her.'"]


[Footnote 2: In the spurious letters of AEschines (Letter x.) is a
passage which explains the allusion.

  "It is the custom of maidens, on the eve of their marriage, to wash in
  the waters of the Scamander, and then to utter this almost sacred
  formula,

    'Take, O Scamander, my virginity'

    ([Greek: to epos touto hosper hieron ti epilegein, Lhabe mou
    Scamandre taen parthenian)."]


[Footnote 3:

  "The motto to 'The Giaour':

    One fatal remembrance--one sorrow that throws
    Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,' etc.

  "which is taken from one of the 'Irish Melodies', had been quoted by
  him incorrectly in the first editions of the poem". (Moore).]





       *       *       *       *       *





340.--To John Murray.


Stilton, Oct. 3, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I have just recollected an alteration you may make in the
proof to be sent to Aston.--Among the lines on Hassan's Serai, not far
from the beginning, is this:

  Unmeet for Solitude to share.

Now to share implies more than _one_, and Solitude is a single
gentlewoman; it must be thus:

  For many a gilded chamber's there,
  Which Solitude might well forbear;

and so on.--My address is Aston Hall, Rotherham. Will you adopt this
correction? and pray accept a cheese from me for your trouble. Ever
yours, B.

P.S.--I leave this to your discretion; if any body thinks the old line a
good one or the cheese a bad one, don't accept either. But, in that
case, the word _share_ is repeated soon after in the line:

  To share the Master's "bread and salt;"

and must be altered to:

  To break the Master's bread and salt.

This is not so well, though--confound it! If the old line stands, let
the other run thus:

  Nor there will weary traveller halt,
  To bless the sacred "bread and salt."

_Note_.--To partake of food--to break bread and taste salt with your
host--ensures the safety of the guest; even though an enemy, his person
from that moment becomes sacred.

There is another additional note sent yesterday--on the Priest in the
Confessional.





       *       *       *       *       *





341.--To John Hanson.


Nottingham, Octr. 10th, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I am disposed to advance a loan of L1000 to James Webster
Wedderburne Webster, Esqre., of Aston Hall, York County, and request you
will address to me _there a bond_ and _judgement_ to be signed by the
said as soon as possible. Of Claughton's payments I know nothing
further, and the demands on myself I know also; but W. is a very old
friend of mine, and a man of property, and, as I can command the money,
he shall have it. I do not at all wish to inconvenience you, and I also
know that, when we balance accounts, it will be much in your favour; but
if you could replace the sum at Hoare's from my advance of two thousand
eight hundred in July, it would be a favour; or, still better, if C.
makes further payments, which will render it unnecessary. Don't let the
first part of the last sentence embarrass you at all; the last part
about Claughton I would wish you to attend to. I have written this
day--about his opening the cellar.

Pray send the bond and judgement to Aston as directed.

Ever, dear Sir,

B.

P.S.--Many, many thanks for your kind invitation; but it was too late. I
was in this county before it arrived. My best remembrances to Mrs. H.
and all the family.





       *       *       *       *       *





342.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


[Sunday], October 10th, 1813.


My dearest Augusta,--I have only time to say that I am not in the least
angry, and that my silence has merely arisen from several circumstances
which I cannot now detail. I trust you are better, and will continue
_best_. Ever, my dearest,

Yours,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





343.--To John Murray.


Oct. 12, 1813.


Dear Sir,--You must look 'The Giaour' again over carefully; there are a
few lapses, particularly in the last page,--"I _know_ 'twas false; she
could not die;" it was, and ought to be--"_knew_." Pray observe this and
similar mistakes.

I have received and read the 'British Review' [1].

I really think the writer in most parts very right. The only mortifying
thing is the accusation of imitation.

_Crabbe's passage_ I never saw; and Scott I no further meant to follow
than in his _lyric_ measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and any one's
who likes it. 'The Giaour' is certainly a bad character, but not
dangerous: and I think his fate and his feelings will meet with few
proselytes. I shall be very glad to hear from or of you, when you
please; but don't put yourself out of your way on my account.

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1: 'The British Review' (No. ix.) criticized 'The Giaour'
severely (pp. 132-145). "Lord Byron," it says, "has had the bad taste to
imitate Mr. Walter Scott" (p. 135). Further on (p. 139) it charges him
with borrowing a simile from Crabbe's 'Resentment'. The passage to which
the reviewer alludes will be found in lines 11-16 of that poem:

  "Those are like wax--apply them to the fire,
  Melting, they take th' impressions you desire:
  Easy to mould, and fashion as you please,
  And again moulded with an equal ease:
  Like smelted iron these the forms retain;
  But, once impress'd, will never melt again."]





       *       *       *       *       *





344.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.


(Monday), Nov'r. 8th, 1813.


My Dearest Augusta,--I have only time to say that I shall write
tomorrow, and that my present and long silence has been occasioned by a
thousand things (with which _you_ are not concerned). It is not L'y C.
nor O.; but perhaps you may _guess_, and, if you do, do not tell.

You do not know what mischief your being with me might have prevented.
You shall hear from me tomorrow; in the mean time don't be alarmed. I am
in _no immediate_ peril.

Believe me, ever yours,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





345.--To John Murray.


(Nov. 12, 1813. With first proof of _Bride of Abydos_ correct.)

Dear Sir,--I have looked over--corrected--and added--_all_ of which you
may do too--at least _certainly_ the _two_ first. There is more MS.
_within_. Let me know tomorrow at your leisure _how_ and _when_ we shall
proceed! It looks better than I thought at first. _Look over_ again. I
suspect some omissions on my part and on the printers'.

Yours ever,

B.

Always print "een" "even." I utterly abhor "een"--if it must be
contracted, be it "ev'n."





       *       *       *       *       *





346.--To William Gifford.


November 12, 1813.


My Dear Sir,--I hope you will consider, when I venture on any request,
that it is the reverse of a certain Dedication, and is addressed, _not_
to "The Editor of the 'Quarterly Review'" but to Mr. Gifford. You will
understand this, and on that point I need trouble you no farther.

You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in MS.--a Turkish
story, and I should feel gratified if you would do it the same favour in
its probationary state of printing. It was written, I cannot say for
amusement, nor "obliged by hunger and request of friends," [1] but in a
state of mind, from circumstances which occasionally occur to "us
youth," that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind to something,
any thing but reality; and under this not very brilliant inspiration it
was composed. Being done, and having at least diverted me from myself, I
thought you would not perhaps be offended if Mr. Murray forwarded it to
you. He has done so, and to apologise for his doing so a second time is
the object of my present letter.

I beg you will _not_ send me any answer. I assure you very sincerely I
know your time to be occupied, and it is enough, more than enough, if
you read; you are not to be bored with the fatigue of answers.

A word to Mr. Murray will be sufficient, and send it either to the
flames or

      "A hundred hawkers' load,
  On wings of wind to fly or fall abroad."

It deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and
scribbled 'stans pede in uno' [2], (by the by, the only foot I have to
stand on); and I promise never to trouble you again under forty cantos,
and a voyage between each. Believe me ever,

Your obliged and affectionate servant,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Pope, 'Epistle to Arbuthnot', l. 44.]


[Footnote 2: Horace, 'Sat'. 1. iv. 10.]





       *       *       *       *       *





347.--To John Murray.


Nov. 12, 1813.


Two friends of mine (Mr. Rogers and Mr. Sharpe) have advised me not to
risk at present any single publication separately, for various reasons.
As they have not seen the one in question, they can have no bias for or
against the merits (if it has any) or the faults of the present subject
of our conversation. You say all the last of 'The Giaour' [1] are
gone--at least out of your hands. Now, if you think of publishing any
new edition with the last additions which have not yet been before the
reader (I mean distinct from the two-volume publication), we can add
"'The Bride of Abydos'," which will thus steal quietly into the world
[2]: if liked, we can then throw off some copies for the purchasers of
former "Giaours;" and, if not, I can omit it in any future publication.
What think you? I really am no judge of those things; and, with all my
natural partiality for one's own productions, I would rather follow any
one's judgment than my own.

P.S.--Pray let me have the proofs. I sent _all_ to-night. I have some
alterations that I have thought of that I wish to make speedily. I hope
the proof will be on separate pages, and not all huddled together on a
mile-long, ballad-singing sheet, as those of 'The Giaour' sometimes are:
for then I can't read them distinctly.



[Footnote 1: In 'Accepted Addresses; or, Premium Poetarum', pp. 50-52
(1813), 'Address' xvii. is from "Lord B----n to J. M----y, Book-seller."
The address itself runs as follows:

  "A Turkish tale I shall unfold,
  A sweeter tale was never told;
  But then the facts, I must allow,
  Are in the east not common now;
  Tho' in the 'olden time,' the scene
  My Goaour (_sic_) describes had often been.
  What is the cause! Perhaps the fair
  Are now more cautious than they were;
  Perhaps the Christians not so bold,
  So enterprising as of old.
  No matter what the cause may be,
  It is a subject fit for me.

  "Take my disjointed fragments then,
  The offspring of a willing pen.
  And give them to the public, pray,
  On or before the month of May.
  Yes, my disjointed fragments take,
  But do not ask _how much they'll make_.
  Perhaps not fifty pages--well,
  I in a little space can tell
  Th' adventures of an infidel;
  Of _quantity_ I never boast,
  For _quality_'s, approved of most.

  "It is a handsome sum to touch,
  Induces authors to write much;
  But in this much, alas! my friend,
  How little is there to commend.
  So, Mr. M----y, I disdain,
  To sacrifice my muse for gain.
  I wish it to be understood,
  The little which I write is good.

  "I do not like the quarto size,
  Th' octavo, therefore, I advise.
  Then do not, Mr. M----y, fail,
  To publish this, my Turkish Tale;
  For tho' the volume may be thin,
  A thousand readers it will win;
  And when my pages they explore,
  They'll gladly read them o'er and o'er;
  And all the ladies, I engage,
  With tears will moisten every page."]


[Footnote 2: John Murray writes, in an undated letter to Byron,

  "Mr. Canning returned the poem to-day with very warm expressions of
  delight. I told him your delicacy as to separate publication, of which
  he said you should remove every apprehension."]





       *       *       *       *       *





348.--To John Murray.


Nov. 13, 1813.


Will you forward the letter to Mr. Gifford with the proof? There is an
alteration I may make in Zuleika's speech, in second canto (the only one
of _hers_ in that canto). It is now thus:

        And curse--if I could curse--the day.

It must be:

        And mourn--I dare not curse--the day,
        That saw my solitary birth, etc., etc.

Ever yours, B.

In the last MS. lines sent, instead of "living heart," correct to
"quivering heart." It is in line 9th of the MS. passage. Ever yours
again,

B.





       *       *       *       *       *





349.--To John Murray.


Alteration of a line in Canto 2nd.
Instead of:

  And tints to-morrow with a _fancied_ ray

Print:

  And tints to-morrow with _prophetic_ ray.

  The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
  And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray;

Or,

  And {_gilds_/tints} the hope of Morning with its ray;

Or,

  And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray.

Dear Sir,--I wish you would ask Mr. G. which of them is best, or rather
_not worst_.

Ever yours, B.

You can send the request contained in this at the same time with the
_revise, after_ I have seen the _said revise_.





       *       *       *       *       *





350.--To John Murray.


Nov. 13, 1813.


Certainly. Do you suppose that no one but the Galileans are acquainted
with _Adam_, and _Eve_, and _Cain,_ [1] and _Noah_?--Surely, I might
have had Solomon, and Abraham, and David, and even Moses, or the other.
When you know that _Zuleika_ is the _Persian poetical_ name for
_Potiphar's_ wife, on whom and Joseph there is a long poem in the
Persian, this will not surprise you. If you want authority look at
Jones, D'Herbelot, 'Vathek', or the notes to the 'Arabian Nights'; and,
if you think it necessary, model this into a _note_.

Alter, in the inscription, "the most affectionate respect," to "with
every sentiment of regard and respect,"



[Footnote 1:

  "Some doubt had been expressed by Murray as to the propriety of his
  putting the name of Cain into the mouth of a Mussulman."

(Moore).]





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351.--To John Murray.


Nov. 14, 1813.


I send you a note for the _ignorant_, but I really wonder at finding
_you_ among them. I don't care one lump of Sugar for my _poetry_; but
for my _costume_, and my _correctness_ on those points (of which I think
the _funeral_ was a proof), I will combat lustily.

Yours ever,

B.





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352.--To John Murray.


November 15, 1813.


DEAR SIR,--Mr. Hodgson has looked over and _stopped_, or rather
_pointed_, this revise, which must be the one to print from. He has also
made some suggestions, with most of which I have complied, as he has
always, for these ten years, been a very sincere, and by no means (at
times) flattering critic of mine. _He_ likes it (you will think
_flatteringly_, in this instance) better than 'The Giaour', but doubts
(and so do I) its being so popular; but, contrary to some others,
advises a separate publication. On this we can easily decide. I confess
I like the _double_ form better. Hodgson says, it is _better versified_
than any of the others; which is odd, if true, as it has cost me less
time (though more _hours_ at a time) than any attempt I ever made.

Yours ever, B.

P.S.--Do attend to the punctuation: I can't, for I don't know a
comma--at least where to place one.

That Tory of a printer has omitted two lines of the opening, and
_perhaps more_, which were in the MS. Will you, pray, give him a hint of
accuracy? I have reinserted the 2, but they were in the manuscript, I
can swear.





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353.--To John Murray.


November 17, 1813.


My Dear Sir,--That you and I may distinctly understand each other on a
subject, which, like "the dreadful reckoning when men smile no more,"
[1] makes conversation not very pleasant, I think it as well to _write_
a few lines on the topic.--Before I left town for Yorkshire, you said
that you were ready and willing to give five hundred guineas for the
copyright of 'The Giaour'; and my answer was--from which I do not mean
to recede--that we would discuss the point at Christmas. The new story
may or may not succeed; the probability, under present circumstances,
seems to be, that it may at least pay its expences--but even that
remains to be proved, and till it is proved one way or the other, we
will say nothing about it. Thus then be it: I will postpone all
arrangement about it, and 'The Giaour' also, till Easter, 1814; and you
shall then, according to your own notions of fairness, make your own
offer for the two. At the same time, I do not rate the last in my own
estimation at half 'The Giaour'; and according to your own notions of
its worth and its success within the time mentioned, be the addition or
deduction to or from whatever sum may be your proposal for the first,
which has already had its success [2].

My account with you since my last payment (which I believe cleared it
off within five pounds) I presume has not _much_ increased--but whatever
it is have the goodness to send it to me--that I may at least meet you
on even terms.

The pictures of Phillips I consider as _mine_, all three; and the one
(not the Arnaut) of the two best is much at _your service_, if you will
accept it as a present, from Yours very truly, BIRON.

P.S.--The expence of engraving from the miniature send me in my account,
as it was destroyed by my desire; and have the goodness to burn that
detestable print from it immediately.



[Footnote 1: 'The What d'ye call't?' by John Gay (act ii. sc. 9):

    "So comes a reckoning when the banquet's o'er,
     The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more."]


[Footnote 2: Murray replies, November 18, 1813,

  "I restore the 'Giaour' to your Lordship entirely, and for 'it', the
  'Bride of Abydos', and the miscellaneous poems intended to fill up the
  volume of the small edition, I beg leave to offer you the sum of One
  Thousand Guineas, and I shall be happy if you perceive that my
  estimation of your talents in my character of a man of business is not
  much under my admiration of them as a man."]





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354.--To John Murray.


November 20, 1813.


More work for the _Row_. I am doing my best to beat "_The Giaour_"--_no_
difficult task for any one but the author. Yours truly,
B.





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355.--To John Murray.


November 22, 1813.


DEAR SIR,--I have no time to _cross_-investigate, but I believe and hope
all is right. I care less than you will believe about its success, but I
can't survive a single _misprint_; it _choaks_ me to see words misused
by the Printers. Pray look over, in case of some eyesore escaping me.
Ever yours, B.

P.S.--Send the earliest copies to Mr. Frere, Mr. Canning, Mr. Heber, Mr.
Gifford, Lord Holland, Lady Melbourne (Whitehall), Lady C. L. (Brocket),
Mr. Hodgson (Cambridge), Mr. Merivale, Mr. Ward, from the author.





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356.--To John Murray.


November 23, 1813.


DEAR SIR,--You wanted some _reflections_, and I send you _per Selim_
(see his speech in Canto 2d, page 46.), eighteen lines in decent
couplets, of a pensive, if not an _ethical_ tendency. One more
revise--poz. the _last_, if decently done--at any rate the
_pen_ultimate. Mr. Canning's approbation (_if_ he did approve) I need
not say makes me proud [1].

As to printing, print as you will and how you will--by itself, if you
like; but let me have a few copies in _sheets_.

Ever yours,

B.



[Footnote 1: Canning wrote the following note to Murray:

  "I received the books, and, among them, 'The Bride of Abydos'. It is
  very, very beautiful. Lord Byron (when I met him, one day, at dinner
  at Mr. Ward's) was so kind as to promise to give me a copy of it. I
  mention this, not to save my purchase, but because I should be really
  flattered by the present. I can now say that I have read enough of
  Mad. de Stael to be highly pleased and instructed by her. The second
  volume delights me particularly. I have not yet finished the third,
  but am taking it with me on my journey to Liverpool."]





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357.--To John Murray.


November 24, 1813.


You must pardon me once more, as it is all for your good: it must be
thus:

  He makes a Solitude, and calls it Peace.

"_Makes_" is closer to the passage of Tacitus [1], from which the line
is taken, and is, besides, a stronger word than "_leaves_."

  Mark where his carnage and his conquests cease--
  He makes a Solitude, and calls it--peace.

You will perceive that the sense is now clearer, the "_He_" refers to
"_Man_" in the preceding couplet.

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1:

  "Solitudinem faciunt--pacem appellant."

Tacitus, 'Agricola', 30.]





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358.--To John Murray.


November 27, 1813.


Dear Sir,--If you look over this carefully by the _last proof_ with my
corrections, it is probably right; this _you_ can _do_ as well or
better;--I have not now time. The copies I mentioned to be sent to
different friends last night, I should wish to be made up with the new
Giaours, if it also is ready. If not, send 'The Giaour' afterwards.

The 'Morning Post' says _I_ am the author of 'Nourjahad' [1]!!

This comes of lending the drawings for their dresses; but it is not
worth a _formal contradiction_. Besides, the criticisms on the
_supposition_ will, some of them, be quite amusing and furious. The
_Orientalism_--which I hear is very splendid--of the Melodrame
(whosever it is, and I am sure I don't know) is as good as an
Advertisement for your Eastern Stories, by filling their heads with
glitter. Yours ever, B.

P.S.--You will of course _say_ the truth, that I am _not_ the
Melo-dramatist--if any one charges me in your presence with the
performance.



[Footnote 1: The same charge is made in the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. p.
508). 'Illusion, or the Trances of Nourjahad', was acted at Drury Lane,
November 25, 1813. It is described by Genest ('The English Stage', vol.
viii. p. 403) as "a Melo-dramatic spectacle in three acts by an
anonymous author." "Nourjahad" was acted by Elliston; "Mandane," his
wife, by Mrs. Horn.]





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359.--To John Murray.


November 28, 1813.


Dear Sir,--Send another copy (if not too much of a request) to Lady
Holland of the _Journal_ [1], in my name, when you receive this; it is
for _Earl Grey_--and I will relinquish my own. Also to Mr. Sharpe, Lady
Holland, and Lady Caroline Lamb, copies of _The Bride_, as soon as
convenient. Ever yours, BIRON.

P.S.--Mr. W. and myself still continue our purpose; but I shall not
trouble you on any arrangement on the score of _The Giaour_ and _The
Bride_ till our return,--or, at any rate, before _May_, 1814,--that is,
six months from hence: and before that time you will be able to
ascertain how far your offer may be a losing one: if so, you can deduct
proportionably; and if not, I shall not at any rate allow you to go
higher than your present proposal, which is very handsome, and more than
fair.

I have had--but this must be _entre nous_--a very kind note, on the
subject of _The Bride_, from Sir James Mackintosh, and an invitation to
go there this evening, which it is now too late to accept [2].



[Footnote 1: The Rev. John Eagles (1783-1855), scholar, artist, and
contributor (1831-55) to 'Blackwood's Magazine', edited 'The Journal of
Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman', which Murray published in 1815.]


[Footnote 2:

  "Lord Byron is the author of the day; six thousand of his 'Bride of
  Abydos' have been sold within a month."

Sir James Mackintosh ('Life', vol. ii. p. 271).]





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360.--To John Murray.


November 29, 1813.

Sunday--Monday morning--three o'clock--in my doublet and
hose,--_swearing_.

Dear Sir,--I send you in time an Errata page, containing an omission of
mine [1], which must be thus added, as it is too late for insertion in
the text. The passage is an imitation altogether from Medea in Ovid, and
is incomplete without these two lines. Pray let this be done, and
directly; it is necessary, will add one page to your book(-_making_),
and can do no harm, and is yet in time for the _public_. Answer me, thou
Oracle, in the affirmative. You can send the loose pages to those who
have copies already, if they like; but certainly to all the _Critical_
copyholders.

Ever yours, BIRON.

P.S.--I have got out of my bed (in which, however, I could not sleep,
whether I had amended this or not), and so good morning. I am trying
whether _De l'Allemagne_ will act as an opiate, but I doubt it.



[Footnote 1: 'The Bride of Abydos', Canto II. stanza xx. The lines were:

  "Then, if my lip once murmurs, it must be
  No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee."]





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361.--To John Murray.


November 29, 1813.


"_You have looked at it!_" to much purpose, to allow so stupid a blunder
to stand; it is _not_ "_courage_" but "_carnage_;" and if you don't want
me to cut my own throat, see it altered.

I am very sorry to hear of the fall of Dresden.





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362.--To John Murray.


Nov. 29, 1813, Monday.


Dear Sir,--You will act as you please upon that point; but whether I go
or stay, I shall not say another word on the subject till May--nor then,
unless quite convenient to yourself. I have many things I wish to leave
to your care, principally papers. The _vases_ need not be now sent, as
Mr. W. is gone to Scotland. You are right about the Er[rata] page; place
it at the beginning. Mr. Perry is a little premature in his compliments
[1]: these may do harm by exciting expectation, and I think _we_ ought
to be above it--though I see the next paragraph is on the 'Journal' [2],
which makes me suspect _you_ as the author of both.

Would it not have been as well to have said in 2 cantos in the
advertisement? they will else think of _fragments_, a species of
composition very well for _once_, like _one ruin_ in a _view_; but one
would not build a town of them. 'The Bride', such as it is, is my first
_entire_ composition of any length (except the Satire, and be damned to
it), for 'The Giaour' is but a string of passages, and 'Childe Harold'
is, and I rather think always will be, unconcluded. I return Mr. Hay's
note, with thanks to him and you.

There have been some epigrams on Mr. W[ard]: one I see to-day [3].

The first I did not see, but heard yesterday. The second seems very bad
and Mr. P[erry] has placed it over _your_ puff. I only hope that Mr. W.
does not believe that I had any connection with either. The Regent is
the only person on whom I ever expectorated an epigram, or ever should;
and even if I were disposed that way, I like and value Mr. W. too well
to allow my politics to contract into spleen, or to admire any thing
intended to annoy him or his. You need not take the trouble to answer
this, as I shall see you in the course of the afternoon.

Yours very truly, B.

P.S.--I have said this much about the epigrams, because I live so much
in the _opposite camp_, and, from my post as an Engineer, might be
suspected as the flinger of these hand Grenadoes; but with a worthy foe
I am all for open war, and not this bush-fighting, and have [not] had,
nor will have, any thing to do with it. I do not know the author.



[Footnote 1: In the 'Morning Chronicle', November 29, 1813, appeared the
following paragraph:

  "Lord Byron's muse is extremely fruitful. He has another poem coming
  out, entitled 'The Bride of Abydos', which is spoken of in terms of
  the highest encomium."]


[Footnote 2: 'Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman.']


[Footnote 3:

  "Ward has no heart, they say; but I deny it;--
  He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it."]





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363.--To John Murray.


Tuesday evening, Nov. 30, 1813.


Dear Sir,--For the sake of correctness, particularly in an Errata page,
the alteration of the couplet I have just sent (half an hour ago) must
take place, in spite of delay or cancel; let me see the _proof_ early
to-morrow. I found out _murmur_ to be a neuter _verb_, and have been
obliged to alter the line so as to make it a substantive, thus:

  The deepest murmur of this life shall be
  No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee!

Don't send the copies to the _country_ till this is all right.

Yours,
B.





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364.--To Thomas Moore.


November 30, 1813.


Since I last wrote to you, much has occurred, good, bad, and
indifferent,--not to make me forget you, but to prevent me from
reminding you of one who, nevertheless, has often thought of you, and to
whom _your_ thoughts, in many a measure, have frequently been a
consolation. We were once very near neighbours this autumn; and a good
and bad neighbourhood it has proved to me. Suffice it to say, that your
French quotation [1] was confoundedly to the purpose,--though very
_unexpectedly_ pertinent, as you may imagine by what I _said_ before,
and my silence since. However, "Richard's himself again," [2] and except
all night and some part of the morning, I don't think very much about
the matter.

All convulsions end with me in rhyme; and to solace my midnights, I have
scribbled another Turkish story [3]--not a Fragment--which you will
receive soon after this. It does not trench upon your kingdom in the
least, and if it did, you would soon reduce me to my proper boundaries.
You will think, and justly, that I run some risk of losing the little I
have gained in fame, by this further experiment on public patience; but
I have really ceased to care on that head. I have written this, and
published it, for the sake of the _employment_,--to wring my thoughts
from reality, and take refuge in "imaginings," however "horrible;" [4]
and, as to success! those who succeed will console me for a
failure--excepting yourself and one or two more, whom luckily I love too
well to wish one leaf of their laurels a tint yellower. This is the work
of a week, and will be the reading of an hour to you, or even less,--and
so, let it go----.

P.S.--Ward and I _talk_ of going to Holland. I want to see how a Dutch
canal looks after the Bosphorus. Pray respond.



[Footnote 1: Moore wrote to Byron in 1813 an undated letter, in which
the following passage occurs:

  "I am sorry I must wait till 'we are veterans' before you will open to
  me 'the story of your wandering life, wherein you find more hours _due
  to repentance_ ... than time hath told you yet.' Is it so with you, or
  are you, like me, reprobate enough to look back with complacency on
  what you have done? I suppose repentance _must bring up the rear_ with
  us all; but at present I should say with old Fontenelle, _Si je
  recommencais ma carriere, je ferais tout ce que j'ai fait_."]


[Footnote 2: Colley Cibber's 'Richard III', act v. sc. 3:

  "Conscience, avaunt! Richard's himself again."]


[Footnote 3: 'The Bride of Abydos' was published December, 1813.]


[Footnote 4:

  "Horrible imaginings."

'Macbeth', act i. sc. 3.]





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365.--To Francis Hodgson.


Nov'r--Dec'r 1st, 1813.


I have just heard that _Knapp_ is acquainted with what I was but too
happy in being enabled to do for you [1].

Now, my dear Hn., you, or Drury, must have told this, for, upon my own
honour, not even to Scrope, nor to one soul, (Drury knew it before) have
I said one syllable of the matter. So don't be out of humour with me
about it, but you can't be more so than I am. I am, however, glad of one
thing; if you ever conceived it to be in the least an obligation, this
disclosure most fairly and fully releases you from it:

  "To John I owe some obligation,
    But John unluckily thinks fit
  To publish it to all the nation,
    So John and I are more than quit."

And so there's an end of the matter.

Ward _wavers_ a little about the Dutch, till matters are more sedative,
and the French more sedentary.

The 'Bride' will blush upon you in a day or two; there is _much_, at
least a _little_ addition. I am happy to say that Frere and Heber, and
some other "good men and true," have been kind enough to adopt the same
opinion that you did.

Pray write when you like, and believe me,

Ever yours,

BYRON.

P.S.--Murray has _offered_ me a thousand guineas for the _two_ ('Giaour'
and 'Bride'), and told M'e. de Stael that he had _paid_ them to me!! I
should be glad to be able to tell her so too. But the truth is, he
would; but I thought the fair way was to decline it till May, and, at
the end of 6 months, he can safely say whether he can afford it or
not--without running any risk by Speculation. If he paid them now and
lost by it, it would be hard. If he gains, it will be time enough when
he has already funded his profits. But he needed not have told "_la
Baronne_" such a devil of an uncalled for piece of--premature _truth_,
perhaps--but, nevertheless, a _lie_ in the mean time.



[Footnote 1: Hodgson, now engaged to Miss Tayler, was anxious to clear
off his father's liabilities. Byron gave him from first to last the sum
of L1500 for the purpose. Hodgson, in a letter to his uncle, thus
describes the gift ('Memoir of Rev. F. Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 268, 269):

  "My noble-hearted friend, Lord Byron, after many offers of a similar
  kind, which I felt bound to refuse, has irresistibly in my present
  circumstances ... volunteered to pay all my debts, and within a few
  pounds it is done! Oh, if you knew (but _you_ do know) the exultation
  of heart, aye, and of head too, I feel at being free from these
  depressing embarrassments, you would, as I do, bless my dearest friend
  and brother Byron."]





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366.--To John Murray.


Dec. 2, 1813.


Dear Sir,--When you can, let the couplet enclosed be inserted either in
the page, or in the Errata page. I trust it is in time for some of the
copies. This alteration is in the same part--the page _but one_ before
the last correction sent.

Yours, etc.,

B.

P.S.--I am afraid, from all I hear, that people are rather inordinate in
their expectations, which is very unlucky, but cannot now be helped.
This comes of Mr. Perry and one's wise friends; but do not _you_ wind
_your_ hopes of success to the same pitch, for fear of accidents, and I
can assure you that my philosophy will stand the test very fairly; and I
have done every thing to ensure you, at all events, from positive loss,
which will be some satisfaction to both.





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367.--To Leigh Hunt.


4, Bennet St., Dec. 2, 1813.


My dear Sir,--Few things could be more welcome than your note, and on
Saturday morning I will avail myself of your permission to thank you for
it in person. My time has not been passed, since we met, either
profitably or agreeably. A very short period after my last visit, an
incident occurred with which, I fear, you are not unacquainted, as
report, in many mouths and more than one paper, was busy with the topic.
That, naturally, gave me much uneasiness. Then I nearly incurred a
lawsuit on the sale of an estate; but that is now arranged: next--but
why should I go on with a series of selfish and silly details? I merely
wish to assure you that it was not the frivolous forgetfulness of a
mind, occupied by what is called pleasure (_not_ in the true sense of
Epicurus), that kept me away; but a perception of my, then, unfitness to
share the society of those whom I value and wish not to displease. I
hate being _larmoyant_, and making a serious face among those who are
cheerful.

It is my wish that our acquaintance, or, if you please to accept it,
friendship, may be permanent. I have been lucky enough to preserve some
friends from a very early period, and I hope, as I do not (at least now)
select them lightly, I shall not lose them capriciously. I have a
thorough esteem for that independence of spirit [1] which you have
maintained with sterling talent, and at the expense of some suffering.
You have not, I trust, abandoned the poem you were composing, when Moore
and I partook of your hospitality in the summer. I hope a time will come
when he and I may be able to repay you in kind for the _latter_--for the
rhyme, at least in _quantity_, you are in arrear to both.

Believe me, very truly and affectionately yours,

Byron.



[Footnote 1: The following is Leigh Hunt's answer:

  "My dear Lord,--I need not tell you how much your second letter has
  gratified me, for I am apt to speak as sincerely as I think (you must
  suffer me to talk in this way after what you have been kind enough to
  say of my independence), and it always rejoices me to find that those
  whom I wish to regard will take me at my word. But I shall grow
  egotistical upon the strength of your Lordship's good opinion. I shall
  be heartily glad to see you on Saturday morning, and perhaps shall
  prevail upon you to take a luncheon with us at our dinner-time(3). The
  nature of your letter would have brought upon you a long answer,
  filled perhaps with an enthusiasm that might have made you smile; but
  I am keeping your servant in the cold, and so, among other good
  offices, you see what he has done for you. However, I would not make a
  light thing of so good a matter as I mean my enthusiasm to be, and
  intend, before I have done, that you shall have as sound a regard for
  it, as I have for the feelings on your Lordship's part that have
  called it forth.

  "Yours, my dear Lord, most sincerely and cordially,

  "Leigh Hunt.

  "Surrey Jail, 2'd Dec'r., 1813."]





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368.--To John Murray.


Dec. 3, 1813.


I send you a _scratch_ or _two_, the which _heal_. The _Christian
Observer_ [1] is very savage, but certainly uncommonly well written--and
quite uncomfortable at the naughtiness of book and author. I rather
suspect you won't much like the _present_ to be more moral, if it is to
share also the usual fate of your virtuous volumes.

Let me see a proof of the _six_ before _incorporation_.



[Footnote 1: The 'Christian Observer' for November, 1813 (pp. 731-737)
felt compelled to review 'The Giaour', because of its extraordinary
popularity; but it found that some of the passages savoured "too much of
Newgate and Bedlam for our expurgated pages." It acknowledged one
obligation to Byron.

  "He never attempts to deceive the world by representing the profligate
  as happy.... And his testimony is of the more value, as his situation
  in life must have permitted him to see the experiment tried under the
  most favourable circumstances. He has probably seen more than one
  example of young men of high birth, talents, and expectancies, ...
  sink under the burden of unsubdued tempers, licentious alliances, and
  ennervating indulgence.... He has _seen_ all this; nay, perhaps--But
  we check our pen," etc., etc.]





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369.--To John Murray.


Dec. 3, 1813.


My dear Sir,--Look out the Encyclopedia article _Mecca_ whether it is
there or at _Medina_ the Prophet is entombed, if at Medina the first
lines of my alteration must run:

  Blest as the call which from Medina's dome
  Invites Devotion to her Prophet's tomb, etc.

If at "Mecca" the lines may stand as before. Page 45, C deg.. 2nd, 'Bride of
Abydos'. Yours, B.

You will find this out either by Article _Mecca, Medina_ or _Mahommed_.
I have no book of reference by me.





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370.--To John Murray.


[No date.]


Did you look out? is it _Medina_ or _Mecca_ that contains the _holy_
Sepulchre? don't make me blaspheme by your negligence. I have no books
of reference or I would save you the trouble. I _blush_ as a good
Mussulman to have confused the point. Yours, B.





       *       *       *       *       *





371.--To John Murray.


Dec. 4, 1813.


Dear Sir,--I have redde through your Persian Tales [1], and have taken
the liberty of making some remarks on the _blank_ pages. There are many
beautiful passages, and an interesting story; and I cannot give you a
stronger proof that such is my opinion, than by the _date_ of the
_hour--two o'clock_,--till which it has kept me awake _without a yawn_.

The conclusion is not quite correct in _costume_: there is no _Mussulman
suicide_ on record--at least for _love_. But this matters not. The tale
must have been written by some one who has been on the spot, and I wish
him, and he deserves, success. Will you apologise to the author for the
liberties I have taken with his MS.? Had I been less awake to, and
interested in, his theme, I had been less obtrusive; but you know _I_
always take this in good part, and I hope he will. It is difficult to
say what _will_ succeed, and still more to pronounce what _will not_.
_I_ am at this moment in _that uncertainty_ (on your _own_ score); and
it is no small proof of the author's powers to be able to _charm_ and
_fix_ a _mind's_ attention on similar subjects and climates in such a
predicament. That he may have the same effect upon all his readers is
very sincerely the wish, and hardly the _doubt_, of

Yours truly, B.



[Footnote 1: Henry Gally Knight (1786-1846), who was with Byron at
Trinity, Cambridge, and afterwards distinguished himself by his
architectural writings (e.g. 'The Normans in Sicily,' 1838), began his
literary career with 'Ilderim, a Syrian Tale' (1816). 'Phrosyne, a
Grecian Tale'; 'Alashtar, an Arabian Tale' (1817), was followed, after a
considerable interval, by 'Eastern Sketches' (about 1829-30). If the
manuscript of the first-mentioned volume is that to which Byron refers,
he seems to have changed his mind as to its merits (March 25, 1817):

  "I tried at 'Ilderim;'
              Ahem!"]





       *       *       *       *       *





372.--To John Murray.


Monday evening, Dec. 6, 1813.


Dear Sir,--It is all very well, except that the lines are not numbered
properly, and a diabolical mistake, page 67., which _must_ be corrected
with the _pen_, if no other way remains; it is the omission of "_not_"
before "_disagreeable_" in the _note_ on the _amber_ rosary. This is
really horrible, and nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the
Threshold--I mean the _misnomer_ of bride. Pray do not let a copy go
without the "_not_;" it is nonsense, and worse than nonsense, as it now
stands. I wish the printer was saddled with a vampire.

Yours ever, B.

P.S.--It is still _hath_ instead of _have_ in page 20.; never was any
one so _misused_ as I am by your Devils of printers.

P.S.--I hope and trust the "_not_" was inserted in the first Edition. We
must have something--any thing--to set it right. It is enough to answer
for one's own bulls, without other people's.





       *       *       *       *       *





373.--To Thomas Moore.


December 8, 1813.


Your letter, like all the best, and even kindest things in this world,
is both painful and pleasing. But, first, to what sits nearest. Do you
know I was actually about to dedicate to you,--not in a formal
inscription, as to one's _elders_,--but through a short prefatory
letter, in which I boasted myself your intimate, and held forth the
prospect of _your_ poem; when, lo! the recollection of your strict
injunctions of secrecy as to the said poem, more than _once_ repeated by
word and letter, flashed upon me, and marred my intents. I could have no
motive for repressing my own desire of alluding to you (and not a day
passes that I do not think and talk of you), but an idea that you might,
yourself, dislike it. You cannot doubt my sincere admiration, waving
personal friendship for the present, which, by the by, is not less
sincere and deep rooted. I have you by rote and by heart; of which _ecce
signum!_ When I was at Aston, on my first visit, I have a habit, in
passing my time a good deal alone, of--I won't call it singing, for that
I never attempt except to myself--but of uttering, to what I think
tunes, your "Oh breathe not," "When the last glimpse," and "When he who
adores thee," with others of the same minstrel;--they are my matins and
vespers. I assuredly did not intend them to be overheard, but, one
morning, in comes, not _La Donna_, but _Il Marito_, with a very grave
face, saying, "Byron, I must request you won't sing any more, at least
of those songs." I stared, and said, "Certainly, but why?"--"To tell you
the truth," quoth he, "they make my wife _cry_, and so melancholy, that
I wish her to hear no more of them."

Now, my dear M., the effect must have been from your words, and
certainly not my music. I merely mention this foolish story to show you
how much I am indebted to you for even your pastimes. A man may praise
and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases--at least, in
composition. Though I think no one equal to you in that department, or
in satire,--and surely no one was ever so popular in both,--I certainly
am of opinion that you have not yet done all _you_ can do, though more
than enough for any one else. I want, and the world expects, a longer
work from you; and I see in you what I never saw in poet before, a
strange diffidence of your own powers, which I cannot account for, and
which must be unaccountable, when a _Cossac_ like me can appal a
_cuirassier_. Your story I did not, could not, know,--I thought only of
a Peri. I wish you had confided in me, not for your sake, but mine, and
to prevent the world from losing a much better poem than my own, but
which, I yet hope, this _clashing_ will not even now deprive them of
[1].

Mine is the work of a week, written, _why_ I have partly told you, and
partly I cannot tell you by letter--some day I will.

Go on--I shall really be very unhappy if I at all interfere with you.
The success of mine is yet problematical; though the public will
probably purchase a certain quantity, on the presumption of their own
propensity for 'The Giaour' and such "horrid mysteries." The only
advantage I have is being on the spot; and that merely amounts to saving
me the trouble of turning over books which I had better read again. If
_your chamber_ was furnished in the same way, you have no need to _go
there_ to describe--I mean only as to _accuracy_--because I drew it from
recollection.

This last thing of mine _may_ have the same fate, and I assure you I
have great doubts about it. But, even if not, its little day will be
over before you are ready and willing. Come out--"screw your courage to
the sticking-place." [2]

Except the _Post Bag_ (and surely you cannot complain of a want of
success there), you have not been _regularly_ out for some years. No man
stands higher,--whatever you may think on a rainy day, in your
provincial retreat.

  "Aucun homme, dans aucune langue, n'a ete, peut-etre, plus
  completement le poete du coeur et le poete des femmes. Les critiques
  lui reprochent de n'avoir represente le monde ni tel qu'il est, ni tel
  qu'il doit etre; _mais les femmes repondent qu'il l'a represente tel
  qu'elles le desirent._"

I should have thought Sismondi [3] had written this for you instead of
Metastasio.

Write to me, and tell me of _yourself_. Do you remember what Rousseau
said to some one--"Have we quarrelled? you have talked to me often, and
never once mentioned yourself."

P.S.--The last sentence is an indirect apology for my egotism,--but I
believe in letters it is allowed. I wish it was _mutual_. I have met
with an odd reflection in Grimm; it shall not--at least the bad part--be
applied to you or me, though _one_ of us has certainly an indifferent
name--but this it is:--"Many people have the reputation of being wicked,
with whom we should be too happy to pass our lives". I need not add it
is a woman's saying--a Mademoiselle de Sommery's [4].



[Footnote 1:

  "Among the stories intended to be introduced into 'Lalla Rookh', which
  I had begun, but, from various causes, never finished, there was one
  which I had made some progress in, at the time of the appearance of
  'The Bride', and which, on reading that poem, I found to contain such
  singular coincidences with it, not only in locality and costume, but
  in plot and characters, that I immediately gave up my story
  altogether, and began another on an entirely new subject--the
  Fire-worshippers. To this circumstance, which I immediately
  communicated to him, Lord Byron alludes in this letter. In my hero (to
  whom I had even given the name of 'Zelim,' and who was a descendant of
  Ali, outlawed, with all his followers, by the reigning Caliph) it was
  my intention to shadow out, as I did afterwards in another form, the
  national cause of Ireland. To quote the words of my letter to Lord
  Byron on the subject: 'I chose this story because one writes best
  about what one feels most, and I thought the parallel with Ireland
  would enable me to infuse some vigour into my hero's character. But to
  aim at vigour and strong feeling after 'you' is hopeless;--that region
  "was made for Caesar."'"

(Moore).]


[Footnote 2: 'Macbeth', act i. sc. 7.]


[Footnote 3: 'De la Litterature du Midi de l'Europe', ed. 1813, tom. ii.
p. 436.]


[Footnote 4: Grimm ('Correspondance Litteraire', ed. 1813, part iii. tom
ii. p. 126) says of Mlle. de Sommery, who died of apoplexy in 1790,

  "Que de gens ont la reputation d'etre mechans, avec lesquels on serait
  trop heureux de passer sa vie."

The 'Biographie Universelle' says of her,

  "Elle avait du talent pour ecrire; mais elle ne l'exerca que fort tard
  .... Le premier livre qu'elle publia, n'etant plus tres jeune, fut un
  recueil de pensees detachees, dedie aux manes de Saurin, qu'elle
  intitula 'Doutes sur differentes Opinions recues dans la Societe'. Ce
  recueil eut un veritable succes."

Mlle. de Sommery also published, besides the 'Doutes' (1782), 'Lettres
de Madame la Comtesse de L. a M. le Comte de R'. (1785); 'Lettres de
Mlle. de Tourville a Madame la Comtesse de Lenoncourt' (1788);
'L'Oreille, conte Asiatique' (1789).]





       *       *       *       *       *





374.--To John Galt [1].


Dec. 11, 1813.


My dear Galt,--There was no offence--there _could_ be none. I thought it
by no means impossible that we might have hit on something similar,
particularly as you are a dramatist, and was anxious to assure you of
the truth, viz., that I had not wittingly seized upon plot, sentiment,
or incident; and I am very glad that I have not in any respect trenched
upon your subjects. Something still more singular is, that the _first_
part, where you have found a coincidence in some events within your
observations on _life_, was _drawn_ from _observations_ of mine also,
and I meant to have gone on with the story, but on _second_ thoughts, I
thought myself _two centuries_ at least too late for the subject; which,
though admitting of very powerful feeling and description, yet is not
adapted for this age, at least this country, though the finest works of
the Greeks, one of Schiller's and Alfieri's in modern times, besides
several of our _old_ (and best) dramatists, have been grounded on
incidents of a similar cast. I therefore altered it as you perceive, and
in so doing have weakened the whole, by interrupting the train of
thought: and in composition I do not think _second_ thoughts are the
best, though _second_ expressions may improve the first ideas.

I do not know how other men feel towards those they have met abroad, but
to me there seems a kind of tie established between all who have met
together in a foreign country, as if we had met in a state of
pre-existence, and were talking over a life that has ceased: but I
always look forward to renewing my travels; and though _you_, I think,
are now stationary, if I can at all forward your pursuits _there_ as
well as here, I shall be truly glad in the opportunity.

Ever yours very sincerely, B.

P.S.--I leave town for a day or two on Monday, but after that I am
always at home, and happy to see you till half-past two.



[Footnote 1: For John Galt, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 243 [Footnote 1 of
Letter 130], and vol. ii. p. 101, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 255].
Galt wrote to Byron in 1813, pointing out that "there was a remarkable
coincidence in the story" (of 'The Bride of Abydos') "with a matter in
which I had been interested" ('Life of Byron', p. 180, ed. 1830). Byron,
imagining himself charged with plagiarism, wrote a somewhat angry reply,
to which Gait answered by stating that the coincidence was not one of
ideas, sentiment, or story, but of real fact. He received the above
answer ('Life of Byron', pp. 181, 182).

On this poem Byron seems to have been particularly sensitive. He is
accused of borrowing the opening lines from Mignon's song in Goethe's
'Wilhelm Meister':

  "Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen bluehn?"

Cyrus Redding ('Yesterday and To-day', vol. ii. pp. 14, 15) suggests
that Byron used the translation of the poem which he himself had made
and published in 1812 or 1813.

Byron was also charged with pilfering them from Madame de Stael.

  "Do you know de Stael's lines?" he asked Lady Blessington
  ('Conversations', pp. 326, 327); "for if I am a thief, she must be the
  plundered, as I don't read German and do French: yet I could almost
  swear that I never saw her verses when I wrote mine, nor do I even now
  remember them. I think the first began with 'Cette terre,' etc., etc.;
  but the rest I forget. As you have a good memory, perhaps you would
  repeat them."

  "I did so," says Lady Blessington, "and they are as follows:

    "'Cette terre, ou les myrtes fleurissent,
    Ou les rayons des cieux tombent avec amour,
    Ou des sons enchanteurs dans les airs retentissent,
    Ou la plus douce nuit succede au plus beau jour,' etc."]





       *       *       *       *       *





375.--To John Murray.


Decr. y'r 14th, 1813.


Deare Sir,--Send y'e E'r of ye new R'w a copy as he hath had y'e trouble
of two walks on y't acct.

As to the man of the _Satirist_--I hope you have too much spirit to
allow a single Sheet to be offered as a peace offering to him or any
one. If you _do_, expect _never_ to be _forgiven_ by me--if he is not
personal he is quite welcome to his opinion--and if he is, I have my own
remedy.

Send a copy _double_ to Dr. Clarke (y'e traveller) Cambrigge by y'e
first opportunitie--and let me see you in y'e morninge y't I may mention
certain thinges y'e which require sundrie though slight alterations.

Sir, your Servitor, Biron





       *       *       *       *       *





376.--To Thomas Ashe [1].


4, Bennet Street, St. James's, Dec. 14, 1813.


Sir,--I leave town for a few days to-morrow. On my return, I will answer
your letter more at length.

Whatever may be your situation, I cannot but commend your resolution to
abjure and abandon the publication and composition of works such as
those to which you have alluded. Depend upon it they amuse _few_,
disgrace both _reader_ and _writer_, and benefit _none_. It will be my
wish to assist you, as far as my limited means will admit, to break such
a bondage. In your answer, inform me what sum you think would enable you
to extricate yourself from the hands of your employers, and to regain,
at least, temporary independence, and I shall be glad to contribute my
mite towards it. At present, I must conclude. Your name is not unknown
to me, and I regret, for your own sake, that you have ever lent it to
the works you mention. In saying this, I merely repeat your _own words_
in your letter to me, and have no wish whatever to say a single syllable
that may appear to insult your misfortunes. If I have, excuse me; it is
unintentional.

Yours, etc.,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Thomas Ashe (1770-1835) had already written books of travel
in North and South America, and two novels--'The Spirit of "The
Book'"(1811), and 'The Liberal Critic, or Henry Percy' (1812). He was a
man of more ability than character, but possessed little of either. His
'Memoirs' (1815) describe his literary undertakings, one at least of
which was of a blackmailing kind, and are interspersed with
protestations of his desire for independence, and of regrets for the
wretched stuff that dropped from his pen.

His first novel, 'The Spirit of "The Book,"' gained some success from
its subject. In 1806-7 Lady Douglas brought certain charges against the
Princess of Wales, which were answered on her behalf by Spencer
Perceval. The extraordinary secrecy with which this defence, called "The
Book," was printed, and its complete suppression, excited curiosity,
which was increased by the following advertisement in the 'Times' for
March 27, 1809:

  "'A Book'--Any Person having in their possession a COPY of a CERTAIN
  BOOK, printed by Mr. Edwards, in 1807, but 'never published',
  with W. Lindsell's Name as the Seller of the same on the title page,
  and will bring it to W. Lindsell, Bookseller, Wimpole-Street, will
  receive a handsome gratuity."

The subject-matter of this book, then unknown to the public, Ashe
professes to embody in 'The Spirit of "The Book;" or, Memoirs of
Caroline, Princess of Hasburgh, a Political and Amatory Romance' (3
vols., 1811). The letters, which purport to be written from Caroline to
Charlotte, and contain (vol. ii. pp. 152-181) an attack on the Lady
Jersey, who attended the princess, are absolutely dull, and scarcely
even indecent.

Ashe's 'Memoirs and Confessions' (3 vols., 1815) are dedicated to the
Duke of Northumberland and to Byron, to whom, in a preface written at
Havre, he acknowledges his "transcendent obligations."]





       *       *       *       *       *





377.--To Professor Clarke [1].


Dec. 15, 1813.


Your very kind letter is the more agreeable, because, setting aside
talents, judgment, and the _laudari a laudato_, etc., you have been on
the spot; you have seen and described more of the East than any of your
predecessors--I need not say how ably and successfully; and (excuse the
bathos) you are one of the very few men who can pronounce how far my
costume (to use an affected but expressive word) is correct. As to
poesy, that is, as "men, gods, and columns," please to decide upon it;
but I am sure that I am anxious to have an observer's, particularly a
famous observer's, testimony on the fidelity of my manners and dresses;
and, as far as memory and an oriental twist in my imagination have
permitted, it has been my endeavour to present to the Franks, a sketch
of that of which you have and will present them a complete picture. It
was with this notion, that I felt compelled to make my hero and heroine
relatives, as you well know that none else could there obtain that
degree of intercourse leading to genuine affection; I had nearly made
them rather too much akin to each other; and though the wild passions of
the East, and some great examples in Alfieri, Ford, and Schiller (to
stop short of antiquity), might have pleaded in favour of a copyist, yet
the time and the north (not Frederic, but our climate) induced me to
alter their consanguinity and confine them to cousinship. I also wished
to try my hand on a female character in Zuleika, and have endeavoured,
as far as the grossness of our masculine ideas will allow, to preserve
her purity without impairing the ardour of her attachment.

As to criticism, I have been reviewed about a hundred and fifty
times--praised and abused. I will not say that I am become indifferent
to either eulogy or condemnation, but for some years at least I have
felt grateful for the former, and have never attempted to answer the
latter. For success equal to the first efforts, I had and have no hope;
the novelty was over, and the "Bride," like all other brides, must
suffer or rejoice for and with her husband. By the bye, I have used
"bride" Turkishly, as affianced, not married; and so far it is an
English bull, which, I trust, will be at least a comfort to all
Hibernians not bigotted to monopoly. You are good enough to mention your
quotations in your third volume. I shall not only be indebted to it for
a renewal of the high gratification received from the two first, but for
preserving my relics embalmed in your own spices, and ensuring me
readers to whom I could not otherwise have aspired.

I called on you, as bounden by duty and inclination, when last in your
neighbourhood; but I shall always take my chance; you surely would not
have me inflict upon you a formal annunciation; I am proud of your
friendship, but not so fond of myself as to break in upon your better
avocations. I trust that Mrs. Clarke is well; I have never had the
honour of presentation, but I have heard so much of her in many
quarters, that any notice she is pleased to take of my productions is
not less gratifying than my thanks are sincere, both to her and you; by
all accounts I may safely congratulate you on the possession of "a
bride" whose mental and personal accomplishments are more than poetical.

P. S.--Murray has sent, or will send, a double copy of the _Bride_ and
_Giaour_; in the last one, some lengthy additions; pray accept them,
according to old custom, "from the author" to one of his better
brethren. Your Persian, or any memorial, will be a most agreeable, and
it is my fault if not an useful present. I trust your third will be out
before I sail next month; can I say or do anything for you in the
Levant? I am now in all the agonies of equipment, and full of schemes,
some impracticable, and most of them improbable; but I mean to fly
"freely to the green earth's end," [2] though not quite so fast as
Miltons sprite.

P. S. 2nd.--I have so many things to say.--I want to show you Lord
Sligo's letter to me detailing, as he heard them on the spot, the
Athenian account of our adventure (a personal one), which certainly
first suggested to me the story of _The Giaour_. It was a strange and
not a very long story, and his report of the reports (he arrived just
after my departure, and I did not know till last summer that he knew
anything of the matter) is not very far from the truth. Don't be
alarmed. There was nothing that led further than to the water's edge;
but one part (as is often the case in life) was more singular than any
of the _Giaour's_ adventures. I never have, and never should have,
alluded to it on my own authority, from respect to the ancient proverb
on Travellers.



[Footnote 1: Dr. Clark, in October, 1814, was a candidate for the
Professorship of Anatomy, and Byron went to Cambridge to vote for his
friend. Writing to Miss Tayler, Hodgson ('Memoir', vol. i. p. 292) adds
a postscript:

  "I open my letter to say that when Lord Byron went to give his vote
  just now in the Senate House, the young men burst out into the most
  rapturous applause."

The next day he writes again:

  "I should add that as I was going to vote I met him coming away, and
  presently saw that something had happened, by his extreme paleness and
  agitation. Dr. Clark, who was with him, told me the cause, and I
  returned with B. to my room. There I begged him to sit down and write
  a letter and communicate this event, which he did not feel up to, but
  wished 'I' would. So down I sate, and commenced my acquaintance
  with Miss Milbanke by writing her an account of this most pleasing
  event, which, although nothing at Oxford, is here very unusual indeed."

The following was Miss Milbanke's answer ('ibid'., pp. 296, 297), dated,
"Seaham, November 25, 1814:"

  "Dear Sir,--It will be easier for you to imagine than for me to
  express the pleasure which your very kind letter has given me. Not
  only on account of its gratifying intelligence, but also as
  introductory to an acquaintance which I have been taught to value, and
  have sincerely desired. Allow me to consider Lord Byron's friend as
  not 'a stranger,' and accept, with my sincerest thanks, my best wishes
  for your own happiness.

  "I am, dear sir, your faithful servant,

  "A. I. MlLBANKE." ]


[Footnote 2: The Spirit in Miltons 'Comus, a Mask' (lines 1012, 1013),
says:

  "I can fly, or I can run
  Quickly to the green earths end."]





       *       *       *       *       *





378.--To Leigh Hunt.


Dec. 22, 1813.


My Dear Sir,--I am indeed "in your debt,"--and, what is still worse, am
obliged to follow _royal_ example (he has just apprised _his_ creditors
that they must wait till the next meeting), and intreat your indulgence
for, I hope, a very short time. The nearest relation and almost the only
friend I possess, has been in London for a week, and leaves it tomorrow
with me for her own residence. I return immediately; but we meet so
seldom, and are so _minuted_ when we meet at all, that I give up all
engagements till _now_, without reluctance. On my return, I must see you
to console myself for my past disappointment. I should feel highly
honoured in Mr. B.'s permission to make his acquaintance, and _there_
you are in _my_ debt; for it is a promise of last summer which I still
hope to see performed. Yesterday I had a letter from Moore; you have
probably heard from him lately; but if not, you will be glad to learn
that he is the same in heart, head, and health.





       *       *       *       *       *





379.--To John Murray.


December 27, 1813.


Lord Holland is laid up with the gout, and would feel very much obliged
if you could obtain, and send as soon as possible, Madame D'Arblay's (or
even Miss Edgeworth's) new work. I know they are not out; but it is
perhaps possible for your _Majesty_ to command what we cannot with much
suing purchase, as yet. I need not say that when you are able or willing
to confer the same favour on me, I shall be obliged. I would almost fall
sick myself to get at Madame D'Arblay's writings.

P.S.--You were talking to-day of the American E'n of a certain
unquenchable memorial of my younger days [1]. As it can't be helped now,
I own I have some curiosity to see a copy of transatlantic typography.
This you will perhaps obtain, and one for yourself; but I must beg that
you will not _import more_, because, _seriously_, I _do wish_ to have
that thing forgotten as much as it has been forgiven.

If you send to the 'Globe' E'r, say that I want neither excuse nor
contradiction, but merely a discontinuance of a most ill-grounded
charge. I never was consistent in any thing but my politics; and as my
redemption depends on that solitary virtue, it is murder to carry away
my last anchor.



[Footnote 1: 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'.]





       *       *       *       *       *





CHAPTER VIII.


JOURNAL: NOVEMBER 14, 1813--APRIL 19, 1814.

If this had been begun ten years ago, and faithfully kept!!!--heigho!
there are too many things I wish never to have remembered, as it is.
Well,--I have had my share of what are called the pleasures of this
life, and have seen more of the European and Asiatic world than I have
made a good use of. They say "Virtue is its own reward,"--it certainly
should be paid well for its trouble. At five-and-twenty, when the better
part of life is over, one should be _something_;--and what am I? nothing
but five-and-twenty--and the odd months. What have I seen? the same man
all over the world,--ay, and woman too. Give _me_ a Mussulman who never
asks questions, and a she of the same race who saves one the trouble of
putting them. But for this same plague--yellow fever--and Newstead
delay, I should have been by this time a second time close to the
Euxine. If I can overcome the last, I don't so much mind your
pestilence; and, at any rate, the spring shall see me there,--provided I
neither marry myself, nor unmarry any one else in the interval. I wish
one was--I don't know what I wish. It is odd I never set myself
seriously to wishing without attaining it--and repenting. I begin to
believe with the good old Magi, that one should only pray for the
nation, and not for the individual;--but, on my principle, this would
not be very patriotic.

No more reflections.--Let me see--last night I finished "Zuleika," my
second Turkish Tale. I believe the composition of it kept me alive--for
it was written to drive my thoughts from the recollection of:

  "Dear sacred name, rest ever unreveal'd." [1]

At least, even here, my hand would tremble to write it. This afternoon I
have burnt the scenes of my commenced comedy. I have some idea of
expectorating a romance, or rather a tale in prose;--but what romance
could equal the events:

"quaeque ipse......vidi,
Et quorum pars magna fui." [2]

To-day Henry Byron [3] called on me with my little cousin Eliza. She
will grow up a beauty and a plague; but, in the mean time, it is the
prettiest child! dark eyes and eyelashes, black and long as the wing of
a raven. I think she is prettier even than my niece, Georgina,--yet I
don't like to think so neither: and though older, she is not so clever.

Dallas called before I was up, so we did not meet. Lewis [4], too,--who
seems out of humour with every thing.

What can be the matter? he is not married--has he lost his own mistress,
or any other person's wife? Hodgson, too, came. He is going to be
married, and he is the kind of man who will be the happier. He has
talent, cheerfulness, every thing that can make him a pleasing
companion; and his intended is handsome and young, and all that. But I
never see any one much improved by matrimony. All my coupled
contemporaries are bald and discontented. W[ordsworth] and S[outhey]
have both lost their hair and good humour; and the last of the two had a
good deal to lose. But it don't much signify what falls _off_ a man's
temples in that state.

Mem. I must get a toy to-morrow for Eliza, and send the device for the
seals of myself and----Mem. too, to call on the Stael and Lady Holland
to-morrow, and on----, who has advised me (without seeing it, by the
by) not to publish "Zuleika;" [5] I believe he is right, but experience
might have taught him that not to print is _physically_ impossible. No
one has seen it but Hodgson and Mr. Gifford. I never in my life _read_ a
composition, save to Hodgson, as he pays me in kind. It is a horrible
thing to do too frequently;--better print, and they who like may read,
and if they don't like, you have the satisfaction of knowing that they
have, at least, _purchased_ the right of saying so.

I have declined presenting the Debtors' Petition [6], being sick of
parliamentary mummeries. I have spoken thrice; but I doubt my ever
becoming an orator. My first was liked; the second and third--I don't
know whether they succeeded or not. I have never yet set to it _con
amore_;--one must have some excuse to one's self for laziness, or
inability, or both, and this is mine. "Company, villanous company, hath
been the spoil of me;" [7]--and then, I "have drunk medicines," not to
make me love others, but certainly enough to hate myself.

Two nights ago I saw the tigers sup at Exeter 'Change. Except Veli
Pacha's lion in the Morea,--who followed the Arab keeper like a
dog,--the fondness of the hyaena for her keeper amused me most. Such a
conversazione!--There was a "hippopotamus," like Lord Liverpool in the
face; and the "Ursine Sloth" had the very voice and manner of my
valet--but the tiger talked too much. The elephant took and gave me my
money again--took off my hat--opened a door--_trunked_ a whip--and
behaved so well, that I wish he was my butler. The handsomest animal on
earth is one of the panthers; but the poor antelopes were dead. I should
hate to see one _here:_--the sight of the _camel_ made me pine again
for Asia Minor. _"Oh quando te aspiciam?_"



[Footnote 1:

  "Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed,
  Nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed."

Pope's 'Eloisa to Abelard', lines 9, 10.]


[Footnote 2: Virgil, 'AEneid', ii. 5:

  ". ... quoeque ipse miserrima vidi
  Et quorum pars magna fui."]


[Footnote 3: The Rev. Henry Byron, second son of the Rev. and Hon.
Richard Byron, and nephew of William, fifth Lord Byron, died in 1821.
His daughter Eliza married, in 1830, George Rochford Clarke. Byron's
"niece Georgina" was the daughter of Mrs. Leigh.]


[Footnote 4: Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775-1818), intended by his father
for the diplomatic service, was educated at Westminster and Christ
Church, Weimar, and Paris. He soon showed his taste for literature. At
the age of seventeen he had translated a play from the French, and
written a farce, a comedy called 'The East Indian' (acted at Drury Lane,
April 22, 1799), "two volumes of a novel, two of a romance, besides
numerous poems" ('Life, etc., of M. G. Lewis', vol. i. p. 70). In 1794
he was attached to the British Embassy at the Hague. There, stimulated
('ibid'., vol. i. p. 123) by reading Mrs. Radcliffe's 'Mysteries of
Udolpho', he wrote 'Ambrosio, or the Monk'. The book, published in 1795,
made him famous in fashionable society, and decided his career. Though
he sat in Parliament for Hindon from 1796 to 1802, he took no part in
politics, but devoted himself to literature.

The moral and outline of 'The Monk' are taken, as Lewis says in a letter
to his father ('Life, etc.', vol. i. pp. 154-158), and as was pointed
out in the 'Monthly Review' for August, 1797, from Addison's "Santon
Barsisa" in the 'Guardian' (No. 148). The book was severely criticized
on the score of immorality. Mathias ('Pursuits of Literature', Dialogue
iv.) attacks Lewis, whom he compares to John Cleland, whose 'Memoirs of
a Woman of Pleasure' came under the notice of the law courts:

  "Another Cleland see in Lewis rise.
  Why sleep the ministers of truth and law?"

An injunction was, in fact, moved for against the book; but the
proceedings dropped.

Lewis had a remarkable gift of catching the popular taste of the day,
both in his tales of horror and mystery, and in his ballads. In the
latter he was the precursor of Scott. Many of his songs were sung to
music of his own composition. His 'Tales of Terror' (1799) were
dedicated to Lady Charlotte Campbell, afterwards Bury, with whom he was
in love. To his 'Tales of Wonder' (1801) Scott, Southey, and others
contributed. His most successful plays were 'The Castle Spectre' (Drury
Lane, December 14, 1797), and 'Timour the Tartar' (Covent Garden, April
29, 1811).

In 1812, by the death of his father, "the Monk" became a rich man, and
the owner of plantations in the West Indies. He paid two visits to his
property, in 1815-16 and 1817-18. On the voyage home from the last visit
he died of yellow fever, and was buried at sea. His 'Journal of a West
Indian Proprietor', published in 1834, is written in sterling English,
with much quiet humour, and a graphic power of very high order.

Among his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron has the following notes on Lewis:

  "Sheridan was one day offered a bet by M. G. Lewis: 'I will bet you,
  Mr. Sheridan, a very large sum--I will bet you what you owe me as
  Manager, for my 'Castle Spectre'.'

  "'I never make _large bets_,' said Sheridan, 'but I will lay you a
  _very small_ one. I will bet you _what it is_ WORTH!'"

  "Lewis, though a kind man, hated Sheridan, and we had some words upon
  that score when in Switzerland, in 1816. Lewis afterwards sent me the
  following epigram upon Sheridan from Saint Maurice:

    "'For worst abuse of finest parts
    Was Misophil begotten;
    There might indeed be _blacker_ hearts,
    But none could be more _rotten_.'"

  Lewis at Oatlands was observed one morning to have his eyes red, and
  his air sentimental; being asked why? he replied 'that when people
  said anything 'kind' to him, it affected him deeply, and just now the
  Duchess had said something so kind to him'--here tears began to flow
  again. 'Never mind, Lewis,' said Col. Armstrong to him, 'never
  mind--don't cry, she could not mean it'.'

  "Lewis was a good man--a clever man, but a bore--a damned bore, one
  may say. My only revenge or consolation used to be setting him by the
  ears with some vivacious person who hated bores especially--Me. de
  Stael or Hobhouse, for example. But I liked Lewis; he was a Jewel of a
  Man had he been better set, I don't mean _personally_, but less
  _tiresome_, for he was tedious, as well as contradictory to everything
  and everybody. Being short-sighted, when we used to ride out together
  near the Brenta in the twilight in summer, he made me go _before_ to
  pilot him. I am absent at times, especially towards evening, and the
  consequence of this pilotage was some narrow escapes to the Monk on
  horseback. Once I led him into a ditch, over which I had passed as
  usual, forgetting to warn my convoy; once I led him nearly into the
  river instead of on the 'moveable' bridge which _in_commodes
  passengers; and twice did we both run against the diligence, which,
  being heavy and slow, did communicate less damage than it received in
  its leaders, who were 'terrassed' by the charge. Thrice did I lose him
  in the gray of the gloaming and was obliged to bring to, to his
  distant signals of distance and distress. All the time he went on
  talking without intermission, for he was a man of many words. Poor
  fellow, he died a martyr to his new riches--of a second visit to
  Jamaica.

    "'I'd give the lands of Deloraine
    Dark Musgrave were alive again!'
      _that is_
    'I would give many a Sugar Cane
    Monk Lewis were alive again!'

  "Lewis said to me, 'Why do you talk 'Venetian' (such as I could
  talk, not very fine to be sure) to the Venetians, and not the usual
  Italian?' I answered, partly from habit and partly to be understood,
  if possible. 'It may be so,' said Lewis, 'but it sounds to me like
  talking with a 'brogue' to an _Irishman_.'"

In a MS. note by Sir Walter Scott on these passages from Byron's
'Detached Thoughts', he says,

  "Mat had queerish eyes; they projected like those of some insect, and
  were flattish in their orbit. His person was extremely small and
  boyish; he was, indeed, the least man I ever saw to be strictly well
  and neatly made. I remember a picture of him by Saunders being handed
  round at Dalkeith House. The artist had ungenerously flung a dark
  folding mantle round the form, under which was half hid a dagger, or
  dark lanthorn, or some such cut-throat appurtenance. With all this the
  features were preserved and ennobled. It passed from hand to hand into
  that of Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, who, hearing the general voice
  affirm that it was very like, said aloud, 'Like Mat Lewis? Why, that
  picture is like a 'man'.' He looked, and lo! Mat Lewis's head was at
  his elbow. His boyishness went through life with him. He was a child,
  and a spoiled child, but a child of high imagination, so that he
  wasted himself in ghost stories and German nonsense. He had the finest
  ear for the rhythm of verse I ever heard--finer than Byron's.

  "Lewis was fonder of great people than he ought to have been, either
  as a man of talent or a man of fortune. He had always dukes and
  duchesses in his mouth, and was particularly fond of any one who had a
  title. You would have sworn he had been a 'parvenu' of yesterday, yet
  he had been all his life in good society.

  "He was one of the kindest and best creatures that ever lived. His
  father and mother lived separately. Mr. Lewis allowed his son a
  handsome income; but reduced it more than one half when he found that
  he gave his mother half of it. He restricted himself in all his
  expenses, and shared the diminished income with his mother as before.
  He did much good by stealth, and was a most generous creature.

  "I had a good picture drawn me, I think by Thos. Thomson, of Fox, in
  his latter days, suffering the fatigue of an attack from Lewis. The
  great statesman was become bulky and lethargic, and lay like a fat ox
  which for sometime endures the persecution of a buzzing fly, rather
  than rise to get rid of it; and then at last he got up, and heavily
  plodded his way to the other side of the room."

Referring to Byron's story of Lewis near the Brenta, Scott adds,

  "I had a worse adventure with Mat Lewis. I had been his guide from the
  cottage I then had at Laswade to the Chapel of Roslin. We were to go
  up one side of the river and come down the other. In the return he was
  dead tired, and, like the Israelites, he murmured against his guide
  for leading him into the wilderness. I was then as strong as a poney,
  and took him on my back, dressed as he was in his shooting array of a
  close sky-blue jacket, and the brightest 'red' pantaloons I ever saw
  on a human breech. He also had a kind of feather in his cap. At last I
  could not help laughing at the ridiculous figure we must both have
  made, at which my rider waxed wroth. It was an ill-chosen hour and
  place, for I could have served him as Wallace did Fawden--thrown him
  down and twisted his head off. We returned to the cottage weary
  wights, and it cost more than one glass of Noyau, which he liked in a
  decent way, to get Mat's temper on its legs again."]


[Footnote 5: 'The Bride of Abydos' was originally called 'Zuleika'. ]


[Footnote 6: The petition, directed against Lord Redesdale's Insolvent
Debtors Act, was presented by Romilly in the House of Commons, November
11, 1813, and by Lord Holland in the House of Lords, November 15, 1813.]


[Footnote 7: Henry IV., Part I. act in. sc. 3.]





       *       *       *       *       *





November 16.

Went last night with Lewis to see the first of 'Antony and Cleopatra'
[1]. It was admirably got up, and well acted--a salad of Shakspeare and
Dryden. Cleopatra strikes me as the epitome of her sex--fond, lively,
sad, tender, teasing, humble, haughty, beautiful, the devil!--coquettish
to the last, as well with the "asp" as with Antony. After doing all she
can to persuade him that--but why do they abuse him for cutting off that
poltroon Cicero's head? Did not Tully tell Brutus it was a pity to have
spared Antony? and did he not speak the Philippics? and are not "_words
things_?" [2] and such "_words_" very pestilent "_things_" too? If he
had had a hundred heads, they deserved (from Antony) a rostrum (his was
stuck up there) apiece--though, after all, he might as well have
pardoned him, for the credit of the thing. But to resume--Cleopatra,
after securing him, says, "yet go--it is your interest," etc.--how like
the sex! and the questions about Octavia--it is woman all over.

To-day received Lord Jersey's invitation to Middleton--to travel sixty
miles to meet Madame De Stael! I once travelled three thousand to get
among silent people; and this same lady writes octavos, and _talks_
folios. I have read her books--like most of them, and delight in the
last; so I won't hear it, as well as read.

Read Burns to-day. What would he have been, if a patrician? We should
have had more polish--less force--just as much verse, but no
immortality--a divorce and a duel or two, the which had he survived, as
his potations must have been less spirituous, he might have lived as
long as Sheridan, and outlived as much as poor Brinsley. What a wreck is
that man! and all from bad pilotage; for no one had ever better gales,
though now and then a little too squally. Poor dear Sherry! I shall
never forget the day he and Rogers and Moore and I passed together; when
_he_ talked, and _we_ listened, without one yawn, from six till one in
the morning.

Got my seals----. Have again forgot a play-thing for _ma petite
cousine_ Eliza; but I must send for it to-morrow. I hope Harry will
bring her to me. I sent Lord Holland the proofs of the last "_Giaour_"
and "_The Bride of Abydos_" He won't like the latter, and I don't think
that I shall long. It was written in four nights to distract my dreams
from----. Were it not thus, it had never been composed; and had I not
done something at that time, I must have gone mad, by eating my own
heart,--bitter diet;--Hodgson likes it better than "_The Giaour_" but
nobody else will,--and he never liked the Fragment. I am sure, had it
not been for Murray, _that_ would never have been published, though the
circumstances which are the ground-work make it----heigh-ho!

To-night I saw both the sisters of----; my God! the youngest so like! I
thought I should have sprung across the house, and am so glad no one was
with me in Lady H.'s box. I hate those likenesses--the mock-bird, but
not the nightingale--so like as to remind, so different as to be painful
[3].

One quarrels equally with the points of resemblance and of distinction.



[Footnote 1: 'Antony and Cleopatra' was revived at Covent Garden,
November 15, 1813, with additions from Dryden's 'All for Love, or the
World Well Lost'(1678). "Cleopatra" was acted by Mrs. Fawcit; "Marc
Antony" by Young. (See for the allusions, act v. se. 2, and act i. sc.
3.)]


[Footnote 2:

  "But words are things; and a small drop of ink,
  Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces
  That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think."

'Don Juan', Canto III. stanza lxxxviii.]


[Footnote 3:

  "-----my weal, my woe,
  My hope on high--my all below;
  Earth holds no other like to thee,
  Or, if it doth, in vain for me:
  For worlds I dare not view the dame
  Resembling thee, yet not the same."

'The Giaour'.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Nov. 17.


No letter from----; but I must not complain. The respectable Job says,
"Why should a _living man_ complain?" [1] I really don't know, except it
be that a _dead man_ can't; and he, the said patriarch, _did_ complain,
nevertheless, till his friends were tired and his wife recommended that
pious prologue,"Curse--and die;" the only time, I suppose, when but
little relief is to be found in swearing. I have had a most kind letter
from Lord Holland on "_The Bride of Abydos_," which he likes, and so
does Lady H. This is very good-natured in both, from whom I don't
deserve any quarter. Yet I _did_ think, at the time, that my cause of
enmity proceeded from Holland House, and am glad I was wrong, and wish I
had not been in such a hurry with that confounded satire, of which I
would suppress even the memory;--but people, now they can't get it, make
a fuss, I verily believe, out of contradiction.

George Ellis [2] and Murray have been talking something about Scott and
me, George _pro Scoto_,--and very right too. If they want to depose him,
I only wish they would not set me up as a competitor. Even if I had my
choice, I would rather be the Earl of Warwick than all the _kings_ he
ever made! Jeffrey and Gifford I take to be the monarch-makers in poetry
and prose. The 'British Critic', in their Rokeby Review, have
presupposed a comparison which I am sure my friends never thought of,
and W. Scott's subjects are injudicious in descending to. I like the
man--and admire his works to what Mr. Braham calls _Entusymusy_. All
such stuff can only vex him, and do me no good. Many hate his
politics--(I hate all politics); and, here, a man's politics are like
the Greek _soul_--an [Greek: eidolon], besides God knows what _other
soul_; but their estimate of the two generally go together.

Harry has not brought _ma petite cousine_. I want us to go to the play
together;--she has been but once. Another short note from Jersey,
inviting Rogers and me on the 23d. I must see my agent to-night. I
wonder when that Newstead business will be finished. It cost me more
than words to part with it--and to _have_ parted with it! What matters
it what I do? or what becomes of me?--but let me remember Job's saying,
and console myself with being "a living man."

I wish I could settle to reading again,--my life is monotonous, and yet
desultory. I take up books, and fling them down again. I began a comedy,
and burnt it because the scene ran into _reality_;--a novel, for the
same reason. In rhyme, I can keep more away from facts; but the thought
always runs through, through ... yes, yes, through. I have had a letter
from Lady Melbourne--the best friend I ever had in my life, and the
cleverest of women.

Not a word from----[Lady F. W. Webster], Have they set out from----?
or has my last precious epistle fallen into the lion's jaws? If so--and
this silence looks suspicious--I must clap on my "musty morion" and
"hold out my iron." [3]

I am out of practice--but I won't begin again at Manton's now. Besides,
I would not return his shot. I was once a famous wafer-splitter; but
then the bullies of society made it necessary. Ever since I began to
feel that I had a bad cause to support, I have left off the exercise.

What strange tidings from that Anakim of anarchy--Buonaparte [4]!

Ever since I defended my bust of him at Harrow against the rascally
time-servers, when the war broke out in 1803, he has been a _Heros de
Roman_ of mine--on the Continent; I don't want him here. But I don't
like those same flights--leaving of armies, etc., etc. I am sure when I
fought for his bust at school, I did not think he would run away from
himself. But I should not wonder if he banged them yet. To be beat by
men would be something; but by three stupid, legitimate-old-dynasty
boobies of regular-bred sovereigns--O-hone-a-rie!--O-hone-a-rie! It must
be, as Cobbett says, his marriage with the thick-lipped and thick-headed
_Autrichienne_ brood. He had better have kept to her who was kept by
Barras. I never knew any good come of your young wife, and legal
espousals, to any but your "sober-blooded boy" who "eats fish" and
drinketh "no sack." [5] Had he not the whole opera? all Paris? all
France? But a mistress is just as perplexing--that is, _one_--two or
more are manageable by division.

I have begun, or had begun, a song, and flung it into the fire. It was
in remembrance of Mary Duff, [6] my first of flames, before most people
begin to burn. I wonder what the devil is the matter with me! I can do
nothing, and--fortunately there is nothing to do. It has lately been in
my power to make two persons (and their connections) comfortable, _pro
tempore_, and one happy, _ex tempore_,--I rejoice in the last
particularly, as it is an excellent man. [7] I wish there had been more
convenience and less gratification to my self-love in it, for then there
had been more merit. We are all selfish--and I believe, ye gods of
Epicurus! I believe in Rochefoucault about _men_, and in Lucretius (not
Busby's translation) about yourselves. [8] Your bard has made you very
_nonchalant_ and blest; but as he has excused _us_ from damnation, I
don't envy you your blessedness much--a little, to be sure. I remember,
last year,----[Lady Oxford] said to me, at----[Eywood], "Have we not
passed our last month like the gods of Lucretius?" And so we had. She is
an adept in the text of the original (which I like too); and when that
booby Bus. sent his translating prospectus, she subscribed. But, the
devil prompting him to add a specimen, she transmitted him a subsequent
answer, saying, that "after perusing it, her conscience would not permit
her to allow her name to remain on the list of subscribblers." Last
night, at Lord H.'s--Mackintosh, the Ossulstones, Puysegur, [9] etc.,
there--I was trying to recollect a quotation (as _I_ think) of Stael's,
from some Teutonic sophist about architecture. "Architecture," says this
Macoronico Tedescho, "reminds me of frozen music." It is somewhere--but
where?--the demon of perplexity must know and won't tell. I asked M.,
and he said it was not in her: but Puysegur said it must be _hers_, it
was so _like_. H. laughed, as he does at all "_De l'Allemagne_"--in
which, however, I think he goes a little too far. B., I hear, contemns
it too. But there are fine passages;--and, after all, what is a
work--any--or every work--but a desert with fountains, and, perhaps, a
grove or two, every day's journey? To be sure, in Madame, what we often
mistake, and "pant for," as the "cooling stream," turns out to be the
"_mirage_" (critice _verbiage_); but we do, at last, get to something
like the temple of Jove Ammon, and then the waste we have passed is only
remembered to gladden the contrast.

Called on C--, to explain----. She is very beautiful, to my taste, at
least; for on coming home from abroad, I recollect being unable to look
at any woman but her--they were so fair, and unmeaning, and _blonde_.
The darkness and regularity of her features reminded me of my "Jannat al
Aden." But this impression wore off; and now I can look at a fair woman,
without longing for a Houri. She was very good-tempered, and every thing
was explained.

To-day, great news--"the Dutch have taken Holland,"--which, I suppose,
will be succeeded by the actual explosion of the Thames. Five provinces
have declared for young Stadt, and there will be inundation,
conflagration, constupration, consternation, and every sort of nation
and nations, fighting away, up to their knees, in the damnable quags of
this will-o'-the-wisp abode of Boors. It is said Bernadotte is amongst
them, too; and, as Orange will be there soon, they will have (Crown)
Prince Stork and King Log in their Loggery at the same time. Two to one
on the new dynasty!

Mr. Murray has offered me one thousand guineas for _The Giaour_ and _The
Bride of Abydos_. I won't--it is too much, though I am strongly tempted,
merely for the _say_ of it. No bad price for a fortnight's (a week each)
what?--the gods know--it was intended to be called poetry.

I have dined regularly to-day, for the first time since Sunday
last--this being Sabbath, too. All the rest, tea and dry biscuits--six
_per diem_. I wish to God I had not dined now!--It kills me with
heaviness, stupor, and horrible dreams; and yet it was but a pint of
Bucellas, and fish.[10] Meat I never touch,--nor much vegetable diet. I
wish I were in the country, to take exercise,--instead of being obliged
to _cool_ by abstinence, in lieu of it. I should not so much mind a
little accession of flesh,--my bones can well bear it. But the worst is,
the devil always came with it,--till I starved him out,--and I will
_not_ be the slave of _any_ appetite. If I do err, it shall be my heart,
at least, that heralds the way. Oh, my head--how it aches?--the horrors
of digestion! I wonder how Buonaparte's dinner agrees with him?

Mem. I must write to-morrow to "Master Shallow, who owes me a thousand
pounds," [11] and seems, in his letter, afraid I should ask him for it;
[12]--as if I would!--I don't want it (just now, at least,) to begin
with; and though I have often wanted that sum, I never asked for the
repayment of L10. in my life--from a friend. His bond is not due this
year, and I told him when it was, I should not enforce it. How often
must he make me say the same thing?

I am wrong--I did once ask----[13] to repay me. But it was under
circumstances that excused me _to him_, and would to any one. I took no
interest, nor required security. He paid me soon,--at least, his
_padre_. My head! I believe it was given me to ache with. Good even.



[Footnote 1: "Wherefore doth a living man complain?" ('Lam'. iii. 39).]


[Footnote 2: George Ellis (1753-1815), a contributor to the 'Rolliad'
and the 'Anti-Jacobin', and "the first converser" Walter Scott "ever
knew."]


[Footnote 3:

  "I dare not fight; but I will wink, and hold out mine iron."

'Henry V.', act ii. sc. I.]


[Footnote 4: Byron was not always, even at Harrow, attached to
Buonaparte, for, if we may trust Harness, he "roared out" at a
Buonapartist schoolfellow:

  "Bold Robert Speer was Bony's bad precursor.
  Bob was a bloody dog, but Bonaparte a worser."

His feeling for him was probably that which is expressed in the
following passage from an undated letter, written to him by Moore:

  "We owe great gratitude to this thunderstorm of a fellow for clearing
  the air of all the old legitimate fogs that have settled upon us, and
  I sincerely trust his task is not yet over."

Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 60) describes Byron's reception of the news
of the battle of Waterloo:

  "After an instant's pause, Lord Byron replied, 'I am damned sorry for
  it;' and then, after another slight pause, he added, 'I didn't know
  but I might live to see Lord Castlereagh's head on a pole. But I
  suppose I shan't now.'"

Byron's liking for Buonaparte was probably increased by his dislike of
Wellington and Blucher. The following passages are taken from the
'Detached Thoughts'(1821):

  "The vanity of Victories is considerable. Of all who fell at Waterloo
  or Trafalgar, ask any man in company to 'name you ten off hand'.
  They will stick at Nelson: the other will survive himself. 'Nelson
  was' a hero, the other is a mere Corporal, dividing with Prussians
  and Spaniards the luck which he never deserved. He even--but I hate
  the fool, and will be silent."

  "The Miscreant Wellington is the Cub of Fortune, but she will never
  lick him into shape. If he lives, he will be beaten; that's certain.
  Victory was never before wasted upon such an unprofitable soil as this
  dunghill of Tyranny, whence nothing springs but Viper's eggs."

  "I remember seeing Blucher in the London Assemblies, and never saw
  anything of his age less venerable. With the voice and manners of a
  recruiting Sergeant, he pretended to the honours of a hero; just as if
  a stone could be worshipped because a man stumbled over it."]


[Footnote 5: Henry IV., Part II. act iv. se. 3.]


[Footnote 6: Mary Duff, his distant cousin, who lived not far from the
"Plain-Stanes" of Aberdeen, in Byron's childhood. She married Mr. Robert
Cockburn, a wine-merchant in Edinburgh and London.]


[Footnote 7: The first is, perhaps, Dallas; the second probably is
Francis Hodgson, to whom he gave, from first to last, L1500.]


[Footnote 8:

  "L'interet est l'ame de l'amour-propre, de sorte que comme le corps,
  prive de son ame, est sans vue, sans ouie, sans connoissance, sans
  sentiment, et sans mouvement; de meme l'amour-propre, separe, s'il le
  faut dire ainsi, de son interet, ne voit, n'entend, ne sent, et ne se
  remue plus," etc., etc.

(Rochefoucault, Lettre a Madame Sable). The passage in Lucretius
probably is 'De Rerum Natura', i. 57-62.]


[Footnote 9:

  "Monsieur de Puysegur," says Lady H. Leveson Gower ('Letters of
  Harriet, Countess of Granville', vol. i. p. 23), "is really
  'concentre' into one wrinkle. It is the oldest, gayest, thinnest, most
  withered, and most brilliant thing one can meet with. When there are
  so many young, fat fools going about the world, I wish for the
  transmigration of souls. Puysegur might animate a whole family."

The phrase, of which Byron was in search, is Goethe's, 'eine erstarrte
Musik' (Stevens's 'Life of Madame de Stael', vol. ii. p. 195).]


[Footnote 10:  That the poet sometimes dined seems evident from the
annexed bill:

Lord Byron.

To M. Richold

1813--                   L     s.     d.
  Ballance of last bill   0    13     10
Aug.  9. To dinner bill   1     6      0
     10. To do. do.       4    13      6
     11. To do. do.       1     4      0
     14. To do. do.       1     6      0
     15. To share of do.  4     4      6
     16. To dinner bill   1     6      0
     17. To do. do.       1     6      6
     19. To do. do.       1     2      6
     20. To share of do.  4    19      0
     21. To dinner bill   1     1      6
     22. To do. do.       1     2      0
     23. To do. do.       1     2      0
     25. To do. do.       1     9      0
Aug. 26. To dinner bill   1     1      6
     27. To do. do.       1     8      6
Sept  2. To do. do.       1     4      0
      3. To do. do.       1     2      0
      4. To do. do.       1    11      0
      5. To do. do.       1     6      6
      7. To do. do.       5     7      0
      9. To do. do.       1     6      6
     26. To do. do.       1     9      0
Nov. 14. To do. do.       1     0      6
     21. To do. do.       0    19      0
                        --  --   --
                        L44    11     10]


[Footnote 11: Henry IV., Part II. act v. sc. 5.]


[Footnote 12: James Wedderburn Webster (see p. 2, note 1 [Footnote 1 of
Letter 170]).]


[Footnote 13: Probably John Cam Hobhouse, whose expenses on the tour of
1809-10 were paid by Byron, and repaid by Sir Benjamin Hobhouse.]






       *       *       *       *       *





Nov. 22, 1813.


"Orange Boven!" [1] So the bees have expelled the bear that broke open
their hive. Well,--if we are to have new De Witts and De Ruyters, God
speed the little republic! I should like to see the Hague and the
village of Brock, where they have such primitive habits. Yet, I don't
know,--their canals would cut a poor figure by the memory of the
Bosphorus; and the Zuyder Zee look awkwardly after "Ak-Denizi" [2]. No
matter,--the bluff burghers, puffing freedom out of their short
tobacco-pipes, might be worth seeing; though I prefer a cigar or a
hooka, with the rose-leaf mixed with the milder herb of the Levant. I
don't know what liberty means,--never having seen it,--but wealth is
power all over the world; and as a shilling performs the duty of a pound
(besides sun and sky and beauty for nothing) in the East,--_that_ is the
country. How I envy Herodes Atticus [3]!--more than Pomponius. And yet a
little _tumult_, now and then, is an agreeable quickener of sensation;
such as a revolution, a battle, or an _aventure_ of any lively
description. I think I rather would have been Bonneval, Ripperda,
Alberoni, Hayreddin, or Horuc Barbarossa, or even Wortley Montague, than
Mahomet himself. [4]

Rogers will be in town soon?--the 23d is fixed for our Middleton visit.
Shall I go? umph!--In this island, where one can't ride out without
overtaking the sea, it don't much matter where one goes.

I remember the effect of the _first Edinburgh Review_ on me. I heard of
it six weeks before,--read it the day of its denunciation,--dined and
drank three bottles of claret, (with S. B. Davies, I think,) neither ate
nor slept the less, but, nevertheless, was not easy till I had vented my
wrath and my rhyme, in the same pages, against every thing and every
body. Like George, in the _Vicar of Wakefield_,--"the fate of my
paradoxes" [5] would allow me to perceive no merit in another. I
remembered only the maxim of my boxing-master, which, in my youth, was
found useful in all general riots,--"Whoever is not for you is against
you--_mill_ away right and left," and so I did;--like Ishmael, my hand
was against all men, and all men's anent me. I did wonder, to be sure,
at my own success:

  "And marvels so much wit is all his own," [6]

as Hobhouse sarcastically says of somebody (not unlikely myself, as we
are old friends);--but were it to come over again, I would _not_. I have
since redde the cause of my couplets, and it is not adequate to the
effect. C----told me that it was believed I alluded to poor Lord
Carlisle's nervous disorder in one of the lines. I thank Heaven I did
not know it--and would not, could not, if I had. I must naturally be the
last person to be pointed on defects or maladies.

Rogers is silent,--and, it is said, severe. When he does talk, he talks
well; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expression is pure
as his poetry. If you enter his house--his drawing-room--his
library--you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a common mind.
There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece,
his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance
in the possessor. But this very delicacy must be the misery of his
existence. Oh the jarrings his disposition must have encountered through
life!

Southey, I have not seen much of. His appearance is _Epic_; and he is
the only existing entire man of letters. All the others have some
pursuit annexed to their authorship. His manners are mild, but not those
of a man of the world, and his talents of the first order. His prose is
perfect. Of his poetry there are various opinions: there is, perhaps,
too much of it for the present generation; posterity will probably
select. He has _passages_ equal to any thing. At present, he has _a
party_, but no _public_--except for his prose writings. The life of
Nelson is beautiful.

Sotheby [7] is a _Litterateur_, the Oracle of the Coteries, of the----s
[8], Lydia White (Sydney Smith's "Tory Virgin") [9], Mrs. Wilmot [10]
(she, at least, is a swan, and might frequent a purer stream,) Lady
Beaumont, [11] and all the Blues, with Lady Charlemont [12] at their
head--but I say nothing of _her_--"look in her face and you forget them
all," and every thing else. Oh that face!--by _te, Diva potens Cypri_, I
would, to be beloved by that woman, build and burn another Troy.

Moore has a peculiarity of talent, or rather talents,--poetry, music,
voice, all his own; and an expression in each, which never was, nor will
be, possessed by another. But he is capable of still higher flights in
poetry. By the by, what humour, what--every thing, in the "_Post-Bag!_"
There is nothing Moore may not do, if he will but seriously set about
it. In society, he is gentlemanly, gentle, and, altogether, more
pleasing than any individual with whom I am acquainted. For his honour,
principle, and independence, his conduct to----speaks "trumpet-tongued."
He has but one fault--and that one I daily regret--he is not _here_.



[Footnote 1: Holland, constituted a kingdom for Louis Napoleon (1806),
was (1810) incorporated with the French Empire. On November 15, 1813,
the people of Amsterdam raised the cry of "Orange Boven!", donned the
Orange colours, and expelled the French from the city. Their example was
followed in other provinces, and on November 21, deputies arrived in
London, asking the Prince of Orange to place himself at the head of the
movement. He landed in Holland, November 30, and entered Amsterdam the
next day in state.

A play was announced at Drury Lane, December 8, 1813, under the title of
'Orange Boven', but it was suppressed because no licence had been
obtained for its performance. It was produced December 10, 1813, and ran
about ten nights.]


[Footnote 2: The Lake of Ak-Deniz, north-east of Antioch, into and out
of which flows the Nahr-Ifrin to join the Nahr-el-Asy or Orontes.]


[Footnote 3: A typically wealthy Greek, as Pomponius Atticus was a
typically wealthy Roman.]


[Footnote 4: Bonneval (1675-1747) was a French soldier of fortune, who
served successively in the Austrian, Russian, and Turkish armies.
Ripperda (died 1737) a Dutch adventurer, became Prime Minister of Spain
under Philip V., and after his fall turned Mohammedan. Alberoni
(1664-1752) was an Italian adventurer, who became Prime Minister of
Spain in 1714. Hayreddin (died 1547) and Horuc Barbarossa (died 1518)
were Algerine pirates. Edward Wortley Montague (1713-1776), son of Lady
Mary, saw the inside of several prisons, served at Fontenoy, sat in the
British Parliament, was received into the Roman Catholic Church at
Jerusalem (1764), lived at Rosetta as a Mohammedan with his mistress,
Caroline Dormer, till 1772, and died at Padua, from swallowing a
fish-bone.]


[Footnote 5: 'Vicar of Wakefield' (chap. xx.). The Vicar's eldest son,
George,

  "resolved to write a book that should be wholly new. I therefore
  dressed up three paradoxes with some ingenuity.... 'Well,' asks the
  Vicar, 'and what did the learned world say to your paradoxes?' 'Sir,'
  replied my son, 'the learned world said nothing to my paradoxes,
  nothing at all.... I found that no genius in another could please me.
  My unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of comfort.
  I could neither read nor write with satisfaction; for excellence in
  another was my aversion, and writing was my trade.'"]


[Footnote 6: From Boileau ('Imitations, etc.', by J.C. Hobhouse):

  "With what delight rhymes on the scribbling dunce.
  He's ne'er perplex'd to choose, but right at once;
  With rapture hails each work as soon as done,
  And wonders so much wit was all his own."]


[Footnote 7: At Sotheby's house, Miss Jane Porter, author of 'The
Scottish Chiefs', etc., etc., met Byron. She made the following note of
his appearance, and after his death sent it to his sister:

  "I once had the gratification of Seeing Lord Byron. He was at Evening
  party at the Poet Sotheby's. I was not aware of his being in the room,
  or even that he had been invited, when I was arrested from listening
  to the person conversing with me by the Sounds of the most melodious
  Speaking Voice I had ever heard. It was gentle and beautifully
  modulated. I turned round to look for the Speaker, and then saw a
  Gentleman in black of an Elegant form (for nothing of his lameness
  could be discovered), and with a face I never shall forget. The
  features of the finest proportions. The Eye deep set, but mildly
  lustrous; and the Complexion what I at the time described to my
  Sister as a Sort of moonlight paleness. It was so pale, yet with all
  so Softly brilliant.

  "I instantly asked my Companion who that Gentleman was. He replied,
  'Lord Byron.' I was astonished, for there was no Scorn, no disdain,
  nothing in that noble Countenance _then_ of the proud Spirit
  which has since soared to Heaven, illuminating the Horizon far and
  wide."]


[Footnote 8: Probably the Berrys.]


[Footnote 9: Miss Lydia White, the "Miss Diddle" of Byron's 'Blues', of
whom Ticknor speaks ('Life', vol. i. p. 176) as "the fashionable
blue-stocking," was a wealthy Irishwoman, well known for her dinners and
conversaziones

  "in all the capitals of Europe. At one of her dinners in Park Street
  (all the company except herself being Whigs), the desperate prospects
  of the Whig party were discussed. Yes,' said Sydney Smith, who was
  present, 'we are in a most deplorable condition; we must do something
  to help ourselves. I think,' said he, looking at Lydia White, 'we had
  better sacrifice a Tory Virgin'"

(Lady Morgan's 'Memoirs', vol. ii. p. 236). Miss Berry, in her 'Journal'
(vol. iii. p. 49, May 8, 1815), says,

  "Lord and Lady Byron persuaded me to go with them to Miss White. Never
  have I seen a more imposing convocation of ladies arranged in a circle
  than when we entered, taking William Spencer with us. Lord Byron
  brought me home. He stayed to supper."

Miss White's last years were passed in bad health. Moore called upon
Rogers, May 7, 1826:

  "Found him in high good humour. In talking of Miss White, he said,
  'How wonderfully she does hold out! They may say what they will, but
  Miss White and 'Miss'olongi are the most remarkable things going"

('Memoirs, etc.', vol. v. p. 62). Lydia White died in February, 1827.]


[Footnote 10: Barberina Ogle (1768-1854), daughter of Sir Chaloner Ogle,
widow of Valentia Wilmot, married, in 1819, Lord Dacre. Her tragedy,
'Ina', was produced at Drury Lane, April 22, 1815. Her literary work
was, for the most part, privately printed: 'Dramas, Translations, and
Occasional Poems' (1821); 'Translations from the Italian' (1836). She
also edited her daughter's 'Recollections of a Chaperon' (1831), and
'Tales of the Peerage and Peasantry' (1835).]


[Footnote 11: Margaret Willes, granddaughter of Chief Justice Willes,
married, in 1778, Sir George Beaumont, Bart. (1753-1827), the
landscape-painter, art critic, and picture-collector, who founded the
National Gallery, was a friend of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of Dr. Johnson,
and of Wordsworth, and is mentioned by Byron in the 'Blues':

  "Sir George thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle."]


[Footnote 12: Francis William Caulfield, who succeeded his father, in
1799, as second Earl of Charlemont, married, in 1802, Anne, daughter of
William Bermingham, of Ross Hill, co. Galway. She died in 1876. Of Lady
Charlemont's beauty Byron was an enthusiastic admirer. In his 'Letter on
the Rev. W.L. Bowles's Strictures on Pope' (February 7, 1821) he says,

  "The head of Lady Charlemont (when I first saw her, nine years ago)
  seemed to possess all that sculpture could require for its ideal."

Moore ('Journals, etc.', vol. iii. p. 78) has the following entry in his
Diary for November 21, 1819:

  "Called upon Lady Charlemont, and sat with her some time. Lady
  Mansfield told me that the effect she produces here with her beauty is
  wonderful; last night, at the Comtesse d'Albany's, the Italians were
  ready to fall down and worship her."

For the two quotations, see Horace, 'Odes', I. iii. 1, and 'The Rape of
the Lock', ii. 18.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Nov. 23.


Ward--I like Ward. By Mahomet! I begin to think I like every body;--a
disposition not to be encouraged;--a sort of social gluttony that
swallows every thing set before it. But I like Ward. He is _piquant_;
and, in my opinion, will stand very _high_ in the House, and every where
else, if he applies _regularly_. By the by, I dine with him to-morrow,
which may have some influence on my opinion. It is as well not to trust
one's gratitude _after_ dinner. I have heard many a host libelled by his
guests, with his burgundy yet reeking on their rascally lips.

I have taken Lord Salisbury's box at Covent Garden for the season; and
now I must go and prepare to join Lady Holland and party, in theirs, at
Drury Lane, _questa sera_.

Holland doesn't think the man is _Junius_; but that the yet unpublished
journal throws great light on the obscurities of that part of George the
Second's reign.--What is this to George the Third's? I don't know what
to think. Why should Junius be yet dead? If suddenly apoplexed, would he
rest in his grave without sending his [Greek: eidolon] to shout in the
ears of posterity, "Junius was X.Y.Z., Esq., buried in the parish of
----. Repair his monument, ye churchwardens! Print a new edition of his
Letters, ye booksellers!" Impossible,--the man must be alive, and will
never die without the disclosure. I like him;--he was a good hater.

Came home unwell and went to bed,--not so sleepy as might be desirable.


Tuesday morning. I awoke from a dream!--well! and have not others
dreamed?--Such a dream!--but she did not overtake me. I wish the dead
would rest, however. Ugh! how my blood chilled,--and I could not
wake--and--and--heigho!

  "Shadows to-night
  Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard,
  Than could the substance of ten thousand----s,
  Arm'd all in proof, and led by shallow----." [1]

I do not like this dream,--I hate its "foregone conclusion." And am I to
be shaken by shadows? Ay, when they remind us of--no matter--but, if I
dream thus again, I will try whether _all_ sleep has the like visions.
Since I rose, I've been in considerable bodily pain also; but it is
gone, and now, like Lord Ogleby [2], I am wound up for the day.

A note from Mountnorris [3]--I dine with Ward;--Canning is to be there,
Frere [4] and Sharpe [5], perhaps Gifford. I am to be one of "the five"
(or rather six), as Lady----said a little sneeringly yesterday. They
are all good to meet, particularly Canning, and--Ward, when he likes. I
wish I may be well enough to listen to these intellectuals.

No letters to-day;--so much the better,--there are no answers. I must
not dream again;--it spoils even reality. I will go out of doors, and
see what the fog will do for me. Jackson has been here: the boxing world
much as usual;--but the club increases. I shall dine at Crib's [6]
to-morrow. I like energy--even animal energy--of all kinds; and I have
need of both mental and corporeal. I have not dined out, nor, indeed,
_at all_, lately: have heard no music--have seen nobody. Now for a
_plunge_--high life and low life. _Amant_ alterna _Camoenae!_ [7].

I have burnt my _Roman_--as I did the first scenes and sketch of my
comedy--and, for aught I see, the pleasure of burning is quite as great
as that of printing. These two last would not have done. I ran into
_realities_ more than ever; and some would have been recognised and
others guessed at.

Redde the _Ruminator_--a collection of Essays, by a strange, but able,
old man [Sir Egerton Brydges] [8], and a half-wild young one, author of
a poem on the Highlands, called _Childe Alarique_ [9].

The word "sensibility" (always my aversion) occurs a thousand times in
these Essays; and, it seems, is to be an excuse for all kinds of
discontent. This young man can know nothing of life; and, if he
cherishes the disposition which runs through his papers, will become
useless, and, perhaps, not even a poet, after all, which he seems
determined to be. God help him! no one should be a rhymer who could be
any thing better. And this is what annoys one, to see Scott and Moore,
and Campbell and Rogers, who might have all been agents and leaders, now
mere spectators. For, though they may have other ostensible avocations,
these last are reduced to a secondary consideration.----, too,
frittering away his time among dowagers and unmarried girls. If it
advanced any _serious_ affair, it were some excuse; but, with the
unmarried, that is a hazardous speculation, and tiresome enough, too;
and, with the veterans, it is not much worth trying, unless, perhaps,
one in a thousand.

If I had any views in this country, they would probably be parliamentary
[10].

But I have no ambition; at least, if any, it would be _aut Caesar aut
nihil_. My hopes are limited to the arrangement of my affairs, and
settling either in Italy or the East (rather the last), and drinking
deep of the languages and literature of both. Past events have unnerved
me; and all I can now do is to make life an amusement, and look on while
others play. After all, even the highest game of crowns and sceptres,
what is it? _Vide_ Napoleon's last twelvemonth. It has completely upset
my system of fatalism. I thought, if crushed, he would have fallen, when
_fractus illabitur orbis_, [11] and not have been pared away to gradual
insignificance; that all this was not a mere _jeu_ of the gods, but a
prelude to greater changes and mightier events. But men never advance
beyond a certain point; and here we are, retrograding, to the dull,
stupid old system,--balance of Europe--poising straws upon kings' noses,
instead of wringing them off! Give me a republic, or a despotism of one,
rather than the mixed government of one, two, three. A republic!--look
in the history of the Earth--Rome, Greece, Venice, France, Holland,
America, our short (_eheu!_) Commonwealth, and compare it with what they
did under masters. The Asiatics are not qualified to be republicans, but
they have the liberty of demolishing despots, which is the next thing to
it. To be the first man--not the Dictator--not the Sylla, but the
Washington or the Aristides--the leader in talent and truth--is next to
the Divinity! Franklin, Penn, and, next to these, either Brutus or
Cassius--even Mirabeau--or St. Just. I shall never be any thing, or
rather always be nothing. The most I can hope is, that some will say,
"He might, perhaps, if he would."


12, midnight.

Here are two confounded proofs from the printer. I have looked at the
one, but for the soul of me, I can't look over that _Giaour_ again,--at
least, just now, and at this hour--and yet there is no moon.

Ward talks of going to Holland, and we have partly discussed an
_ensemble_ expedition. It must be in ten days, if at all, if we wish to
be in at the Revolution. And why not?----is distant, and will be at
----, still more distant, till spring. No one else, except Augusta,
cares for me; no ties--no trammels--_andiamo dunque--se torniamo,
bene--se non, ch' importa?_ Old William of Orange talked of dying in
"the last ditch" of his dingy country. It is lucky I can swim, or I
suppose I should not well weather the first. But let us see. I have
heard hyeenas and jackalls in the ruins of Asia; and bull-frogs in the
marshes; besides wolves and angry Mussulmans. Now, I should like to
listen to the shout of a free Dutchman.

Alla! Viva! For ever! Hourra! Huzza!--which is the most rational or
musical of these cries? "Orange Boven," according to the 'Morning Post'.



[Footnote 1:

  "By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
  Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
  Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers,
  Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond."

'Richard III'., act v. sc. 3.]


[Footnote 2: "Lord Ogleby" is a character in 'The Clandestine Marriage'
(by Colman and Garrick, first acted at Drury Lane, February 20, 1766).
"Brush," his valet, says (act ii.) of his master,

  "What with qualms, age, rheumatism, and a few surfeits in his youth,
  he must have a great deal of brushing, oyling, screwing, and winding
  up, to set him a-going for the day."]


[Footnote 3: Viscount Valentia, created in 1793 Earl of Mountnorris, was
the father of Byron's friend, Viscount Valentia (afterwards second and
last Earl of Mountnorris, died in 1844); of Lady Frances Wedderburn
Webster; of Lady Catherine Annesley, who married Lord John Somerset, and
died in 1865; and of Lady Juliana Annesley, who married Robert Bayly, of
Ballyduff.]


[Footnote 4:  John Hookham Frere (1769-1846), educated at Eton, and
Caius College, Cambridge (Fellow, 1792), M.P. for West Loe (1796-1802),
was a clerk in the Foreign Office. A school-friend of Canning, he joined
with him in the 'Anti-Jacobin' (November 20, 1797--July 9, 1798). Among
the pieces which he contributed, in whole or part, are "The Loves of the
Triangles," "The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-grinder," "The Rovers,
or the Double Arrangement," "_La Sainte Guillotine_" "New Morality," and
the "Meeting of the Friends of Freedom." He was British Envoy at Lisbon
(1800-1804) and to the Spanish Junta (October, 1808-April, 1809). From
this post he was recalled, owing to the fatal effects of his advice to
Sir John Moore, and he never again held any public appointment. From
1818 to 1846 he lived at Malta, where he died.

His translations of "The Frogs" of Aristophanes (1839), and of "The
Acharnians, the Knights, and the Birds" (1840), are masterpieces of
spirit and fidelity. His 'Prospectus and Specimen of an intended
National Work, by William and Robert Whistlecraft' (cantos i., ii.,
1817; cantos iii., iv., 1818), inspired Byron with 'Beppo'.

Ticknor describes him in 1819 ('Life', vol. i. p. 267):

  "Frere is a slovenly fellow. His remarks on Homer, in the 'Classical
  Journal', prove how fine a Greek scholar he is; his 'Quarterly
  Reviews', how well he writes; his 'Rovers, or the Double Arrangement,'
  what humour he possesses; and the reputation he has left in Spain and
  Portugal, how much better he understood their literatures than they do
  themselves; while, at the same time, his books left in France, in
  Gallicia, at Lisbon, and two or three places in England; his
  manuscripts, neglected and lost to himself; his manners, lazy and
  careless; and his conversation, equally rich and negligent, show how
  little he cares about all that distinguishes him in the eyes of the
  world. He studies as a luxury, he writes as an amusement, and
  conversation is a kind of sensual enjoyment to him. If he had been
  born in Asia, he would have been the laziest man that ever lived."]


[Footnote 5: For "Conversation" Sharp, see p. 341, 'note' 2 [Footnote 2
of Journal entry for 24 November, 1813.]]


[Footnote 6: Thomas Cribb (1781-1848), born at Bitton, near Bristol,
began life as a bell-hanger, became first a coal-porter, then a sailor,
and finally found his vocation as a pugilist. In his profession he was
known, from one of his previous callings, as the "Black Diamond." His
first big fight was against George Maddox (January 7, 1805), whom he
defeated after seventy-six rounds. He twice beat the ex-champion, the
one-eyed Jem Belcher (April 8, 1807, and February 1, 1809), and with his
victory over Bob Gregson (October 25, 1808; see 'Letters', vol. i. p.
207, 'note' 1  [Footnote 2 of Letter 108]) became champion of England.
His two defeats of Molineaux, the black pugilist (December 18, 1810, and
September 28, 1811), established his title, which was never again
seriously challenged, and in 1821 it was conferred upon him for life.
Cribb was one of the prize-fighters, who, dressed as pages, kept order
at the Coronation of George IV. In 1813 he was landlord of the King's
Arms, Duke Street, St. James's, and universally respected as the honest
head of the pugilistic profession. He died in 1848 at Woolwich; three
years later a monument was erected to his memory by public subscription
in Woolwich Churchyard. It represents "a British lion grieving over the
ashes of a British hero," and on the plinth is the inscription, "Respect
the ashes of the brave."]


[Footnote 7: Virgil, 'Eclogues', iii. 59.]


[Footnote 8: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges (1762-1837), poet, novelist,
genealogist, and bibliographer, published, in 1813, 'The Ruminator:
containing a series of moral, critical, and sentimental Essays'. Of the
104 Essays, 72 appeared in the 'Censura Literaria' between January,
1807, and June, 1809. The remainder were by Gillies, except two by the
Rev. Francis Wrangham and two by the Rev. Montagu Pennington. No. 50 is
a review of some original poems by Capell Lofft, including a Greek ode
on Eton College.

Gillies, in his 'Memoirs of a Literary Veteran' (vol. ii. p. 4), says
that in 1809 he addressed an anonymous letter to Brydges, containing
some thoughts on the advantages of retirement (the subject of 'Childe
Alarique'). The letter, printed in 'The Ruminator', began his literary
career and introduced him to Brydges. 'The Ruminator', 2 vols. (1813),
and 'Childe Alarique' (1813), are among the books included in the sale
catalogue of Byron's books, April 5, 1816.]


[Footnote 9: Robert Pearse Gillies (1788-1858) wrote 'Wallace, a
Fragment' (1813); 'Childe Alarique, a Poet's Reverie, with other Poems'
(1813); 'Confessions of Sir Henry Longueville, a Novel' (1814); and
numerous other works and translations. His 'Memoirs of a Literary
Veteran' was published in 1851. He was the founder and first editor of
the 'Foreign Quarterly Review' (1827).]


[Footnote 10: The following additional notes on Byron's Parliamentary
career are taken from his 'Detached Thoughts':--

  "At the Opposition meeting of the peers, in 1812, at Lord Grenville's,
  when Lord Grey and he read to us the correspondence upon Moira's
  negociation, I sate next to the present Duke of Grafton. When it was
  over, I turned to him and said, 'What is to be done next?' 'Wake the
  Duke of Norfolk' (who was snoring away near us), replied he. 'I don't
  think the Negociators have left anything else for us to do this
  turn.'"

  "In the debate, or rather discussion, afterwards, in the House of
  Lords, upon that very question, I sate immediately behind Lord Moira,
  who was extremely annoyed at G.'s speech upon the subject, and while
  G. was speaking, turned round to me repeatedly and asked me whether I
  agreed with him? It was an awkward question to me, who had not heard
  both sides. Moira kept repeating to me, 'It was 'not so', it was so
  and so,' etc. I did not know very well what to think, but I
  sympathized with the acuteness of his feelings upon the subject."

  "Lord Eldon affects an Imitation of two very different
  Chancellors--Thurlow and Loughborough--and can indulge in an oath now
  and then. On one of the debates on the Catholic question, when we were
  either equal or within one (I forget which), I had been sent for in
  great haste from a Ball, which I quitted, I confess somewhat
  reluctantly, to emancipate five Millions of people. I came in late,
  and did not go immediately into the body of the house, but stood just
  behind the Woolsack. Eldon turned round, and, catching my eye,
  immediately said to a peer (who had come to him for a few minutes on
  the Woolsack, as is the custom of his friends), 'Damn them! they'll
  have it now, by God!--the vote that is just come in will give it
  them.'"]


[Footnote 11: Horace, 'Odes', III. iii. 7.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Wednesday, 24.


No dreams last night of the dead, nor the living; so--I am "firm as the
marble, founded as the rock," [1] till the next earthquake.

Ward's dinner went off well. There was not a disagreeable person
there--unless _I_ offended any body, which I am sure I could not by
contradiction, for I said little, and opposed nothing. Sharpe [2] (a man
of elegant mind, and who has lived much with the best--Fox, Horne Tooke,
Windham, Fitzpatrick, and all the agitators of other times and tongues,)
told us the particulars of his last interview with Windham, [3] a few
days before the fatal operation which sent "that gallant spirit to
aspire the skies." [4] Windham,--the first in one department of oratory
and talent, whose only fault was his refinement beyond the intellect of
half his hearers,--Windham, half his life an active participator in the
events of the earth, and one of those who governed nations,--_he_
regretted,--and dwelt much on that regret, that "he had not entirely
devoted himself to literature and science!!!" His mind certainly would
have carried him to eminence there, as elsewhere;--but I cannot
comprehend what debility of that mind could suggest such a wish. I, who
have heard him, cannot regret any thing but that I shall never hear him
again. What! would he have been a plodder? a metaphysician?--perhaps a
rhymer? a scribbler? Such an exchange must have been suggested by
illness. But he is gone, and Time "shall not look upon his like again."
[5]

I am tremendously in arrear with my letters,--except to----, and to her
my thoughts overpower me:--my words never compass them. To Lady
Melbourne I write with most pleasure--and her answers, so sensible, so
_tactique_--I never met with half her talent. If she had been a few
years younger, what a fool she would have made of me, had she thought it
worth her while,--and I should have lost a valuable and most agreeable
_friend_. Mem. a mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree,
you are lovers; and, when it is over, any thing but friends.

I have not answered W. Scott's last letter,--but I will. I regret to
hear from others, that he has lately been unfortunate in pecuniary
involvements. He is undoubtedly the Monarch of Parnassus, and the most
_English_ of bards. I should place Rogers next in the living list (I
value him more as the last of the best school)--Moore and Campbell both
_third_--Southey and Wordsworth and Coleridge--the rest, [Greek: hoi
polloi]--thus:



                   W. SCOTT.
                       ^

                    ROGERS.

                MOORE.--CAMPBELL.

        SOUTHEY.--WORDSWORTH.--COLERIDGE.

     <              THE MANY.              >


There is a triangular _Gradus ad Parnassum_!--the names are too numerous
for the base of the triangle. Poor Thurlow has gone wild about the
poetry of Queen Bess's reign--_c'est dommage_. I have ranked the names
upon my triangle more upon what I believe popular opinion, than any
decided opinion of my own. For, to me, some of Moore's last _Erin_
sparks--"As a beam o'er the face of the waters"--"When he who adores
thee"--"Oh blame not"--and "Oh breathe not his name"--are worth all the
Epics that ever were composed.

Rogers thinks the 'Quarterly' will attack me next. Let them. I have been
"peppered so highly" in my time, _both_ ways, that it must be cayenne or
aloes to make me taste. I can sincerely say, that I am not very much
alive _now_ to criticism. But--in tracing this--I rather believe that it
proceeds from my not attaching that importance to authorship which many
do, and which, when young, I did also. "One gets tired of every thing,
my angel," says Valmont [6].

The "angels" are the only things of which I am not a little sick--but I
do think the preference of _writers_ to _agents_--the mighty stir made
about scribbling and scribes, by themselves and others--a sign of
effeminacy, degeneracy, and weakness. Who would write, who had any thing
better to do? "Action--action--action"--said Demosthenes:
"Actions--actions," I say, and not writing,--least of all, rhyme. Look at
the querulous and monotonous lives of the "genus;"--except Cervantes,
Tasso, Dante, Ariosto, Kleist (who were brave and active citizens),
AEschylus, Sophocles, and some other of the antiques also--what a
worthless, idle brood it is!



[Footnote 1: 'Macbeth', act iii. sc. 4--

  "Whole as the marble, founded as the rock."]


[Footnote 2: Richard Sharp (1759-1835), a wealthy hat-manufacturer, was
a prominent figure in political and literary life. A consistent Whig, he
was one of the "Friends of the People," and in the House of Commons
(1806-12) was a recognized authority on questions of finance.
Essentially a "club-able man," he was a member of many clubs, both
literary and political. In Park Lane and at Mickleham he gathered round
him many friends--Rogers, Moore, Mackintosh, Macaulay, Coleridge,
Horner, Grattan, Horne Tooke, and Sydney Smith, who was so frequently
his guest in the country that he was called the "Bishop of Mickleham."
Horner (May 20, 1816) speaks of a visit paid to Sharp in Surrey, in
company with Grattan ('Memoirs', vol. ii. p. 355). Ticknor, who, in
1815, breakfasted with Sharp in Park Lane ('Life', vol. i. pp. 55, 56),
says of a party of "men of letters:"

  "I saw little of them, excepting Mr. Sharp, formerly a Member of
  Parliament, and who, from his talents in society, has been called
  'Conversation Sharp.' He has been made an associate of most of the
  literary clubs in London, from the days of Burke down to the present
  time. He told me a great many amusing anecdotes of them, and
  particularly of Burke, Porson, and Grattan, with whom he had been
  intimate; and occupied the dinner-time as pleasantly as the same
  number of hours have passed with me in England.... 'June
  7'.--This morning I breakfasted with Mr. Sharp, and had a
  continuation of yesterday,--more pleasant accounts of the great men of
  the present day, and more amusing anecdotes of the generation that has
  passed away."

Miss Berry, who met Sharp often, writes, in her Journal for March 26,
1808 ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 344),

  "He is clever, but I should suspect of little real depth of intellect."

Sharp published anonymously a volume of 'Epistles in Verse' (1828).
These were reproduced, with additions, in his 'Letters and Essays',
published with his name in 1834. His "Epistle to an Eminent Poet" is
evidently addressed to his lifelong friend, Samuel Rogers:

  "Yes! thou hast chosen well 'the better part,'
  And, for the triumphs of the noblest art,
  Hast wisely scorn'd the sordid cares of life."]


[Footnote 3: William Windham, of Felbrigg Hall (1750-1810), educated at
Eton, Glasgow, and University College, Oxford, became M.P. for Norwich
in 1784. In the following year he was made chief secretary to Lord
Northington, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. Expressing some doubts to Dr.
Johnson whether he possessed the arts necessary for Parliamentary
success, the Doctor said, "You will become an able negotiator; a very
pretty rascal." He resigned the secretaryship within the year, according
to Gibbon, on the plea of ill health. He was one of the managers of the
impeachment of Warren Hastings in 1788, Secretary at War from 1794 to
1801, and War and Colonial Secretary, 1806-7.

Windham, a shrewd critic of other speakers, called Pitt's style a
"State-paper style," because of its combined dignity and poverty, and
"verily believed Mr. Pitt could speak a king's speech off-hand." As a
speaker he was himself remarkably effective, a master of illustration
and allusion, delighting in "homely Saxon," and affecting provincial
words and pronunciation. Lord Sheffield, writing to Gibbon, February 5,
1793, says, "As to Windham, I should think he is become the best, at
least the most sensible, speaker of the whole." His love of paradox,
combined with his political independence and irresolution, gained him
the name of "Weathercock Windham;" but he was respected by both sides as
an honest politician. Outside the house it was his ambition to be known
as a thorough Englishman--a patron of horse-racing, cock-fighting,
bull-baiting, pugilism, and football. He was also a scholar, a man of
wide reading, an admirable talker, and a friend of Miss Berry and of
Madame d'Arblay, in whose Diaries he is a prominent figure. His own
'Diary' (1784-1810) was published in 1866.

On the 8th of July, 1809, he saw a fire in Conduit Street, which
threatened to spread to the house of his friend North, who possessed a
valuable library. In his efforts to save the books, he fell and bruised
his hip. A tumour formed, which was removed; but he sank under the
operation, and died June 4, 1810.]


[Footnote 4:

  "O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead;
  That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds."

'Romeo and Juliet', act iii. sc. 1.]


[Footnote 5:

  "He was a man, take him for all in all,
  I shall not look upon his like again."

'Hamlet', act i. sc. 2.]


[Footnote 6: The allusion probably is to 'The Foundling of the Forest'
(1809), by William Dimond the Younger. But no passage exactly
corresponds to the quotation.]





       *       *       *       *       *





12, Mezza Notte.


Just returned from dinner with Jackson (the Emperor of Pugilism) and
another of the select, at Crib's, the champion's. I drank more than I
like, and have brought away some three bottles of very fair claret--for
I have no headach. We had Tom Crib up after dinner;--very facetious,
though somewhat prolix. He don't like his situation--wants to fight
again--pray Pollux (or Castor, if he was the _miller_) he may! Tom has
been a sailor--a coal-heaver--and some other genteel profession, before
he took to the cestus. Tom has been in action at sea, and is now only
three-and-thirty. A great man! has a wife and a mistress, and
conversations well--bating some sad omissions and misapplications of the
aspirate. Tom is an old friend of mine; I have seen some of his best
battles in my nonage. He is now a publican, and, I fear, a sinner;--for
Mrs. Crib is on alimony, and Tom's daughter lives with the champion.
_This_ Tom told me,--Tom, having an opinion of my morals, passed her off
as a legal spouse. Talking of her, he said, "she was the truest of
women"--from which I immediately inferred she could _not_ be his wife,
and so it turned out.

These panegyrics don't belong to matrimony;--for, if "true," a man don't
think it necessary to say so; and if not, the less he says the better.
Crib is the only man except----, I ever heard harangue upon his wife's
virtue; and I listened to both with great credence and patience, and
stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth, when I found yawning
irresistible--By the by, I am yawning now--so, good night to
thee.--[Greek: Noairon] [1]



[Footnote 1: It is doubtful whether this is not a mistake for [Greek:
Npairon], a variant of [Greek: Mpairon], which is the correct
transliteration into modern Greek of 'Byron', but the MS. is
destroyed.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Thursday, November 26.


Awoke a little feverish, but no headach--no dreams neither, thanks to
stupor! Two letters; one from----, the other from Lady Melbourne--both
excellent in their respective styles.----'s contained also a very
pretty lyric on "concealed griefs;" if not her own, yet very like her.
Why did she not say that the stanzas were, or were not, of her own
composition? I do not know whether to wish them _hers_ or not. I have no
great esteem for poetical persons, particularly women; they have so much
of the "ideal" in _practics_, as well as _ethics_.

I have been thinking lately a good deal of Mary Duff. How very odd that
I should have been so utterly, devotedly fond of that girl, at an age
when I could neither feel passion, nor know the meaning of the word. And
the effect! My mother used always to rally me about this childish amour;
and, at last, many years after, when I was sixteen, she told me one day,
"Oh, Byron, I have had a letter from Edinburgh, from Miss Abercromby,
and your old sweetheart Mary Duff is married to a Mr. Co'e." And what
was my answer? I really cannot explain or account for my feelings at
that moment; but they nearly threw me into convulsions, and alarmed my
mother so much, that after I grew better, she generally avoided the
subject--to _me_--and contented herself with telling it to all her
acquaintance. Now, what could this be? I had never seen her since her
mother's _faux pas_ at Aberdeen had been the cause of her removal to her
grandmother's at Banff; we were both the merest children. I had and have
been attached fifty times since that period; yet I recollect all we said
to each other, all our caresses, her features, my restlessness,
sleeplessness, my tormenting my mother's maid to write for me to her,
which she at last did, to quiet me. Poor Nancy thought I was wild, and,
as I could not write for myself, became my secretary. I remember, too,
our walks, and the happiness of sitting by Mary, in the children's
apartment, at their house not far from the Plain-stanes at Aberdeen,
while her lesser sister Helen played with the doll, and we sat gravely
making love, in our way.

How the deuce did all this occur so early? where could it originate? I
certainly had no sexual ideas for years afterwards; and yet my misery,
my love for that girl were so violent, that I sometimes doubt if I have
ever been really attached since. Be that as it may, hearing of her
marriage several years after was like a thunder-stroke--it nearly choked
me--to the horror of my mother and the astonishment and almost
incredulity of every body. And it is a phenomenon in my existence (for I
was not eight years old) which has puzzled, and will puzzle me to the
latest hour of it; and lately, I know not why, the _recollection_ (_not_
the attachment) has recurred as forcibly as ever. I wonder if she can
have the least remembrance of it or me? or remember her pitying sister
Helen for not having an admirer too? How very pretty is the perfect
image of her in my memory--her brown, dark hair, and hazel eyes; her
very dress! I should be quite grieved to see _her now_; the reality,
however beautiful, would destroy, or at least confuse, the features of
the lovely Peri which then existed in her, and still lives in my
imagination, at the distance of more than sixteen years. I am now
twenty-five and odd months....

I think my mother told the circumstances (on my hearing of her marriage)
to the Parkynses, and certainly to the Pigot family, and probably
mentioned it in her answer to Miss A., who was well acquainted with my
childish _penchant_, and had sent the news on purpose for _me_,--and
thanks to her!

Next to the beginning, the conclusion has often occupied my reflections,
in the way of investigation. That the facts are thus, others know as
well as I, and my memory yet tells me so, in more than a whisper. But,
the more I reflect, the more I am bewildered to assign any cause for
this precocity of affection.

Lord Holland invited me to dinner to-day; but three days' dining would
destroy me. So, without eating at all since yesterday, I went to my box
at Covent Garden.

Saw----looking very pretty, though quite a different style of beauty
from the other two. She has the finest eyes in the world, out of which
she pretends _not_ to see, and the longest eyelashes I ever saw, since
Leila's and Phannio's Moslem curtains of the light. She has much
beauty,--just enough,--but is, I think, _mechante_.

I have been pondering on the miseries of separation, that--oh how seldom
we see those we love! yet we live ages in moments, _when met_. The only
thing that consoles me during absence is the reflection that no mental
or personal estrangement, from ennui or disagreement, can take place;
and when people meet hereafter, even though many changes may have taken
place in the mean time, still, unless they are _tired_ of each other,
they are ready to reunite, and do not blame each other for the
circumstances that severed them.





       *       *       *       *       *





Saturday 27

(I believe or rather am in _doubt_, which is the _ne plus ultra_ of
mortal faith.)

I have missed a day; and, as the Irishman said, or Joe Miller says for
him, "have gained a loss," or _by_ the loss. Every thing is settled for
Holland, and nothing but a cough, or a caprice of my fellow-traveller's,
can stop us. Carriage ordered, funds prepared, and, probably, a gale of
wind into the bargain. _N'importe_--I believe, with Clym o' the Clow, or
Robin Hood, "By our Mary, (dear name!) thou art both Mother and May, I
think it never was a man's lot to die before his day." [1]

Heigh for Helvoetsluys, and so forth!

To-night I went with young Henry Fox to see _Nourjahad_, a drama, which
the _Morning Post_ hath laid to my charge, but of which I cannot even
guess the author. I wonder what they will next inflict upon me. They
cannot well sink below a melodrama; but that is better than a satire,
(at least, a personal one,) with which I stand truly arraigned, and in
atonement of which I am resolved to bear silently all criticisms,
abuses, and even praises, for bad pantomimes never composed by me,
without even a contradictory aspect. I suppose the root of this report
is my loan to the manager of my Turkish drawings for his dresses, to
which he was more welcome than to my name. I suppose the real author
will soon own it, as it has succeeded; if not, Job be my model, and
Lethe my beverage!

----has received the portrait safe; and, in answer, the only remark she
makes upon it is, "indeed it is like"--and again, "indeed it is like."
With her the likeness "covered a multitude of sins;" for I happen to
know that this portrait was not a flatterer, but dark and stern,--even
black as the mood in which my mind was scorching last July, when I sat
for it. All the others of me, like most portraits whatsoever, are, of
course, more agreeable than nature.

Redde the 'Edinburgh Review' of Rogers. He is ranked highly; but where
he should be. There is a summary view of us all--_Moore_ and _me_ among
the rest; [2] and both (the _first_ justly) praised--though, by
implication (justly again) placed beneath our memorable friend.
Mackintosh is the writer, and also of the critique on the Stael. [3]

His grand essay on Burke, I hear, is for the next number. But I know
nothing of the 'Edinburgh', or of any other _Review_, but from rumour;
and I have long ceased; indeed, I could not, in justice, complain of
any, even though I were to rate poetry, in general, and my rhymes in
particular, more highly than I really do. To withdraw _myself_ from
_myself_ (oh that cursed selfishness!) has ever been my sole, my entire,
my sincere motive in scribbling at all; and publishing is also the
continuance of the same object, by the action it affords to the mind,
which else recoils upon itself. If I valued fame, I should flatter
received opinions, which have gathered strength by time, and will yet
wear longer than any living works to the contrary. But, for the soul of
me, I cannot and will not give the lie to my own thoughts and doubts,
come what may. If I am a fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I
envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

All are inclined to believe what they covet, from a lottery-ticket up to
a passport to Paradise,--in which, from the description, I see nothing
very tempting. My restlessness tells me I have something "within that
passeth show." [4]

It is for Him, who made it, to prolong that spark of celestial fire
which illuminates, yet burns, this frail tenement; but I see no such
horror in a "dreamless sleep," and I have no conception of any existence
which duration would not render tiresome. How else "fell the angels,"
even according to your creed? They were immortal, heavenly, and happy,
as their _apostate Abdiel_ [5] is now by his treachery. Time must
decide; and eternity won't be the less agreeable or more horrible
because one did not expect it. In the mean time, I am grateful for some
good, and tolerably patient under certain evils--_grace a Dieu et mon
bon temperament_.



[Footnote 1:

  "Ah, deere ladye, said Robin Hood, thou
  That art both Mother and May,
  I think it was never man's destinye
  To die before his day."

'Ballad of Robin Hood'


[Footnote 2: The following is the passage to which Byron alludes:

  "Greece, the mother of freedom and of poetry in the West, which had
  long employed only the antiquary, the artist, and the philologist, was
  at length destined, after an interval of many silent and inglorious
  ages, to awaken the genius of a poet. Full of enthusiasm for those
  perfect forms of heroism and liberty which his imagination had placed
  in the recesses of antiquity, he gave vent to his impatience of the
  imperfections of living men and real institutions, in an original
  strain of sublime satire, which clothes moral anger in imagery of an
  almost horrible grandeur; and which, though it cannot coincide with
  the estimate of reason, yet could only flow from that worship of
  perfection which is the soul of all true poetry."

'Edin. Rev'., vol. xxii. p. 37.]


[Footnote 3:

  "In the last 'Edinburgh Review' you will find two articles of mine,
  one on Rogers, and the other on Madame de Stael: they are both,
  especially the first, thought too panegyrical. I like the praises
  which I have bestowed on Lord Byron and Thomas Moore. I am convinced
  of the justness of the praises given to Madame de Stael."

'Mackintosh's Life', vol. ii. p. 271.]


[Footnote 4:

  "I have that within which passeth show."

'Hamlet', act i. sc. 2.]


[Footnote 5:

  "... the seraph Abdiel, faithful found
  Among the faithless."

Milton, 'Paradise Lost', v. 896.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Tuesday, 30th.


Two days missed in my log-book;--_hiatus_ haud _deflendus_. They were as
little worth recollection as the rest; and, luckily, laziness or society
prevented me from _notching_ them.

Sunday, I dined with the Lord Holland in St. James's Square. Large
party--among them Sir S. Romilly [1] and Lady R'y.--General Sir Somebody
Bentham, [2] a man of science and talent, I am told--Horner [3]--_the_
Horner, an Edinburgh Reviewer, an excellent speaker in the "Honourable
House," very pleasing, too, and gentlemanly in company, as far as I have
seen--Sharpe--Philips of Lancashire [4]--Lord John Russell, and others,
"good men and true." Holland's society is very good; you always see some
one or other in it worth knowing. Stuffed myself with sturgeon, and
exceeded in champagne and wine in general, but not to confusion of head.
When I _do_ dine, I gorge like an Arab or a Boa snake, on fish and
vegetables, but no meat. I am always better, however, on my tea and
biscuit than any other regimen, and even _that_ sparingly.

Why does Lady H. always have that damned screen between the whole room
and the fire? I, who bear cold no better than an antelope, and never yet
found a sun quite _done_ to my taste, was absolutely petrified, and
could not even shiver. All the rest, too, looked as if they were just
unpacked, like salmon from an ice-basket, and set down to table for that
day only. When she retired, I watched their looks as I dismissed the
screen, and every cheek thawed, and every nose reddened with the
anticipated glow.

Saturday, I went with Harry Fox to _Nourjahad_; and, I believe,
convinced him, by incessant yawning, that it was not mine. I wish the
precious author would own it, and release me from his fame. The dresses
are pretty, but not in costume;--Mrs. Horn's, all but the turban, and
the want of a small dagger (if she is a sultana), _perfect_. I never saw
a Turkish woman with a turban in my life--nor did any one else. The
sultanas have a small poniard at the waist. The dialogue is drowsy--the
action heavy--the scenery fine--the actors tolerable. I can't say much
for their seraglio--Teresa, Phannio, or----, were worth them all.

Sunday, a very handsome note from Mackintosh, who is a rare instance of
the union of very transcendent talent and great good nature. To-day
(Tuesday) a very pretty billet from M. la Baronne de Stael Holstein. [5]
She is pleased to be much pleased with my mention of her and her last
work in my notes. I spoke as I thought. Her works are my delight, and so
is she herself, for--half an hour. I don't like her politics--at least,
her _having changed_ them; had she been _qualis ab incepto_, it were
nothing. But she is a woman by herself, and has done more than all the
rest of them together, intellectually;--she ought to have been a man.
She _flatters_ me very prettily in her note;--but I _know_ it. The
reason that adulation is not displeasing is, that, though untrue, it
shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce
people to lie, to make us their friend:--that is their concern.

----is, I hear, thriving on the repute of a _pun_ which was _mine_ (at
Mackintosh's dinner some time back), on Ward, who was asking, "how much
it would take to _re-whig_ him?" I answered that, probably, "he must
first, before he was _re-whigged_, be re-_warded_." [6] This foolish
quibble, before the Stael and Mackintosh, and a number of
conversationers, has been mouthed about, and at last settled on the head
of----, where long may it remain!

George [7] is returned from afloat to get a new ship. He looks thin, but
better than I expected. I like George much more than most people like
their heirs. He is a fine fellow, and every inch a sailor. I would do
any thing, _but apostatise_, to get him on in his profession.

Lewis called. It is a good and good-humoured man, but pestilently prolix
and paradoxical and _personal_ [8]. If he would but talk half, and
reduce his visits to an hour, he would add to his popularity. As an
author he is very good, and his vanity is _ouverte_, like Erskine's, and
yet not offending.

Yesterday, a very pretty letter from Annabella [9], which I answered.
What an odd situation and friendship is ours!--without one spark of love
on either side, and produced by circumstances which in general lead to
coldness on one side, and aversion on the other. She is a very superior
woman, and very little spoiled, which is strange in an heiress--a girl
of twenty--a peeress that is to be, in her own right--an only child, and
a _savante_, who has always had her own way. She is a poetess--a
mathematician--a metaphysician, and yet, withal, very kind, generous,
and gentle, with very little pretension. Any other head would be turned
with half her acquisitions, and a tenth of her advantages.



[Footnote 1: Sir Samuel Romilly (1757-1818), Solicitor-General (1806-7),
distinguished himself in Parliament by his consistent advocacy of
Catholic Emancipation, the abolition of the slave-trade, Parliamentary
reform, and the mitigation of the harshness of the criminal law. Writing
of Romilly's 'Observations on the Criminal Law of England' (1810), Sir
James Mackintosh says,

  "It does the very highest honour to his moral character, which, I
  think, stands higher than that of any other conspicuous Englishman now
  alive. Probity, independence, humanity, and liberality breathe through
  every word; considered merely as a composition, accuracy, perspicuity,
  discretion, and good taste are its chief merits; great originality and
  comprehension of thought, or remarkable vigour of expression, it does
  not possess."

The death of his wife, October 29, 1818, so affected Romilly's mind that
he committed suicide four days later.

  "Romilly," said Lord Lansdowne to Moore ('Memoirs, etc'., vol. ii. p.
  211), "was a stern, reserved sort of man, and she was the only person
  in the world to whom he wholly unbent and unbosomed himself; when he
  lost her, therefore, the very vent of his heart was stopped up."]


[Footnote 2: Sir Samuel Bentham (1757-1831), naval architect and
engineer, like his brother Jeremy, was a strong reformer. He was a
Knight of the Russian Order of St. George, and, like Sir Samuel Egerton
Brydges, who was a Knight of the Swedish Order of St. Joachim before he
was created a baronet (1814), assumed the title in England.]


[Footnote 3: Francis Horner (1778-1817), called to the Scottish Bar in
1800, and to the English Bar in 1807, was one of the founders of the
'Edinburgh Review', and acted as second to Jeffrey in his duel with
Moore. In the House of Commons (M.P. for St. Ives, 1806-7; Wendover,
1807-12; St. Mawes, 1812-17) he was one of the most impressive speakers
of the day, especially on financial questions. When Lord Morpeth moved
(March 3, 1817) for a new writ for the borough of St. Mawes, striking
tributes were paid to his character from both sides of the House
('Memoirs and Correspondence of Francis Horner', vol. ii. pp. 416-426),
and further proof was given of public esteem by the statue erected to
his memory in Westminster Abbey. The speeches delivered in the Lower
House on March 3, 1817, were translated by Ugo Foscolo, and published
with a dedication 'al nobile giovinetto, Enrico Fox, figlio di Lord
Holland'.]


[Footnote 4: George Philips, only son of Thomas Philips of Sedgley,
Lancashire (born March 24, 1766), was created a baronet in February,
1828. He sat for South Warwickshire in the first reformed House of
Commons.]


[Footnote 5: In a note to 'The Bride of Abydos' (Canto I. st. vi.),
Byron had written,

  "For an eloquent passage in the latest work of the first female writer
  of this, perhaps of any, age, on the analogy (and the immediate
  comparison excited by that analogy) between 'painting and music,' see
  vol. iii. cap. 10, 'De l'Allemagne'."

The passage is as follows (Part III. chap, x.):

  "Sans cesse nous comparons la peinture a la musique, et la musique a
  la peinture, parceque les emotions que nous eprouvons nous revelent
  des analogies ou l'observation froide ne verroit que des differences,"
  etc., etc.

The following is Madame de Stael's "very pretty billet:"

  "Argyll St., No. 31.

  "Je ne saurais vous exprimer, my lord, a quel point je me trouve
  honoree d'etre dans une note de votre poeme, et de quel poeme! il me
  semble que pour la premiere fois je me crois certaine d'un nom
  d'avenir et que vous avez dispose pour moi de cet empire de reputation
  qui vous sera tous les jours plus soumis. Je voudrais vous parler de
  ce poeme que tout le monde admire, mais j'avouerai que je suis trop
  suspecte en le louant, et je ne cache pas qu' une louage de vous m'a
  fait epreuver un sentiment de fierte et de reconaissance qui me
  rendrait incapable de vous juger; mais heureusement vous etes au
  dessus du jugement.

  "Donnez moi quelquefois le plaisir de vous voir; il-y-a un proverbe
  francais qui dit qu'un bonheur ne va jamais sans d'autre.

  "DE STAEL."]


[Footnote 6:

  "Byron," writes Sir Walter Scott, in a hitherto unpublished note,
  "occasionally said what are called good things, but never studied for
  them. They came naturally and easily, and mixed with the comic or
  serious, as it happened. A professed wit is of all earthly companions
  the most intolerable. He is like a schoolboy with his pockets stuffed
  with crackers.

  "No first-rate author was ever what is understood by a 'great
  conversational wit'. Swift's wit in common society was either the
  strong sense of a wonderful man unconsciously exerting his powers, or
  that of the same being wilfully unbending, wilfully, in fact,
  degrading himself. Who ever heard of any fame for conversational wit
  lingering over the memory of a Shakespeare, a Milton, even of a Dryden
  or a Pope?

  "Johnson is, perhaps, a solitary exception. More shame to him. He was
  the most indolent great man that ever lived, and threw away in his
  talk more than he ever took pains to embalm in his writings.

  "It is true that Boswell has in great measure counteracted all this.
  But here is no defence. Few great men can expect to have a Boswell,
  and none 'ought' to wish to have one, far less to trust to having one.
  A man should not keep fine clothes locked up in his chest only that
  his valet may occasionally show off in them; no, nor yet strut about
  in them in his chamber, only that his valet may puff him and his
  finery abroad.

  "What might not he have done, who wrote 'Rasselas' in the evenings of
  eight days to get money enough for his mother's funeral expenses? As
  it is, what has Johnson done? Is it nothing to be the first intellect
  of 'an age'? and who seriously talks even of Burke as having been more
  than a clever boy in the presence of old Samuel?"]


[Footnote 7: George Anson Byron, R. N., afterwards Lord Byron.]


[Footnote 8: Scott has this additional note on Lewis:

  "Nothing was more tiresome than Lewis when he began to harp upon any
  extravagant proposition. He would tinker at it for hours without
  mercy, and repeat the same thing in four hundred different ways. If
  you assented in despair, he resumed his reasoning in triumph, and you
  had only for your pains the disgrace of giving in. If you disputed,
  daylight and candle-light could not bring the discussion to an end,
  and Mat's arguments were always 'ditto repeated'."]


[Footnote 9: Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Wednesday, December 1, 1813.


To-day responded to La Baronne de Stael Holstein, and sent to Leigh Hunt
(an acquisition to my acquaintance--through Moore--of last summer) a
copy of the two Turkish tales. Hunt is an extraordinary character, and
not exactly of the present age. He reminds me more of the Pym and
Hampden times--much talent, great independence of spirit, and an
austere, yet not repulsive, aspect. If he goes on _qualis ab incepto_, I
know few men who will deserve more praise or obtain it. I must go and
see him again;--the rapid succession of adventure, since last summer,
added to some serious uneasiness and business, have interrupted our
acquaintance; but he is a man worth knowing; and though, for his own
sake, I wish him out of prison, I like to study character in such
situations. He has been unshaken, and will continue so. I don't think
him deeply versed in life;--he is the bigot of virtue (not religion),
and enamoured of the beauty of that "empty name," as the last breath of
Brutus pronounced [1], and every day proves it. He is, perhaps, a little
opinionated, as all men who are the _centre_ of _circles_, wide or
narrow--the Sir Oracles, in whose name two or three are gathered
together--must be, and as even Johnson was; but, withal, a valuable man,
and less vain than success and even the consciousness of preferring "the
right to the expedient" might excuse.

To-morrow there is a party of _purple_ at the "blue" Miss Berry's. Shall
I go? um!--I don't much affect your blue-bottles;--but one ought to be
civil. There will be, "I guess now" (as the Americans say), the Staels
and Mackintoshes--good--the----s and----s--not so good--the----s,
etc., etc.--good for nothing. Perhaps that blue-winged Kashmirian
butterfly of book-learning [2], Lady Charlemont, will be there. I hope
so; it is a pleasure to look upon that most beautiful of faces.

Wrote to H.:--he has been telling that I------[3] I am sure, at least,
_I_ did not mention it, and I wish he had not. He is a good fellow, and
I obliged myself ten times more by being of use than I did him,--and
there's an end on't.

Baldwin [4] is boring me to present their King's Bench petition. I
presented Cartwright's last year; and Stanhope and I stood against the
whole House, and mouthed it valiantly--and had some fun and a little
abuse for our opposition. But "I am not i' th' vein" [5] for this
business. Now, had----been here, she would have _made_ me do it.
_There_ is a woman, who, amid all her fascination, always urged a man to
usefulness or glory. Had she remained, she had been my tutelar genius.

Baldwin is very importunate--but, poor fellow, "I can't get out, I can't
get out--said the starling." [6] Ah, I am as bad as that dog Sterne, who
preferred whining over "a dead ass to relieving a living mother"
[7]--villain--hypocrite--slave--sycophant! but _I_ am no better. Here I
cannot stimulate myself to a speech for the sake of these unfortunates,
and three words and half a smile of----had she been here to urge it
(and urge it she infallibly would--at least she always pressed me on
senatorial duties, and particularly in the cause of weakness) would have
made me an advocate, if not an orator. Curse on Rochefoucault for being
always right! In him a lie were virtue,--or, at least, a comfort to his
readers.

George Byron has not called to-day; I hope he will be an admiral, and,
perhaps, Lord Byron into the bargain. If he would but marry, I would
engage never to marry myself, or cut him out of the heirship. He would
be happier, and I should like nephews better than sons.

I shall soon be six-and-twenty (January 22d., 1814). Is there any thing
in the future that can possibly console us for not being always
_twenty-five_?

                "Oh Gioventu!
  Oh Primavera! gioventu dell' anno.
  Oh Gioventu! primavera della vita."



[Footnote 1:

"'Strato'.

  For Brutus only overcame himself,
  And no man else hath honour by his death.

       *       *       *       *       *

'Octavius'.

  According to his virtue let us use him,
  With all respect and rites of burial."

'Julius Caesar', act v. sc. 5.]


[Footnote 2: In 'The Giaour' (lines 388-392) occurs the following
passage:

  "As rising on its purple wing
  The insect-queen of Eastern spring
  O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer
  Invites the young pursuer near," etc.

To line 389 is appended this note:

  "The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, the most rare and beautiful of
  the species."]


[Footnote 3: See letter [Letter 365] to Francis Hodgson, p. 294.]


[Footnote 4: The letters which W.J. Baldwin, a debtor in the King's
Bench prison, wrote to Byron are preserved. Byron seems to have refused
to present the petition from diffidence, but he interested himself in
the subject, and probably induced Lord Holland to take up the question.
(See p. 318, 'note' 2 [Footnote 6 of the initial journal entry which
forms the beginning of Chapter VIII.]) In the list of abuses enumerated
by Baldwin is mentioned a "strong room,"  in which prisoners were
confined, without fires or glass to the windows, in the depth of winter.]


[Footnote 5: 'Richard III'., act iv, sc. 2.]


[Footnote 6: 'Sentimental Journey' (ed. 1819), vol. ii. p. 379.]


[Footnote 7: 'Ibid.', vol. ii. p. 337.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Sunday, December 5.


Dallas's nephew (son to the American Attorney-general) is arrived in
this country, and tells Dallas that my rhymes are very popular in the
United States. These are the first tidings that have ever sounded like
_Fame_ to my ears--to be redde on the banks of the Ohio! The greatest
pleasure I ever derived, of this kind was from an extract, in Cooke the
actor's life, from his journal [1], stating that in the reading-room at
Albany, near Washington, he perused _English Bards, and Scotch
Reviewers_. To be popular in a rising and far country has a kind of
_posthumous feel_, very different from the ephemeral _eclat_ and
fete-ing, buzzing and party-ing compliments of the well-dressed
multitude. I can safely say that, during my _reign_ in the spring of
1812, I regretted nothing but its duration of six weeks instead of a
fortnight, and was heartily glad to resign.

Last night I supped with Lewis; and, as usual, though I neither exceeded
in solids nor fluids, have been half dead ever since. My stomach is
entirely destroyed by long abstinence, and the rest will probably
follow. Let it--I only wish the _pain_ over. The "leap in the dark" is
the least to be dreaded.

The Duke of----called. I have told them forty times that, except to
half-a-dozen old and specified acquaintances, I am invisible. His Grace
is a good, noble, ducal person; but I am content to think so at a
distance, and so--I was not at home.

Galt called.--Mem.--to ask some one to speak to Raymond in favour of his
play. We are old fellow-travellers, and, with all his eccentricities, he
has much strong sense, experience of the world, and is, as far as I have
seen, a good-natured philosophical fellow. I showed him Sligo's letter
on the reports of the Turkish girl's _aventure_ at Athens soon after it
happened. He and Lord Holland, Lewis, and Moore, and Rogers, and Lady
Melbourne have seen it. Murray has a copy. I thought it had been
_unknown_, and wish it were; but Sligo arrived only some days after, and
the _rumours_ are the subject of his letter. That I shall preserve,--_it
is as well_. Lewis and Gait were both _horrified_; and L. wondered I did
not introduce the situation into _The Giaour_. He _may_ wonder;--he
might wonder more at that production's being written at all. But to
describe the _feelings_ of _that situation_ were impossible--it is _icy_
even to recollect them.

The _Bride of Abydos_ was published on Thursday the second of December;
but how it is liked or disliked, I know not. Whether it succeeds or not
is no fault of the public, against whom I can have no complaint. But I
am much more indebted to the tale than I can ever be to the most partial
reader; as it wrung my thoughts from reality to imagination--from
selfish regrets to vivid recollections--and recalled me to a country
replete with the _brightest_ and _darkest_, but always most _lively_
colours of my memory. Sharpe called, but was not let in, which I regret.

Saw [Rogers] yesterday. I have not kept my appointment at Middleton,
which has not pleased him, perhaps; and my projected voyage with [Ward]
will, perhaps, please him less. But I wish to keep well with both. They
are instruments that don't do in concert; but, surely, their separate
tones are very musical, and I won't give up either.

It is well if I don't jar between these great discords. At present I
stand tolerably well with all, but I cannot adopt their _dislikes_;--so
many _sets_. Holland's is the first;--every thing _distingue_ is welcome
there, and certainly the _ton_ of his society is the best. Then there is
Madame de Stael's--there I never go, though I might, had I courted it.
It is composed of the----s and the----family, with a strange
sprinkling,--orators, dandies, and all kinds of _Blue_, from the regular
Grub Street uniform, down to the azure jacket of the _Litterateur_ [2]?

To see----and----sitting together, at dinner, always reminds me of
the grave, where all distinctions of friend and foe are levelled; and
they--the Reviewer and the Reviewee--the Rhinoceros and Elephant--the
Mammoth and Megalonyx--all will lie quietly together. They now _sit_
together, as silent, but not so quiet, as if they were already immured.

I did not go to the Berrys' the other night. The elder is a woman of
much talent, and both are handsome, and must have been beautiful.
To-night asked to Lord H.'s--shall I go? um!--perhaps.


Morning, two o'clock.

Went to Lord H.'s--party numerous--_mi_lady in perfect good humour, and
consequently _perfect_. No one more agreeable, or perhaps so much so,
when she will. Asked for Wednesday to dine and meet the Stael--asked
particularly, I believe, out of mischief to see the first interview
after the _note_, with which Corinne professes herself to be so much
taken. I don't much like it; she always talks of _my_self or _her_self,
and I am not (except in soliloquy, as now,) much enamoured of either
subject--especially one's works. What the devil shall I say about _De
l'Allemagne_? I like it prodigiously; but unless I can twist my
admiration into some fantastical expression, she won't believe me; and I
know, by experience, I shall be overwhelmed with fine things about
rhyme, etc., etc. The lover, Mr.----[Rocca], was there to-night, and
C----said "it was the only proof _he_ had seen of her good taste."
Monsieur L'Amant is remarkably handsome; but _I_ don't think more so
than her book.

C----[Campbell] looks well,--seems pleased, and dressed to _sprucery_.
A blue coat becomes him,--so does his new wig. He really looked as if
Apollo had sent him a birthday suit, or a wedding-garment, and was witty
and lively. He abused Corinne's book, which I regret; because, firstly,
he understands German, and is consequently a fair judge; and, secondly,
he is _first-rate_, and, consequently, the best of judges. I reverence
and admire him; but I won't give up my opinion--why should I? I read
_her_ again and again, and there can be no affectation in this. I cannot
be mistaken (except in taste) in a book I read and lay down, and take up
again; and no book can be totally bad which finds _one_, even _one_
reader, who can say as much sincerely.

Campbell talks of lecturing next spring; his last lectures were
eminently successful. Moore thought of it, but gave it up,--I don't know
why.----had been prating _dignity_ to him, and such stuff; as if a man
disgraced himself by instructing and pleasing at the same time.

Introduced to Marquis Buckingham--saw Lord Gower [3]--he is going to
Holland; Sir J. and Lady Mackintosh and Horner, G. Lamb [4], with I know
not how many (Richard Wellesley, one--a clever man), grouped about the
room. Little Henry Fox, a very fine boy, and very promising in mind and
manner,--he went away to bed, before I had time to talk to him. I am
sure I had rather hear him than all the _savans_.



[Footnote 1: In Dunlap's 'Memoirs of George Frederick Cooke' (vol. ii.
p. 313), the following passage is quoted from the actor's journal:

  "Read 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', by Lord Byron. It is well
  written. His Lordship is rather severe, perhaps justly so, on Walter
  Scott, and most assuredly justly severe upon Monk Lewis."]


[Footnote 2: In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) occurs this passage:

  "In general I do not draw well with literary men. Not that I dislike
  them, but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their
  last publication. There are several exceptions, to be sure; but then
  they have always been men of the world, such as Scott and Moore, etc.,
  or visionaries out of it, such as Shelley, etc. But your literary
  every-day man and I never went well in company, especially your
  foreigner, whom I never could abide,--except Giordani, and--and--and
  (I really can't name any other); I do not remember a man amongst them
  whom I ever wished to see twice, except, perhaps, Mezzophanti, who is
  a Monster of Languages, the Briareus of parts of speech, a walking
  Polyglott, and more--who ought to have existed at the time of the
  Tower of Babel as universal Interpreter. He is, indeed, a Marvel,
  --unassuming also. I tried him in all the tongues of which I have a
  single oath (or adjuration to the Gods against Postboys, Savages,
  Tartars, boatmen, sailors, pilots, Gondoliers, Muleteers,
  Cameldrivers, Vetturini, Postmasters, post-horses, post-houses,
  post-everything) and Egad! he astounded me even to my English."

On this passage Sir Walter Scott makes the following note:

  "I suspect Lord Byron of some self-deceit as to this matter. It
  appears that he liked extremely the only 'first-rate' men of letters
  into whose society he happened to be thrown in England. They happened
  to be men of the world, it is true; but how few men of very great
  eminence in literature, how few intellectually Lord B.'s peers, have
  'not' been men of the world? Does any one doubt that the topics he had
  most pleasure in discussing with Scott or Moore were literary ones, or
  had at least some relation to literature?

  "As for the foreign 'literati', pray what 'literati' anything like his
  own rank did he encounter abroad? I have no doubt he would have been
  as much at home with an Alfieri, a Schiller, or a Goethe, or a
  Voltaire, as he was with Scott or Moore, and yet two of these were
  very little of men of the world in the sense in which he uses that
  phrase.

  "As to 'every-day men of letters,' pray who does like their company?
  Would a clever man like a prosing 'captain, or colonel, or
  knight-in-arms' the 'better' for happening to be himself the Duke of
  Wellington?"]


[Footnote 3: George Granville Leveson Gower (1786-1861) succeeded his
father in 1833 as second Duke of Sutherland.]


[Footnote 4: George Lamb (1784-1834), the fourth son of the first Lord
Melbourne, married, in 1809, Caroline Rosalie St. Jules. As one of the
early contributors to the 'Edinburgh Review', he was attacked by Byron
in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 57 and 516 (see 'Poems',
ed. 1898, vol. i. p. 301, 'note' I). A clever amateur actor, his comic
opera 'Whistle for It' was produced at Covent Garden, April 10, 1807,
and he was afterwards on the Drury Lane Committee of Management. His
translation of the 'Poems of Catullus' was published in 1821. In 1819,
as the representative of the official Whigs, he was elected for
Westminster against Hobhouse; but was defeated at the next election
(1820).]





       *       *       *       *       *





Monday, Dec. 6.

Murray tells me that Croker asked him why the thing was called the
_Bride_ of Abydos? It is a cursed awkward question, being unanswerable.
_She_ is not a _bride_, only about to be one; but for, etc., etc., etc.

I don't wonder at his finding out the _Bull_; but the detection----is
too late to do any good. I was a great fool to make it, and am ashamed
of not being an Irishman.

Campbell last night seemed a little nettled at something or other--I
know not what. We were standing in the ante-saloon, when Lord H. brought
out of the other room a vessel of some composition similar to that which
is used in Catholic churches, and, seeing us, he exclaimed, "Here is
some _incense_ for you." Campbell answered--"Carry it to Lord Byron, _he
is used to it_."

Now, this comes of "bearing no brother near the throne." [1]

I, who have no throne, nor wish to have one _now_, whatever I may have
done, am at perfect peace with all the poetical fraternity; or, at
least, if I dislike any, it is not _poetically_, but _personally_.
Surely the field of thought is infinite; what does it signify who is
before or behind in a race where there is no _goal_? The temple of fame
is like that of the Persians, the universe; our altar, the tops of
mountains. I should be equally content with Mount Caucasus, or Mount
Anything; and those who like it, may have Mount Blanc or Chimborazo,
without my envy of their elevation.

I think I may _now_ speak thus; for I have just published a poem, and am
quite ignorant whether it is _likely_ to be _liked_ or not. I have
hitherto heard little in its commendation, and no one can _downright_
abuse it to one's face, except in print. It can't be good, or I should
not have stumbled over the threshold, and blundered in my very title.
But I began it with my heart full of----, and my head of
oriental_ities_ (I can't call them _isms_), and wrote on rapidly.

This journal is a relief. When I am tired--as I generally am--out comes
this, and down goes every thing. But I can't read it over; and God knows
what contradictions it may contain. If I am sincere with myself (but I
fear one lies more to one's self than to any one else), every page
should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its predecessor.

Another scribble from Martin Baldwin the petitioner; I have neither head
nor nerves to present it. That confounded supper at Lewis's has spoiled
my digestion and my philanthropy. I have no more charity than a cruet of
vinegar. Would I were an ostrich, and dieted on fire-irons,--or any
thing that my gizzard could get the better of.

To-day saw Ward. His uncle [2]  is dying, and W. don't much affect our
Dutch determinations. I dine with him on Thursday, provided _l'oncle_ is
not dined upon, or peremptorily bespoke by the posthumous epicures
before that day. I wish he may recover--not for _our_ dinner's sake, but
to disappoint the undertaker, and the rascally reptiles that may well
wait, since they _will_ dine at last.

Gell called--he of Troy--after I was out. Mem.--to return his visit.
But my Mems. are the very landmarks of forgetfulness;--something like a
light-house, with a ship wrecked under the nose of its lantern. I never
look at a Mem. without seeing that I have remembered to forget. Mem.--I
have forgotten to pay Pitt's taxes, and suppose I shall be surcharged.
"An I do not turn rebel when thou art king "--oons! I believe my very
biscuit is leavened with that impostor's imposts.

Lady Melbourne returns from Jersey's to-morrow;--I must call. A Mr.
Thomson has sent a song, which I must applaud. I hate annoying them with
censure or silence;--and yet I hate _lettering_.

Saw Lord Glenbervie [3] and this Prospectus, at Murray's, of a new
Treatise on Timber. Now here is a man more useful than all the
historians and rhymers ever planted. For, by preserving our woods and
forests, he furnishes materials for all the history of Britain worth
reading, and all the odes worth nothing.

Redde a good deal, but desultorily. My head is crammed with the most
useless lumber. It is odd that when I do read, I can only bear the
chicken broth of--_any thing_ but Novels. It is many a year since I
looked into one, (though they are sometimes ordered, by way of
experiment, but never taken,) till I looked yesterday at the worst parts
of the _Monk_. These descriptions ought to have been written by Tiberius
at Caprea--they are forced--the _philtered_ ideas of a jaded voluptuary.
It is to me inconceivable how they could have been composed by a man of
only twenty--his age when he wrote them. They have no nature--all the
sour cream of cantharides. I should have suspected Buffon of writing
them on the death-bed of his detestable dotage. I had never redde this
edition, and merely looked at them from curiosity and recollection of
the noise they made, and the name they had left to Lewis. But they could
do no harm, except----.

Called this evening on my agent--my business as usual. Our strange
adventures are the only inheritances of our family that have not
diminished.

I shall now smoke two cigars, and get me to bed. The cigars don't keep
well here. They get as old as a _donna di quaranti anni_ in the sun of
Africa. The Havannah are the best;--but neither are so pleasant as a
hooka or chiboque. The Turkish tobacco is mild, and their horses
entire--two things as they should be. I am so far obliged to this
Journal, that it preserves me from verse,--at least from keeping it. I
have just thrown a poem into the fire (which it has relighted to my
great comfort), and have smoked out of my head the plan of another. I
wish I could as easily get rid of thinking, or, at least, the confusion
of thought.



[Footnote 1: Pope's 'Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot', line 197.]


[Footnote 2: William Bosville (1745-1813), called colonel, but really
only lieutenant in the Coldstream Guards, was a noted 'bon vivant',
whose maxim for life was "Better never than late." He was famous for his
hospitality in Welbeck Street. A friend of Horne Tooke, he dined with
him at Wimbledon every Sunday in the spring and autumn. See 'Diversions
of Purley', ed. 1805, ii. 490:

  "Your friend Bosville and I have entered into a strict engagement to
  belong for ever to the established government, to the Established
  Church, and to the established language of our country, because they
  are established."]


[Footnote 3: Sylvester Douglas (1743-1823), created in 1800 Baron
Glenbervie, married, in September, 1789, Catherine, eldest daughter of
Lord North, afterwards Earl of Guildford. He was educated at Leyden for
the medical profession, a circumstance to which Sheridan alludes in the
lines:

  "Glenbervie, Glenbervie,
  What's good for the scurvy?
  For ne'er be your old trade forgot."

Gibbon writes of him, October 4, 1788 ('Letters', vol. ii. p. 180),

  "He has been curious, attentive, agreeable; and in every place where
  he has resided some days, he has left acquaintance who esteem and
  regret him; I never knew so clear and general an impression."

Glenbervie was Surveyor-General of Woods and Forests, 1803-1806, and
again from 1807 to 1810. In that year he became First Commissioner of
Land Revenue and Woods and Forests, and held the appointment till
August, 1814.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Tuesday, December 7.


Went to bed, and slept dreamlessly, but not refreshingly. Awoke, and up
an hour before being called; but dawdled three hours in dressing. When
one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation),--sleep, eating,
and swilling--buttoning and unbuttoning--how much remains of downright
existence? The summer of a dormouse.

Redde the papers and _tea_-ed and soda-watered, and found out that the
fire was badly lighted. Lord Glenbervie wants me to go to Brighton--um!

This morning, a very pretty billet from the Stael about meeting her at
Ld. H.'s to-morrow. She has written, I dare say, twenty such this
morning to different people, all equally flattering to each. So much the
better for her and those who believe all she wishes them, or they wish
to believe. She has been pleased to be pleased with my slight eulogy in
the note annexed to _The Bride_. This is to be accounted for in several
ways,--firstly, all women like all, or any, praise; secondly, this was
unexpected, because I have never courted her; and, thirdly, as Scrub [1]
says, those who have been all their lives regularly praised, by regular
critics, like a little variety, and are glad when any one goes out of
his way to say a civil thing; and, fourthly, she is a very good-natured
creature, which is the best reason, after all, and, perhaps, the only
one.

A knock--knocks single and double. Bland called. He says Dutch society
(he has been in Holland) is second-hand French; but the women are like
women every where else. This is a bore: I should like to see them a
little _un_like; but that can't be expected.

Went out--came home--this, that, and the other--and "all is vanity,
saith the preacher," and so say I, as part of his congregation. Talking
of vanity, whose praise do I prefer? Why, Mrs. Inchbald's [2], and that
of the Americans. The first, because her _Simple Story_ and _Nature and
Art_ are, to me, _true_ to their _titles_; and, consequently, her short
note to Rogers about _The Giaour_ delighted me more than any thing,
except the _Edinburgh Review_. I like the Americans, because _I_
happened to be in _Asia_, while the _English Bards, and Scotch
Reviewers_ were redde in _America_. If I could have had a speech against
the _Slave Trade in Africa_, and an epitaph on a dog in _Europe_ (i.e.
in the _Morning Post_), my _vertex sublimis_ [3] would certainly have
displaced stars enough to overthrow the Newtonian system.



[Footnote 1: The reference is only to the form of the sentence. "Scrub,"
in 'The Beaux' Stratagem' (act iv. se. 2), says,

  "First, it must be a plot, because there's a woman in't; secondly, it
  must be a plot, because there's a priest in't; thirdly, it must be a
  plot, because there's French gold in't; and fourthly, it must be a
  plot, because I don't know what to make on't."]


[Footnote 2: Elizabeth Simpson (1753-1821), daughter of a Suffolk
farmer, married (1772) Joseph Inchbald, actor and portrait-painter.
Actress, dramatist, and novelist, she was one of the most attractive
women of the day. Winning in manner, quick in repartee, an admirable
teller of stories, she always gathered all the men round her chair.

  "It was vain," said Mrs. Shelley, "for any other woman to attempt to
  gain attention."

Miss Edgeworth wished to see her first among living celebrities; her
charm fascinated Sheridan, and overcame the prejudice of Lamb; even
Peter Pindar wrote verse in her praise. From the age of eighteen she was
wooed on and off the stage, where her slight stammer hindered her
complete success; but no breath of scandal tarnished her name. Had John
Kemble, the hero of 'A Simple Story', proposed to her, she probably
would have married him. Mrs. Butler records that her uncle John once
asked the actress, when matrimony was the subject of green-room
conversation, "Well, Mrs. Inchbald, would you have had me?" "Dear
heart," said the stammering beauty, turning her sunny face up at him,"
I'd have j-j-j-jumped at you." Mrs. Inchbald's 'Simple Story' (1791)
wears a more modern air than any previously written novel. Her dramatic
experience stood her in good stead. "Dorriforth," the priest, educated,
like Kemble, at Douay, impressed himself upon Macaulay's mind as the
true type of the Roman Catholic peer. 'Nature and Art' (1796) was
written when Mrs. Inchbald was most under the influence of the French
Revolution. Of two boys who come to London to seek their fortunes,
Nature makes one a musician, and Art raises the other into a dean. The
trial and condemnation of "Agnes" perhaps suggested to Lytton the scene
in 'Paul Clifford', where "Brandon" condemns his own son.]


[Footnote 3: Horace, 'Odes', I. i. 36.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Friday, December 10, 1813.


I am _ennuye_ beyond my usual tense of that yawning verb, which I am
always conjugating; and I don't find that society much mends the matter.
I am too lazy to shoot myself--and it would annoy Augusta, and perhaps
----; but it would be a good thing for George, on the other side, and no
bad one for me; but I won't be tempted.

I have had the kindest letter from Moore. I _do_ think that man is the
best-hearted, the only _hearted_ being I ever encountered; and, then,
his talents are equal to his feelings.

Dined on Wednesday at Lord H.'s--the Staffords, Staels, Cowpers,
Ossulstones, Melbournes, Mackintoshes, etc., etc.--and was introduced to
the Marquis and Marchioness of Stafford [1],--an unexpected event. My
quarrel with Lord Carlisle (their or his brother-in-law) having rendered
it improper, I suppose, brought it about. But, if it was to happen at
all, I wonder it did not occur before. She is handsome, and must have
been beautiful--and her manners are _princessly_.

The Stael was at the other end of the table, and less loquacious than
heretofore. We are now very good friends; though she asked Lady
Melbourne whether I had really any _bonhommie_. She might as well have
asked that question before she told C. L. "_c'est un demon_." True
enough, but rather premature, for _she_ could not have found it out, and
so--she wants me to dine there next Sunday.

Murray prospers, as far as circulation. For my part, I adhere (in
liking) to my Fragment. It is no wonder that I wrote one--my mind is a
fragment.

Saw Lord Gower, Tierney [2], etc., in the square. Took leave of Lord
Gower, who is going to Holland and Germany. He tells me that he carries
with him a parcel of _Harolds_ and _Giaours_, etc., for the readers of
Berlin, who, it seems, read English, and have taken a caprice for mine.
Um!--have I been _German_ all this time, when I thought myself
_Oriental_?

Lent Tierney my box for to-morrow; and received a new comedy sent by
Lady C. A.--but _not hers_. I must read it, and endeavour not to
displease the author. I hate annoying them with cavil; but a comedy I
take to be the most difficult of compositions, more so than tragedy.

Galt says there is a coincidence between the first part of _The Bride_
and some story of his--whether published or not, I know not, never
having seen it. He is almost the last person on whom any one would
commit literary larceny, and I am not conscious of any _witting_ thefts
on any of the genus. As to originality, all pretensions are
ludicrous,--"there is nothing new under the sun." [3]

Went last night to the play. Invited out to a party, but did not
go;--right. Refused to go to Lady----'s on Monday;--right again. If I
must fritter away my life, I would rather do it alone. I was much
tempted;--C----looked so Turkish with her red turban, and her regular,
dark, and clear features. Not that _she_ and _I_ ever were, or could be,
any thing; but I love any aspect that reminds me of the "children of the
sun."

To dine to-day with Rogers and Sharpe, for which I have some appetite,
not having tasted food for the preceding forty-eight hours. I wish I
could leave off eating altogether.



[Footnote 1: George Granville Leveson Gower (1758-1833) succeeded his
father, in 1803, as second Marquis of Stafford. He married, in 1785,
Elizabeth, Countess of Sutherland, and was created, in 1833, first Duke
of Sutherland. Lord Carlisle had married, in 1770 Margaret Caroline,
sister of the second Marquis of Stafford.]


[Footnote 2: George Tierney (1761-1830) entered Parliament as Member for
Colchester in 1789. In 1796 he was returned for Southwark. A useful
speaker and political writer, he was Treasurer of the Navy in the
Addington administration, and President of the Board of Control in that
of "All the Talents." His drafting of the petition of the "Society of
the Friends of the People," his duel with Pitt in 1798, and his
leadership of the Opposition after 1817, are almost forgotten; but he is
remembered as the "Friend of Humanity" in 'The Needy Knife-Grinder'.]


[Footnote 3: 'Eccles'. i. 9.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Saturday, December 11.





       *       *       *       *       *





Sunday, December 12.


By Galt's answer, I find it is some story in _real life_, and not any
work with which my late composition coincides. It is still more
singular, for mine is drawn from _existence_ also.

I have sent an excuse to Madame de Stael. I do not feel sociable enough
for dinner to-day;--and I will not go to Sheridan's on Wednesday. Not
that I do not admire and prefer his unequalled conversation; but--that
"_but_" must only be intelligible to thoughts I cannot write. Sheridan
was in good talk at Rogers's the other night, but I only stayed till
_nine_. All the world are to be at the Stael's to-night, and I am not
sorry to escape any part of it. I only go out to get me a fresh appetite
for being alone. Went out--did not go to the Stael's but to Ld.
Holland's. Party numerous--conversation general. Stayed late--made a
blunder--got over it--came home and went to bed, not having eaten.
Rather empty, but _fresco_, which is the great point with me.





       *       *       *       *       *





Monday, December 13, 1813.


Called at three places--read, and got ready to leave town to-morrow.
Murray has had a letter from his brother bibliopole of Edinburgh, who
says, "he is lucky in having such a _poet_"--something as if one was a
packhorse, or "ass, or any thing that is his;" or, like Mrs. Packwood,
[1] who replied to some inquiry after the Odes on Razors,--"Laws, sir,
we keeps a poet." The same illustrious Edinburgh bookseller once sent an
order for books, poesy, and cookery, with this agreeable
postscript--"The _Harold and Cookery_ [2] are much wanted." Such is
fame, and, after all, quite as good as any other "life in others'
breath." 'Tis much the same to divide purchasers with Hannah Glasse or
Hannah More.

Some editor of some magazine has _announced_ to Murray his intention of
abusing the thing "_without reading it_." So much the better; if he
redde it first, he would abuse it more.

Allen [3] (Lord Holland's Allen--the best informed and one of the ablest
men I know--a perfect Magliabecchi [4]--a devourer, a _Helluo_ of books,
and an observer of men,) has lent me a quantity of Burns's [5]
unpublished and never-to-be-published Letters. They are full of oaths
and obscene songs. What an antithetical mind!--tenderness,
roughness--delicacy, coarseness--sentiment, sensuality--soaring and
grovelling, dirt and deity--all mixed up in that one compound of
inspired clay!

It seems strange; a true voluptuary will never abandon his mind to the
grossness of reality. It is by exalting the earthly, the material, the
_physique_ of our pleasures, by veiling these ideas, by forgetting them
altogether, or, at least, never naming them hardly to one's self, that
we alone can prevent them from disgusting.



[Footnote 1: Mrs. Packwood is the wife of George Packwood, "the
celebrated Razor Strop Maker and Author of 'The Goldfinch's Nest',"
whose shop was at 16, Gracechurch Street. 'Packwood's Whim; The
Goldfinch's Nest, or the Way to get Money and be Happy', by George
Packwood, was published in 1796, and reached a second edition in 1807.
It is a collection of his advertisements in prose and verse. The poet,
whom Packwood kept, apparently lived in Soho (p. 21), from his verses
which appeared in the 'True Briton' for November 9, 1795:

  "If you wish, Sir, to Shave--nay, pray look not grave,
    Since nothing on earth can be worse,
  To P--d repair, you're shaved to a hair,
    Which I mean to exhibit in verse.

  "When in moving the beard--I wish to be heard--
    The dull razor occasions a curse,
  The strop that I view will its merits renew;
    Behold I record it in verse.

  "Some in fashion's tontine disperse all their spleen,
    And others their destinies curse;
  But P--d's fine taste, with his Strops and his Paste,
    Which I'll show you in Prose and in Verse.

  "I have taken this plan to comment on a man,
    Whose merit I'm proud to rehearse;
  For a razor and knife he will sharpen for life,
    And deserves every praise in my verse.

"Soho, Nov. 6, 1795."]


[Footnote 2: 'The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy', "By a Lady," was
published anonymously in 1747. The 4th edition (1751) bears the name of
H. Glasse. The book was at one time supposed to be the work of Dr. John
Hill (1716-1775), and to contain the proverb, "First catch your hare,
then cook it." But Hill's claim is untenable, and the proverb is not in
the book.

Mrs. Rundell's 'Domestic Cookery' was one of Murray's most successful
publications. In Byron's lines, "To Mr. Murray" (March 25, 1818), occurs
the following passage:

  "Along thy sprucest bookshelves shine
  The works thou deemest most divine--
  The 'Art of Cookery,' and mine,
    My Murray."]


[Footnote 3: John Allen, M.D. (1771-1843), accompanied Lord Holland to
Spain (1801-5 and 1808-9), and lived with him at Holland House. His
'Inquiry into the Rise and Growth of the Royal Prerogative in England',
his numerous articles in the 'Edinburgh Review', and his life of Fox in
the 'Encyclopedia Britannica', and many other works, justify Byron's
praise. In the social life of Holland House he was a prominent figure,
and to it, perhaps, he sacrificed his literary powers and acquirements.
He was Warden of Dulwich College (1811-20), and Master (1820-43). Allen
was the author of the article in the 'Edinburgh Review' on Payne
Knight's 'Taste', in which he severely criticized Pindar's Greek, and
which Byron, probably trusting to Hodgson (see 'Letters', vol. i. p.
196, 'note' 1), or possibly misled by similarity of sound (H. Crabb
Robinson's 'Diary', vol. i. p. 277), attributed to "classic Hallam, much
renowned for Greek" ('English Bards, etc.', line 513).]


[Footnote 4: Antonio Magliabecchi (1633-1714) was appointed, in 1673,
Librarian to the Grand-Duke of Tuscany, to whom he bequeathed his
immense collection of 30,000 volumes. In Burton's 'Book-hunter' (p. 229)
it is said that Magliabecchi

  "could direct you to any book in any part of the world, with the
  precision with which the metropolitan policeman directs you to St.
  Paul's or Piccadilly. It is of him that the stories are told of
  answers to inquiries after books, in these terms: 'There is but one
  copy of that book in the world. It is in the Grand Seignior's library
  at Constantinople, and is the seventh book in the second shelf on the
  right hand as you go in.'"]


[Footnote 5: Byron himself was "likened to Burns," and Sir Walter Scott,
commenting on the comparison in a manuscript note, says,

  "Burns, in depth of poetical feeling, in strong shrewd sense to
  balance and regulate this, in the 'tact' to make his poetry tell by
  connecting it with the stream of public thought and the sentiment of
  the age, in 'commanded' wildness of fancy and profligacy or
  recklessness as to moral and 'occasionally' as to religious matters,
  was much more like Lord Byron than any other person to whom Lord B.
  says he had been compared.

  "A gross blunder of the English public has been talking of Burns as if
  the character of his poetry ought to be estimated with an eternal
  recollection that he was a 'peasant'. It would be just as proper to
  say that Lord Byron ought always to be thought of as a 'Peer'. Rank in
  life was nothing to either in his true moments. Then, they were both
  great Poets. Some silly and sickly affectations connected with the
  accidents of birth and breeding may be observed in both, when they are
  not under the influence of 'the happier star.' Witness Burns's prate
  about independence, when he was an exciseman, and Byron's ridiculous
  pretence of Republicanism, when he never wrote sincerely about the
  Multitude without expressing or insinuating the very soul of scorn."]





       *       *       *       *       *





December 14, 15, 16.


Much done, but nothing to record. It is quite enough to set down my
thoughts,--my actions will rarely bear retrospection.





       *       *       *       *       *





December 17, 18.


Lord Holland told me a curious piece of sentimentality in Sheridan. The
other night we were all delivering our respective and various opinions
on him and other _hommes marquans_, and mine was this:--"Whatever
Sheridan has done or chosen to do has been, _par excellence_, always the
_best_ of its kind. He has written the _best_ comedy (_School for
Scandal_), the _best_ drama (in my mind, far before that St. Giles's
lampoon, the _Beggar's Opera_), the best farce (the _Critic_--it is only
too good for a farce), and the best Address (Monologue on Garrick), and,
to crown all, delivered the very best Oration (the famous Begum Speech)
ever conceived or heard in this country." Somebody told S. this the next
day, and on hearing it he burst into tears!

Poor Brinsley! if they were tears of pleasure, I would rather have said
these few, but most sincere, words than have written the Iliad or made
his own celebrated Philippic. Nay, his own comedy never gratified me
more than to hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from any
praise of mine, humble as it must appear to "my elders and my betters."

Went to my box at Covent Garden to-night; and my delicacy felt a little
shocked at seeing S----'s mistress (who, to my certain knowledge, was
actually educated, from her birth, for her profession) sitting with her
mother, "a three-piled b----d, b----d Major to the army," in a private
box opposite. I felt rather indignant; but, casting my eyes round the
house, in the next box to me, and the next, and the next, were the most
distinguished old and young Babylonians of quality;--so I burst out a
laughing. It was really odd; Lady----_divorced_--Lady----and her
daughter, Lady----, both _divorceable_--Mrs.----, in the next the
_like_, and still nearer------! [1] What an assemblage to _me_, who
know all their histories. It was as if the house had been divided
between your public and your _understood_ courtesans;--but the
intriguantes much outnumbered the regular mercenaries. On the other side
were only Pauline and _her_ mother, and, next box to her, three of
inferior note. Now, where lay the difference between _her_ and _mamma_,
and Lady----and daughter? except that the two last may enter Carleton
and any _other house_, and the two first are limited to the opera and
b----house. How I do delight in observing life as it really is!--and
myself, after all, the worst of any. But no matter--I must avoid
egotism, which, just now, would be no vanity.

I have lately written a wild, rambling, unfinished rhapsody, called
"_The Devil's Drive_" the notion of which I took from Person's "_Devil's
Walk_." [2]

Redde some Italian, and wrote two Sonnets on----. I never wrote but one
sonnet before, and that was not in earnest, and many years ago, as an
exercise--and I will never write another. They are the most puling,
petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions. I detest the Petrarch so
much, that I would not be the man even to have obtained his Laura, which
the metaphysical, whining dotard never could.



[Footnote 1: "These names are all left blank in the original" (Moore).]


[Footnote 2: Richard Person did not write 'The Devil's Walk', which was
written by Coleridge and Southey, and published in the 'Morning Post'
for September 6, 1799, under the title of 'The Devil's Thoughts'.]





       *       *       *       *       *





January 16, 1814.


To-morrow I leave town for a few days. I saw Lewis to-day, who is just
returned from Oatlands, where he has been squabbling with Mad. de Stael
about himself, Clarissa Harlowe, Mackintosh, and me. My homage has never
been paid in that quarter, or we would have agreed still worse. I don't
talk--I can't flatter, and won't listen, except to a pretty or a foolish
woman. She bored Lewis with praises of himself till he sickened--found
out that Clarissa was perfection, and Mackintosh the first man in
England. There I agree, at least _one_ of the first--but Lewis did not.
As to Clarissa, I leave to those who can read it to judge and dispute. I
could not do the one, and am, consequently, not qualified for the other.
She told Lewis wisely, he being my friend, that I was affected, in the
first place; and that, in the next place, I committed the heinous
offence of sitting at dinner with my _eyes_ shut, or half shut. I wonder
if I really have this trick. I must cure myself of it, if true. One
insensibly acquires awkward habits, which should be broken in time. If
this is one, I wish I had been told of it before. It would not so much
signify if one was always to be checkmated by a plain woman, but one may
as well see some of one's neighbours, as well as the plate upon the
table.

I should like, of all things, to have heard the Amabaean eclogue between
her and Lewis--both obstinate, clever, odd, garrulous, and shrill. In
fact, one could have heard nothing else. But they fell out, alas!--and
now they will never quarrel again. Could not one reconcile them for the
"nonce?" Poor Corinne--she will find that some of her fine sayings won't
suit our fine ladies and gentlemen.

I am getting rather into admiration of [Lady C. Annesley] the youngest
sister of [Lady F. Webster]. A wife would be my salvation. I am sure the
wives of my acquaintances have hitherto done me little good. Catherine
is beautiful, but very young, and, I think, a fool. But I have not seen
enough to judge; besides, I hate an _esprit_ in petticoats. That she
won't love me is very probable, nor shall I love her. But, on my system,
and the modern system in general, that don't signify. The business (if
it came to business) would probably be arranged between papa and me. She
would have her own way; I am good-humoured to women, and docile; and, if
I did not fall in love with her, which I should try to prevent, we
should be a very comfortable couple. As to conduct, _that_ she must look
to. But _if_ I love, I shall be jealous;--and for that reason I will not
be in love. Though, after all, I doubt my temper, and fear I should not
be so patient as becomes the _bienseance_ of a married man in my
station. Divorce ruins the poor _femme_, and damages are a paltry
compensation. I do fear my temper would lead me into some of our
oriental tricks of vengeance, or, at any rate, into a summary appeal to
the court of twelve paces. So "I'll none on't," but e'en remain single
and solitary;--though I should like to have somebody now and then to
yawn with one.

Ward, and, after him,----, has stolen one of my buffooneries about Mde.
de Stael's Metaphysics and the Fog, and passed it, by speech and letter,
as their own. As Gibbet says, "they are the most of a gentleman of any
on the road." [1] W. is in sad enmity with the Whigs about this Review
of Fox [2] (if he _did_ review him);--all the epigrammatists and
essayists are at him. I hate _odds_, and wish he may beat them. As for
me, by the blessing of indifference, I have simplified my politics into
an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the
shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first
moment of an universal republic would convert me into an advocate for
single and uncontradicted despotism. The fact is, riches are power, and
poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is
no better nor worse for a _people_ than another. I shall adhere to my
party, because it would not be honourable to act otherwise; but, as to
_opinions_, I don't think politics _worth_ an _opinion_. _Conduct_ is
another thing:--if you begin with a party, go on with them. I have no
consistency, except in politics; and _that_ probably arises from my
indifference on the subject altogether.



[Footnote 1: The 'Beaux' Stratagem', by George Farquhar (act iv. sc. 3):

"'Gibbet'.

  "And I can assure you, friend, there's a great deal of address and
  good manners in robbing a lady: I am most a gentleman that way that
  ever travelled the road."]


[Footnote 2: An article by Ward on 'The Correspondence of Gilbert
Wakefield with Mr. Fox', in the 'Quarterly Review' for July, 1813.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Feb. 18.


Better than a month since I last journalised:--most of it out of London
and at Notts., but a busy one and a pleasant, at least three weeks of
it. On my return, I find all the newspapers in hysterics, and town in an
uproar, on the avowal and republication of two stanzas on Princess
Charlotte's weeping at Regency's speech to Lauderdale in 1812. [1] They
are daily at it still;--some of the abuse good, all of it hearty. They
talk of a motion in our House upon it--be it so.

Got up--redde the _Morning Post_ containing the battle of Buonaparte,
[2] the destruction of the Customhouse, [3] and a paragraph on me as
long as my pedigree, and vituperative, as usual. [4]

Hobhouse is returned to England. He is my best friend, the most lively,
and a man of the most sterling talents extant.

'The Corsair' has been conceived, written, published, etc., since I last
took up this journal. They tell me it has great success;--it was written
_con amore_, and much from _existence_. Murray is satisfied with its
progress; and if the public are equally so with the perusal, there's an
end of the matter.


Nine o'clock.

Been to Hanson's on business. Saw Rogers, and had a note from Lady
Melbourne, who says, it is said I am "much out of spirits." I wonder if
I really am or not? I have certainly enough of "that perilous stuff
which weighs upon the heart," [5] and it is better they should believe
it to be the result of these attacks than of the real cause; but--ay,
ay, always _but_, to the end of the chapter.

Hobhouse has told me ten thousand anecdotes of Napoleon, all good and
true. My friend H. is the most entertaining of companions, and a fine
fellow to boot.

Redde a little--wrote notes and letters, and am alone, which Locke says
is bad company. "Be not solitary, be not idle." [6]--Um!--the idleness
is troublesome; but I can't see so much to regret in the solitude. The
more I see of men, the less I like them. If I could but say so of women
too, all would be well. Why can't I? I am now six-and-twenty; my
passions have had enough to cool them; my affections more than enough to
wither them,--and yet--and yet--always _yet_ and _but_--"Excellent well,
you are a fishmonger--get thee to a nunnery." [7]--"They fool me to the
top of my bent." [8]


Midnight.

Began a letter, which I threw into the fire. Redde--but to little
purpose. Did not visit Hobhouse, as I promised and ought. No matter, the
loss is mine. Smoked cigars.

Napoleon!--this week will decide his fate. All seems against him; but I
believe and hope he will win--at least, beat back the invaders. What
right have we to prescribe sovereigns to France? Oh for a Republic!
"Brutus, thou sleepest." [9] Hobhouse abounds in continental anecdotes
of this extraordinary man; all in favour of his intellect and courage,
but against his _bonhommie_. No wonder;--how should he, who knows
mankind well, do other than despise and abhor them?

The greater the equality, the more impartially evil is distributed, and
becomes lighter by the division among so many--therefore, a Republic!
[10]

More notes from Madame de Stael unanswered--and so they shall remain.
[11] I admire her abilities, but really her society is overwhelming--an
avalanche that buries one in glittering nonsense--all snow and
sophistry.

Shall I go to Mackintosh's on Tuesday? um!--I did not go to Marquis
Lansdowne's nor to Miss Berry's, though both are pleasant. So is Sir
James's,--but I don't know--I believe one is not the better for parties;
at least, unless some _regnante_ is there.

I wonder how the deuce any body could make such a world; for what
purpose dandies, for instance, were ordained--and kings--and fellows of
colleges--and women of "a certain age"--and many men of any age--and
myself, most of all!

  "Divesne prisco natus ab Inacho
  Nil interest, an pauper et infima
    De gente, sub dio ('sic') moreris,
      Victima nil miserantis Orci.
  Omnes eodem cogimur," etc. [12]

Is there any thing beyond?--_who_ knows? _He_ that can't tell. Who tells
that there _is_? He who don't know. And when shall he know? perhaps,
when he don't expect, and generally when he don't wish it. In this last
respect, however, all are not alike: it depends a good deal upon
education,--something upon nerves and habits--but most upon digestion.



[Footnote 1: See p. 134, 'note' 2 [Footnote 3 of Letter 241], and
Appendix VII.]


[Footnote 2: The battle of Brienne was fought February 1, 1814.]


[Footnote 3: By fire, on the 12th of February.]


[Footnote 4:

  "We are informed from very good authority, that as soon as the House
  of Lords meet again, a Peer of very independent principles and
  character intends to give notice of a motion occasioned by a late
  spontaneous avowal of a copy of verses by Lord Byron, addressed to the
  Princess Charlotte of Wales, in which he has taken the most
  unwarrantable liberties with her august father's character and
  conduct: this motion being of a personal nature, it will be necessary
  to give the noble Satirist some days' notice, that he may prepare
  himself for his defence against a charge of so aggravated a nature,"
  etc.

'Morning Post', February 18.]


[Footnote 5: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 3.]


[Footnote 6: These words close the penultimate paragraph of Burton's
'Anatomy of Melancholy'.]


[Footnote 7: 'Hamlet', act ii. sc. 2, and act iii. sc. 1.]


[Footnote 8: 'Ibid'., sc. 2.]


[Footnote 9:

  "Brutus, thou sleepest, awake."

'Julius Caesar', act ii. sc. 1.]


[Footnote 10: The following extract from 'Detached Thoughts' (1821)
implies that this expression of opinion was no passing thought (but see
Scott's note, p. 376 [Footnote 5 of Journal entry for December 13th,
1813]):

  "There is nothing left for Mankind but a Republic, and I think that
  there are hopes of such. The two Americas (South and North) have it;
  Spain and Portugal approach it; all thirst for it. Oh Washington!"]


[Footnote 11: Here is one of Madame de Stael's notes:

  "Je renonce a vos visites, pourvu que vous acceptiez mes diners, car
  enfin a quoi servirait il de vivre dans le meme tems que vous, si
  l'on ne vous voyait pas? Dinez chez moi dimanche avec vos amis,--je ne
  dirai pas vos admirateurs, car je n'ai rencontre que cela de touts
  parts.

  "A dimanche,

  "DE STAEL.

  "Mardi.

  "Je prends le silence pour oui."]


[Footnote 12: Horace, 'Odes', II. iii. 21, 'et seqq.']





       *       *       *       *       *





Saturday, Feb. 19.


Just returned from seeing Kean [1] in Richard. By Jove, he is a soul!
Life--nature--truth without exaggeration or diminution. Kemble's Hamlet
is perfect;--but Hamlet is not Nature. Richard is a man; and Kean is
Richard. Now to my own concerns.

Went to Waite's. Teeth are all right and white; but he says that I grind
them in my sleep and chip the edges. That same sleep is no friend of
mine, though I court him sometimes for half the twenty-four.



[Footnote 1: Edmund Kean (1787-1833), after acting in provincial
theatres, appeared at the Haymarket in June, 1806, as "Ganem" in 'The
Mountaineers', but again returned to the country. His performance of
"Shylock" in the 'Merchant of Venice', at Drury Lane, on January 26,
1814, made him famous. He appeared in "Richard III" on February 12, and
still further increased his reputation.

In the 'Courier', February 26, 1814, appears this paragraph:

  "Mr. Kean's attraction is unprecedented in the annals of
  theatricals--even Cooke's performances are left at an immeasurable
  distance; his first three nights of 'Richard' produced upwards of
  L1800, and on repeating that character on Thursday night for the
  fourthth ('sic') time, the receipts were upwards of L700."

On March 1 the same paper says,

  "Drury Lane Theatre again overflowed last night, at an early hour.
  Such is the continued and increasing attraction of that truly great
  actor Mr. Kean."

After the retirement of John Kemble (June 23, 1817), he had no rival on
the stage, especially in such parts as "Othello," "Lear," "Hamlet," "Sir
Giles Overreach," and the two already mentioned. His last appearance on
the stage was in "Othello" at Covent Garden, March 25, 1833.

  "To see Kean act," said Coleridge, "is like reading Shakespeare by
  flashes of lightning."

  "Garrick's nature," writes Leigh Hunt, in the 'Tatler', July 25, 1831,
  "displaced Quin's formalism; and in precisely the same way did Kean
  displace Kemble. ... Everything with Kemble was literally a
  'personation'--it was a mask and a sounding-pipe. It was all external
  and artificial.... Kean's face is full of light and shade, his tones
  vary, his voice trembles, his eye glistens, sometimes with a withering
  scorn, sometimes with a tear."

It was the realism and nature of Kean which so strongly appealed to
Byron, and enabled the actor, to the last, in spite of his drunken
habits, poor figure, and weak voice, to sway his audiences. The same
qualities at first repelled more timid critics, and perhaps justified
Hazlitt's saying that Kean was "not much relished in the upper circles."
Miss Berry, for example, who saw him in all his principal parts in
1814--in "Richard III," "Hamlet," "Othello," and "Sir Giles
Overreach"--remained cold.

  "His 'Richard III.' pleased me, but I was not enthusiastic. His
  expression of the passions is natural and strong, but I do not like
  his declamation; his voice, naturally not agreeable, becomes
  monotonous"

('Diary', vol. iii. p. 7). Of his "Hamlet" she says,

  "To my mind he is without grace and without elevation of mind, because
  he never seems to rise with the poet in those sublime passages which
  abound in 'Hamlet'"

('ibid.', p. 9). Miss Berry's criticism is supported by good authority.
Lewes ('On Actors and the Art of Acting', pp. 6, 11), while calling him
"a consummate master of passionate expression," denies his capacity for
representing "the intellectual side of heroism."

Kean preferred the Coal-Hole Tavern in the Strand, and the society of
the Wolf Club, to Lord Holland's dinner-parties. Though he never fell so
low as Cooke, his recklessness, irregularities, eccentricities, and
habits of drinking, in spite of the large sums of money that passed
through his hands, made his closing days neither prosperous nor
reputable.

Such effect had the passionate energy of Kean's acting on Byron's mind,
that, once, in seeing him play "Sir Giles Overreach," he was so affected
as to be seized with a sort of convulsive fit. Some years later, in
Italy, when the representation of Alfieri's tragedy of 'Mirra' had
agitated him in the same violent manner, he compared the two instances
as the only ones in his life when "any thing under reality" had been
able to move him so powerfully.

  "To such lengths," says Moore, "did he, at this time, carry his
  enthusiasm for Kean, that when Miss O'Neil appeared, and, by her
  matchless representation of feminine tenderness, attracted all eyes
  and hearts, he was not only a little jealous of her reputation, as
  interfering with that of his favourite, but, in order to guard himself
  against the risk of becoming a convert, refused to go to see her act.
  I endeavoured sometimes to persuade him into witnessing, at least, one
  of her performances; but his answer was (punning upon Shakspeare's
  word, 'unanealed'), 'No--I am resolved to continue 'un-Oneiled'.'
  "

In his 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) Byron says,

  "Of actors Cooke was the most natural, Kemble the most supernatural,
  Kean the medium between the two. But Mrs. Siddons was worth them all
  put together."]





       *       *       *       *       *





February 20.


Got up and tore out two leaves of this Journal--I don't know why.
Hodgson just called and gone. He has much _bonhommie_ with his other
good qualities, and more talent than he has yet had credit for beyond
his circle.

An invitation to dine at Holland House to meet Kean. He is worth
meeting; and I hope, by getting into good society, he will be prevented
from falling like Cooke. He is greater now on the stage, and off he
should never be less. There is a stupid and underrating criticism upon
him in one of the newspapers. I thought that, last night, though great,
he rather under-acted more than the first time. This may be the effect
of these cavils; but I hope he has more sense than to mind them. He
cannot expect to maintain his present eminence, or to advance still
higher, without the envy of his green-room fellows, and the nibbling of
their admirers. But, if he don't beat them all, why then--merit hath no
purchase in "these coster-monger days." [1]

I wish that I had a talent for the drama; I would write a tragedy _now_.
But no,--it is gone. Hodgson talks of one,--he will do it well;--and I
think M---e [Moore] should try. He has wonderful powers, and much
variety; besides, he has lived and felt. To write so as to bring home to
the heart, the heart must have been tried,--but, perhaps, ceased to be
so. While you are under the influence of passions, you only feel, but
cannot describe them,--any more than, when in action, you could turn
round and tell the story to your next neighbour! When all is over,--all,
all, and irrevocable,--trust to memory--she is then but too faithful.

Went out, and answered some letters, yawned now and then, and redde the
'Robbers'. Fine,--but 'Fiesco' is better [2]; and Alfieri, and Monti's
'Aristodemo' [3] _best_. They are more equal than the Tedeschi
dramatists.

Answered--or rather acknowledged--the receipt of young Reynolds's [4]
poem, _Safie_. The lad is clever, but much of his thoughts are
borrowed,--whence, the Reviewers may find out. I hate discouraging a
young one; and I think,--though wild and more oriental than he would be,
had he seen the scenes where he has placed his tale,--that he has much
talent, and, certainly fire enough.

Received a very singular epistle; and the mode of its conveyance,
through Lord H.'s hands, as curious as the letter itself. But it was
gratifying and pretty.



[Footnote 1: 'Henry IV.', Part II. act i. sc. 2.]


[Footnote 2: Schiller's 'Robbers' was first produced at Mannheim,
January 13, 1782; his 'Fiesco' was published in 1783. The 'Robbers' is
included in Benjamin Thompson's 'German Theatre' (1801). 'Fiesco' was
translated by G. H. Noehden and John Stoddart in 1798.]


[Footnote 3: Monti's three tragedies, 'Caio Gracco', 'Aristodemo', and
'Manfredi', were written in rivalry of Alfieri's tragedies between the
years 1788 and 1799.]


[Footnote 4: For John Hamilton Reynolds, see 'Letters', vol. iii.
(February 20, 1814, 'note' 1).]





       *       *       *       *       *





Sunday, February 27.


Here I am, alone, instead of dining at Lord H.'s, where I was
asked,--but not inclined to go any where. Hobhouse says I am growing a
_loup garou_,--a solitary hobgoblin. True;--"I am myself alone." [1]

The last week has been passed in reading--seeing plays--now and then
visitors--sometimes yawning and sometimes sighing, but no writing,--save
of letters. If I could always read, I should never feel the want of
society. Do I regret it?--um!--"Man delights not me," [2] and only one
woman--at a time.

There is something to me very softening in the presence of a
woman,--some strange influence, even if one is not in love with
them--which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of
the sex. But yet,--I always feel in better humour with myself and every
thing else, if there is a woman within ken. Even Mrs. Mule [3], my
firelighter,--the most ancient and withered of her kind,--and (except to
myself) not the best-tempered--always makes me laugh,--no difficult task
when I am "i' the vein."

Heigho! I would I were in mine island!--I am not well; and yet I look in
good health. At times, I fear, "I am not in my perfect mind;" [4]--and
yet my heart and head have stood many a crash, and what should ail them
now? They prey upon themselves, and I am sick--sick--"Prithee, undo
this button--why should a cat, a rat, a dog have life--and thou no life
at all?" [5]

Six-and-twenty years, as they call them, why, I might and should have
been a Pasha by this time. "I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun." [6]

Buonaparte is not yet beaten; but has rebutted Blucher, and repiqued
Schwartzenburg [7]. This it is to have a head. If he again wins, _Vae
victis!_



[Footnote 1:

  "I am myself alone."

'Henry VI.', Part III. act v. sc. 6.]


[Footnote 2: 'Hamlet', act ii. sc. 2.]


[Footnote 3:

  "This ancient housemaid, of whose gaunt and witch-like appearance it
  would be impossible to convey any idea but by the pencil, furnished
  one among the numerous instances of Lord Byron's proneness to attach
  himself to any thing, however homely, that had once enlisted his good
  nature in its behalf, and become associated with his thoughts. He
  first found this old woman at his lodgings in Bennet Street, where,
  for a whole season, she was the perpetual scarecrow of his visitors.
  When, next year, he took chambers in Albany, one of the great
  advantages which his friends looked to in the change was, that they
  should get rid of this phantom. But, no,--there she was again--he had
  actually brought her with him from Bennet Street. The following year
  saw him married, and, with a regular establishment of servants, in
  Piccadilly; and here,--as Mrs. Mule had not made her appearance to any
  of the visitors,--it was concluded, rashly, that the witch had
  vanished. One of those friends, however, who had most fondly indulged
  in this persuasion, happening to call one day when all the male part
  of the establishment were abroad, saw, to his dismay, the door opened
  by the same grim personage, improved considerably in point of
  babiliments since he last saw her, and keeping pace with the increased
  scale of her master's household, as a new peruke, and other symptoms
  of promotion, testified. When asked 'how he came to carry this old
  woman about with him from place to place,' Lord Byron's only answer
  was, 'The poor old devil was so kind to me'". (Moore).]


[Footnote 4: 'King Lear', act iv. sc. 7.]


[Footnote 5:

  "Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life,
  And thou no breath at all?"

'King Lear', act v. sc. 3.]


[Footnote 6:

  "I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,
  And wish the estate of the world were now undone."

'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5.]


[Footnote 7: Napoleon fought the battle of Nangis against Blucher on the
17th of February, 1814, and that of Montereau against Prince
Schwartzenberg on the following day.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Sunday, March 6.


On Tuesday last dined with Rogers,--Madame de Stael, Mackintosh,
Sheridan, Erskine [1], and Payne Knight, Lady Donegal, and Miss R.
there. Sheridan told a very good story of himself and Madame de
Recamier's handkerchief; Erskine a few stories of himself only. _She_ is
going to write a big book about England, she says;--I believe her. Asked
by her how I liked Miss Edgeworth's thing, called _Patronage_ [2], and
answered (very sincerely) that I thought it very bad for _her_, and
worse than any of the others. Afterwards thought it possible Lady
Donegal [3], being Irish, might be a patroness of Miss Edgeworth, and
was rather sorry for my opinion, as I hate putting people into fusses,
either with themselves or their favourites; it looks as if one did it on
purpose. The party went off very well, and the fish was very much to my
gusto. But we got up too soon after the women; and Mrs. Corinne always
lingers so long after dinner that we wish her in--the drawing-room.

To-day Campbell called, and while sitting here in came Merivale [4].
During our colloquy, C. (ignorant that Merivale was the writer) abused
the "mawkishness of the _Quarterly Review_ of Grimm's _Correspondence_."
I (knowing the secret) changed the conversation as soon as I could; and
C. went away, quite convinced of having made the most favourable
impression on his new acquaintance. Merivale is luckily a very
good-natured fellow, or God he knows what might have been engendered
from such a malaprop. I did not look at him while this was going on, but
I felt like a coal--for I like Merivale, as well as the article in
question.

Asked to Lady Keith's [5] to-morrow evening--I think I will go; but it
is the first party invitation I have accepted this "season," as the
learned Fletcher called it, when that youngest brat of Lady----'s cut
my eye and cheek open with a misdirected pebble--"Never mind, my Lord,
the scar will be gone before the _season_;" as if one's eye was of no
importance in the mean time.

Lord Erskine called, and gave me his famous pamphlet, with a marginal
note and corrections in his handwriting. Sent it to be bound superbly,
and shall treasure it.

Sent my fine print of Napoleon [6] to be framed. It _is_ framed; and the
Emperor becomes his robes as if he had been hatched in them.



[Footnote 1: Thomas, Lord Erskine (1750-1823), youngest son of the tenth
Earl of Buchan, a midshipman in the Royal Navy (1764-67), an ensign, and
subsequently a lieutenant in the First Foot (1767-75), was called to the
Bar in 1778, and became Lord Chancellor in 1806. As an advocate he was
unrivalled.

  "Even the great luminaries of the law," says Wraxall ('Posthumous
  Memoirs', vol. i. p. 86), "when arrayed in their ermine, bent under his
  ascendancy, and seemed to be half subdued by his intelligence, or awed
  by his vehemence, pertinacity, and undaunted character."

With a jury he was particularly successful, though he lived to write the
lines quoted by Lord Campbell ('Lives of the Chancellors', ed. 1868,
vol. viii. p. 233):

  "The monarch's pale face was with blushes suffused,
  To observe right and wrong by twelve villains confused,
  And, kicking their----s all round in a fury,
  Cried, ''Curs'd be the day I invented a jury!''"

A Whig in politics, and in sympathy with the doctrines of the French
Revolution, he defended Paine, Frost, Hardy, and other political
offenders, and did memorable service to the cause of constitutional
liberty. In the House of Commons, which he entered as M. P. for
Portsmouth in 1783, he was a failure; his maiden speech on Fox's India
Bill fell flat, and he was crushed by Pitt's contempt. As Lord
Chancellor (1806-7) he proved a better judge than was expected. At the
time when Byron made his acquaintance, he had practically retired from
public life, and devoted himself to literature, society, and farming,
writing on the services of rooks, and attending the Holkham
sheep-shearings. Lord Campbell has collected many of his verses and
jokes in vol. ix. chap. cxc. of his 'Lives of the Chancellors'. His
famous pamphlet, 'On the Causes and Consequences of the War with France'
(1797), was written, as he told Miss Berry ('Journal of Miss Berry',
vol. ii. p. 340),

  "on slips of paper in the midst of all the business which I was
  engaged in at the time--not at home, but in open court, whilst the
  causes were trying. When it was not my turn to examine a witness, or
  to speak to the Jury, I wrote a little bit; and so on by snatches."

His 'Armata' was published by Murray in 1817. In society Erskine was
widely known for his brilliancy, his puns, and his extraordinary vanity.
His egotism gained him such titles as Counsellor Ego, Baron Ego of Eye,
and supplied Mathias ('Pursuits of Literature') with an illustration:

  "A vain, pert prater, bred in Erskine's school."]


[Footnote 2: Miss Edgeworth's 'Patronage' was published in 1813-4. In
1813 she had been in London with her father and stepmother. The
following entries respecting the family are taken from Byron's 'Detached
Thoughts':

  "Old Edgeworth, the fourth or fifth Mrs. Edgeworth, and 'the' Miss
  Edgeworth were in London, 1813. Miss Edgeworth liked, Mrs. Edgeworth
  not disliked, old Edgeworth a bore, the worst of bores--a boisterous
  Bore. I met them in Society--once at a breakfast of Sir H.D.'s. Old
  Edgeworth came in late, boasting that he had given 'Dr. Parr a
  dressing the night before' (no such easy matter by the way). I thought
  her pleasant. They all abused Anna Seward's memory. When on the road
  they heard of her brother's--and his son's--death. What was to be
  done? Their 'London' apparel was all ordered and made! so they sunk
  his death for the six weeks of their sojourn, and went into mourning
  on their way back to Ireland. 'Fact!'

  "While the Colony were in London, there was a book with a subscription
  for the 'recall of Mrs. Siddons to the Stage' going about for
  signatures. Moore moved for a similar subscription for the 'recall of
  'Mr. Edgeworth to Ireland!''

  "Sir Humphry Davy told me that the scene of the French Valet and Irish
  postboy in 'Ennui' was taken from his verbal description to the
  Edgeworths in Edgeworthtown of a similar fact on the road occurring to
  himself. So much the better--being 'life'."]


[Footnote 3: The Marquis of Donegal married, in 1795, Anna, daughter of
Sir Edward May, Bart.]


[Footnote 4: For J. H. Merivale, see 'Letters', vol. iii. (January,
1814. 'note' 1).]


[Footnote 5: Hester Maria, eldest daughter and co-heir of Henry Thrale,
of Streatham, the friend of Dr. Johnson, married, in 1808, Viscount
Keith.]


[Footnote 6: Byron's "Portrait of Bonaparte, engraved by Morghen, _very
fine impression, in a gilt frame_," was sold at his sale, April 5,
1816.]





       *       *       *       *       *





March 7.


Rose at seven--ready by half-past eight--went to Mr. Hanson's,
Bloomsbury Square--went to church with his eldest daughter, Mary Anne (a
good girl), and gave her away to the Earl of Portsmouth. [1] Saw her
fairly a countess--congratulated the family and groom (bride)--drank a
bumper of wine (wholesome sherris) to their felicity, and all that--and
came home. Asked to stay to dinner, but could not. At three sat to
Phillips for faces. Called on Lady M. [Melbourne]--I like her so well,
that I always stay too long. (Mem. to mend of that.)

Passed the evening with Hobhouse, who has begun a poem, which promises
highly;--wish he would go on with it. Heard some curious extracts from a
life of Morosini, [2] the blundering Venetian, who blew up the Acropolis
at Athens with a bomb, and be damned to him! Waxed sleepy--just come
home--must go to bed, and am engaged to meet Sheridan to-morrow at
Rogers's.

Queer ceremony that same of marriage--saw many abroad, Greek and
Catholic--one, at _home_, many years ago. There be some strange phrases
in the prologue (the exhortation), which made me turn away, not to laugh
in the face of the surpliceman. Made one blunder, when I joined the
hands of the happy--rammed their left hands, by mistake, into one
another. Corrected it--bustled back to the altar-rail, and said "Amen."
Portsmouth responded as if he had got the whole by heart; and, if any
thing, was rather before the priest. It is now midnight and----.



[Footnote 1: Lord Portsmouth (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 9, 'note' 2
[Footnote 3 of Letter 3]), who had long known the Hansons, from whose
house he married his first wife, married, March 7, 1814, Mary Anne,
eldest daughter of John Hanson. A commission of lunacy was taken out by
the brother and next heir, the Hon. Newton Fellowes; but Lord Chancellor
Eldon decided that Lord Portsmouth was capable of entering into the
marriage contract and managing his own affairs. The commission was,
however, ultimately granted. Byron swore an affidavit on the first
occasion.

  "Denman mentioned Lord Byron's affidavit about Lord Portsmouth as a
  proof of the influence of Hanson over him; Lord B. swearing that Lord
  P. had 'rather a 'superior' mind than otherwise'"

('Memoirs, etc., of Thomas Moore', vol. vi. p. 47).

The following is the note which Byron sent Hanson to embody in
his affidavit:

  "I have been acquainted with Mr. Hanson and his family for many years.
  He is my solicitor. About the beginning of March last he sent to me to
  ask my opinion on the subject of Lord Portsmouth, who, as I understood
  from Mr. H., was paying great attention to his eldest daughter. He
  stated to me that Mr. Newton Fellowes (with whom I have no personal
  acquaintance) was particularly desirous that Lord Portsmouth should
  marry some 'elderly woman' of his (Mr. Fellowes's) selection--that the
  title and family estates might thereby devolve on Mr. F. or his
  children; but that Lord P. had expressed a dislike to old women, and a
  desire to choose for himself. I told Mr. Hanson that, if Miss Hanson's
  affections were not pre-engaged, and Lord Portsmouth appeared attached
  to her, there could be, in my opinion, no objection to the match. I
  think, but cannot be positive, that I saw Lord Portsmouth at Mr.
  Hanson's two or three times previous to the marriage; but I had no
  conversation with him upon it.

  "The night before the ceremony, I received an invitation from Mr.
  Hanson, requesting me, as a friend of the family, to be present at the
  marriage, which was to take place next morning. I went next morning to
  Bloomsbury Square, where I found the parties. Lady Portsmouth, with
  her brother and sister and another gentleman, went in the carriage to
  St. George's Church; Lord Portsmouth and myself walked, as the
  carriage was full, and the distance short. On my way Lord Portsmouth
  told me that he had been partial to Miss Hanson from her childhood,
  and that, since she grew up, and more particularly subsequent to the
  decease of the late Lady P., this partiality had become attachment,
  and that he thought her calculated to make him an excellent wife. I
  was present at the ceremony and gave away the bride. Lord Portsmouth's
  behaviour seemed to me perfectly calm and rational on the occasion. He
  seemed particularly attentive to the priest, and gave the responses
  audibly and very distinctly. I remarked this because, in ordinary
  conversation, his Lordship has a hesitation in his speech. After the
  ceremony, we returned to Mr. Hanson's, whence, I believe, they went
  into the country--where I did not accompany them. Since their return I
  have occasionally seen Lord and Lady Portsmouth in Bloomsbury Square.
  They appeared very happy. I have never been very intimate with his
  Lordship, and am therefore unqualified to give a decided opinion of
  his general conduct. But had I considered him insane, I should have
  advised Mr. Hanson, when he consulted me on the subject, not to permit
  the marriage. His preference of a young woman to an old one, and of
  his own wishes to those of a younger brother, seemed to me neither
  irrational nor extraordinary."

There is nothing in the note itself, or in the draft affidavit, to bear
out Moore's report of Denman's statement.

Byron, according to the account given by Newton Hanson, is wrong in
saying that Mrs. Hanson approved of the marriage. On the contrary, it
was the cause of her death, a fortnight later. In 1828 the marriage was
annulled, a jury having decided that Lord Portsmouth was 'non compos
mentis' when he contracted it.]


[Footnote 2: Francesco Morosini (1618-1694) occupied the Morea for
Venice (1687), besieged Athens, and bombarded the Parthenon, which had
been made a powder-magazine. He became Doge of Venice in 1688.]





       *       *       *       *       *





March 10, Thor's Day.


On Tuesday dined with Rogers,--Mackintosh, Sheridan, Sharpe,--much talk,
and good,--all, except my own little prattlement. Much of old
times--Horne Tooke--the Trials--evidence of Sheridan, and anecdotes of
those times, when _I_, alas! was an infant. If I had been a man, I would
have made an English Lord Edward Fitzgerald.

Set down Sheridan at Brookes's,--where, by the by, he could not have
well set down himself, as he and I were the only drinkers. Sherry means
to stand for Westminster, as Cochrane [1] (the stock-jobbing hoaxer)
must vacate. Brougham [2] is a candidate. I fear for poor dear Sherry.
Both have talents of the highest order, but the youngster has _yet_ a
character. We shall see, if he lives to Sherry's age, how he will pass
over the redhot plough-shares of public life. I don't know why, but I
hate to see the _old_ ones lose; particularly Sheridan, notwithstanding
all his _mechancete_.

Received many, and the kindest, thanks from Lady Portsmouth, _pere_ and
_mere_, for my match-making. I don't regret it, as she looks the
countess well, and is a very good girl. It is odd how well she carries
her new honours. She looks a different woman, and high-bred, too. I had
no idea that I could make so good a peeress.

Went to the play with Hobhouse. Mrs. Jordan superlative in Hoyden, [3]
and Jones well enough in Foppington. _What plays_! what wit!--_helas_!
Congreve and Vanbrugh are your only comedy. Our society is too insipid
now for the like copy. Would _not_ go to Lady Keith's. Hobhouse thought
it odd. I wonder _he_ should like parties. If one is in love, and wants
to break a commandment and covet any thing that is there, they do very
well. But to go out amongst the mere herd, without a motive, pleasure,
or pursuit--'sdeath! "I'll none of it." He told me an odd report,--that
_I_ am the actual Conrad, the veritable Corsair, and that part of my
travels are supposed to have passed in privacy. Um!--people sometimes
hit near the truth; but never the whole truth. H. don't know what I was
about the year after he left the Levant; nor does any one--nor--
--nor--nor--however, it is a lie--but, "I doubt the equivocation of the
fiend that lies like truth!" [4]

I shall have letters of importance to-morrow. Which,----,----, or
----? heigho!------is in my heart,----in my head,----in my eye,
and the _single_ one, Heaven knows where. All write, and will be
answered. "Since I have crept in favour with myself, I must maintain
it;" [5] but I never "mistook my person," [6] though I think others
have.

----called to-day in great despair about his mistress, who has taken a
freak of----. He began a letter to her, but was obliged to stop
short--I finished it for him, and he copied and sent it. If _he_ holds
out, and keeps to my instructions of affected indifference, she will
lower her colours. If she don't, he will, at least, get rid of her, and
she don't seem much worth keeping. But the poor lad is in love--if that
is the case, she will win. When they once discover their power, _finita
e la musica_.

Sleepy, and must go to bed.



[Footnote 1: Thomas, Lord Cochrane (1775-1860), eldest son of the ninth
Earl of Dundonald, a captain in the Royal Navy, and M. P. for
Westminster, had done brilliant service in his successive commands--the
'Speedy', 'Pallas', 'Imperieuse', and the flotilla of fire-ships at
Basque Roads in 1809. In the House of Commons he had been a strong
opponent of the Government, an advocate of Parliamentary Reform, and a
vigorous critic of naval administration. In February, 1814, he had been
appointed to the 'Tonnant' for the American Station, and it was while he
was on a week's leave of absence in London, before sailing, that the
stock-jobbing hoax occurred.

During the days February 8-26, 1814, it seemed possible that Napoleon
might defeat the Allied Armies, and the Funds were sensitive to every
rumour. At midnight on Sunday, February 20, a man calling himself Du
Bourg brought news to Admiral Foley, at Dover, that Napoleon had been
killed by a party of Cossacks. Hurrying towards London, Du Bourg, whose
real name was Berenger, spread the news as he went. Arrived in London
soon after daybreak, he went to Cochrane's house, and there changed his
uniform. When the Stock Exchange opened at ten on February 21, 1814, the
Funds rose rapidly, and among those who sold on the rise was Cochrane.
The next day, when the swindle had been discovered, the Stocks fell.

A Stock Exchange Committee sat to investigate the case, and their report
(March 7) threw grave suspicion on Cochrane. He, his uncle, Cochrane
Johnstone, a Mr. Butt, and Berenger, were indicted for a conspiracy,
tried before Lord Ellenborough, June 8-9, and convicted. Cochrane was
sentenced to a year's imprisonment and a fine of L1000. On the back of
the note for L1000 (still kept in the Bank of England) with which he
paid his fine on July 3, 1815, he wrote:

  "My health having suffered by long and close confinement, and my
  oppressors being resolved to deprive me of property or life, I submit
  to robbery to protect myself from murder, in the hope that I shall
  live to bring the delinquents to justice."

Cochrane was also expelled from the House of Commons and from the Order
of the Bath. There is little doubt that the circumstances were extremely
suspicious. Those who wish to form an opinion as to Cochrane's guilt or
innocence will find the subject of the trial exhaustively treated in Mr.
J.B. Atlay's 'Lord Cochrane's Trial before Lord Ellenborough' (1897).]


[Footnote 2: Henry, Lord Brougham (1778-1868) acknowledged that he wrote
the famous article on Byron's 'Hours of Idleness' in the 'Edinburgh
Review' (Sir M.E. Grant-Duff's 'Notes from a Diary', vol. ii. p. 189).
He lost his seat for Camelford in September, 1812, and did not re-enter
the House till July, 1815, when he sat for Winchelsea. In the postscript
of a letter written by him to Douglas Kinnaird, December 9, 1814, he
speaks of Byron thus:

  "Your friend, Lord B., is, in my opinion, a singularly agreeable
  person, which is very rarely the case with eminent men. His
  independent principles give him a great additional charm."

But the part which Brougham played in the separation, both as counsel
and in society, infuriated Byron, who wrote of him in his letters with
the utmost bitterness. (See also the passage, now for the first time
published, from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', on his Parliamentary
experiences, p. 198, first paragraph of 'note'. [2md paragraph of
Footnote 1 of Letter 285])]


[Footnote 3: Dorothy Jordan (1762-1816) first appeared as "Phoebe" in
'As You Like It' at the Crow Street Theatre, Dublin, in 1777. After
acting in provincial theatres, she made her 'debut' on the London stage
at Drury Lane (October 18, 1785) as "Peggy" in Garrick's 'Country Girl',
an expurgated version of Wycherley's 'Country Wife'. During the season
she appeared also in six of her best parts: "Miss Hoyden" in 'The Trip
to Scarborough', "Priscilla Tomboy" in 'The Romp', "Hypolita" in 'She
would and she would not', "Mrs. Brady" in 'The Irish Widow', "Viola" in
'Twelfth Night', and "Rosalind" in 'As You Like It'.  Her last
appearance on the London stage was as "Lady Teazle" in 'The School for
Scandal', at Covent Garden, June 1, 1814. A list of her principal
characters is given by Genest ('English Stage', vol. viii. pp. 432-434).
As a comic actress, Mrs. Jordan was unrivalled; her voice was perfect;
and her natural gaiety irresistible. Sir Joshua Reynolds preferred her
to all other actresses as a being "who ran upon the stage as a
playground, and laughed from sincere wildness of delight." In genteel
comedy, critics like Genest ('English Stage', vol. viii. p. 431) and
Leigh Hunt ('Dramatic Essays', ed. 1894, p. 82) agree that she failed,
perhaps, as the latter suggests, because she was so "perpetually
employed" in "broad and romping characters."

In private life Mrs. Jordan was chiefly known as the mistress of the
Duke of Clarence, to whom she bore ten children. She died at St. Cloud,
July 3, 1816.

The play acted at Covent Garden, March 10, 1814, was Sheridan's 'Trip to
Scarborough', which is a close adaptation of Vanbrugh's 'Relapse'. The
performance is thus described in the 'Courier', March 11, 1814:

  "Mrs. Jordan, the only 'Miss Hoyden' on the stage, supported that
  character with unabated spirit. In every scene, from her soliloquy on
  being locked up, which was delivered with extraordinary 'naivete',
  both with reference to her tones, her emphasis, and her action, until
  the consummation of the piece, the house was shaken by loud and
  quick-succeeding peals of laughter. The style in which she expressed
  'Hoyden's' rustic arithmetic, 'Now, 'Nursey', if he gives me 'six
  hundred pounds' a-year to buy 'pins', what will he give me to buy
  petticoats?' was uncommonly fine. The frock waving in her hand, the
  backward bound of two or three steps, the gravity of countenance,
  induced by a mental glance at the magnitude of the sum, all spoke
  expectation, delight, and astonishment."]


[Footnote 4: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5.]


[Footnote 5: 'Richard III', act i. sc. 2, line 259.]


[Footnote 6: 'Ibid.', line 253.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Tuesday, March 15.


Dined yesterday with Rogers, Mackintosh, and Sharpe. Sheridan could not
come. Sharpe told several very amusing anecdotes of Henderson, the
actor. [1] Stayed till late, and came home, having drunk so much _tea_,
that I did not get to sleep till six this morning. R. says I am to be in
_this Quarterly_--cut up, I presume, as they "hate us youth." [2]
_N'importe_. As Sharpe was passing by the doors of some debating society
(the Westminster Forum), in his way to dinner, he saw rubricked on the
wall _Scott's_ name and _mine_--"Which the best poet?" being the
question of the evening; and I suppose all the Templars and _would-bes_
took our rhymes in vain in the course of the controversy. Which had the
greater show of hands, I neither know nor care; but I feel the coupling
of the names as a compliment--though I think Scott deserves better
company.

Wedderburn Webster called--Lord Erskine, Lord Holland, etc., etc. Wrote
to----_The Corsair_ report. She says she don't wonder, since "Conrad
is so _like_." It is odd that one, who knows me so thoroughly, should
tell me this to my face. However, if she don't know, nobody can.

Mackintosh is, it seems, the writer of the defensive letter in the
_Morning Chronicle_. If so, it is very kind, and more than I did for
myself.

Told Murray to secure for me Bandello's Italian Novels [3] at the sale
to-morrow. To me they will be _nuts_. Redde a satire on myself, called
"Anti-Byron," and told Murray to publish it if he liked. The object of
the author is to prove me an atheist and a systematic conspirator
against law and government. Some of the verse is good; the prose I don't
quite understand. He asserts that my "deleterious works" have had "an
effect upon civil society, which requires," etc., etc., etc., and his
own poetry. It is a lengthy poem, and a long preface, with an harmonious
title-page. Like the fly in the fable, I seem to have got upon a wheel
which makes much dust; but, unlike the said fly, I do not take it all
for my own raising.

A letter from _Bella_, [4] which I answered. I shall be in love with her
again if I don't take care.

I shall begin a more regular system of reading soon.



[Footnote 1: John Henderson, the Bath Roscius (1747-1785), without any
great personal advantages, was, according to Mrs. Siddons, "a fine actor
... the soul of intelligence." Rogers ('Table-Talk', ed. 1887,  p. 110)
says,

  "Henderson was a truly great actor: his Hamlet and his Falstaff were
  equally good. He was a very fine reader too: in his comic readings,
  superior, of course, to Mrs. Siddons: his John Gilpin was marvellous."

In Sharp's 'Letters and Essays' (ed. 1834, pp. 16-18) will be found an
interesting letter to Henderson, written a few days before his death,
giving an account of John Kemble's first appearance on the London
boards, in the character of "Hamlet."

  "There has not," says Sharp, "been such a first appearance since
  yours; yet Nature, though she has been bountiful to him in figure and
  feature, has denied him a voice.... You have been so long without a
  'brother near the throne,' that it will perhaps be serviceable to you
  to be obliged to bestir yourself in Hamlet, Macbeth, Lord Townley, and
  Maskwell; but in Lear, Richard, Falstaff, and Benedict, you have
  nothing to fear, not-withstanding the known fickleness of the public
  and its love of novelty."]


[Footnote 2: 'Henry IV', Part I. act ii. sc. 2.]


[Footnote 3: Matteo Bandello (1480-1562), a native of Piedmont, became
in 1550 Bishop of Agen. His 214 tales, in the manner of Boccaccio, were
published at Milan (1554-73). In the Catalogue of Byron's books, "sold
by auction by Mr. Evans, at his house, No. 26, Pall Mall, on Friday,
April 5, 1816, and following day," appears "Bandello, 'Novelle', 8 vol.,
wanting vol. 9, 'Livorn', 1791."]


[Footnote 4: Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Thursday, March 17.


I have been sparring with Jackson for exercise this morning; and mean to
continue and renew my acquaintance with the muffles. My chest, and arms,
and wind are in very good plight, and I am not in flesh. I used to be a
hard hitter, and my arms are very long for my height (5 feet 8 1/2
inches). At any rate, exercise is good, and this the severest of all;
fencing and the broad-sword never fatigued me half so much.

Redde the 'Quarrels of Authors' [1] (another sort of _sparring_)--a new
work, by that most entertaining and researching writer, Israeli. They
seem to be an irritable set, and I wish myself well out of it. "I'll not
march through Coventry with them, that's flat." [2] What the devil had I
to do with scribbling? It is too late to inquire, and all regret is
useless. But, an it were to do again,--I should write again, I suppose.
Such is human nature, at least my share of it;--though I shall think
better of myself, if I have sense to stop now. If I have a wife, and
that wife has a son--by any body--I will bring up mine heir in the most
anti-poetical way--make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or--any thing. But,
if he writes too, I shall be sure he is none of mine, and cut him off
with a Bank token. Must write a letter--three o'clock.



[Footnote 1: Disraeli's 'Curiosities of Literature', 2 vols. (1807);
'Calamities of Authors', 2 vols. (1812); and 'Quarrels of Authors', 3
vols. (1814), appear in the Sale Catalogue.]


[Footnote 2: 'Henry IV'., Part I. act iv. sc. 2.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Sunday, March 20.


I intended to go to Lady Hardwicke's, [1] but won't. I always begin the
day with a bias towards going to parties; but, as the evening advances,
my stimulus fails, and I hardly ever go out--and, when I do, always
regret it. This might have been a pleasant one;--at least, the hostess
is a very superior woman. Lady Lansdowne's [2] to-morrow--Lady
Heathcote's [3] Wednesday. Um!--I must spur myself into going to some of
them, or it will look like rudeness, and it is better to do as other
people do--confound them!

Redde Machiavel, [4] parts of Chardin, and Sismondi, and Bandello--by
starts. Redde the _Edinburgh_, 44, just come out. In the beginning of
the article on Edgeworth's _Patronage_, I have gotten a high compliment,
I perceive. [5] Whether this is creditable to me, I know not; but it
does honour to the editor, because he once abused me. Many a man will
retract praise; none but a high-spirited mind will revoke its censure,
or _can_ praise the man it has once attacked. I have often, since my
return to England, heard Jeffrey most highly commended by those who know
him for things independent of his talents. I admire him for _this_--not
because he has _praised me_ (I have been so praised elsewhere and
abused, alternately, that mere habit has rendered me as indifferent to
both as a man at twenty-six can be to any thing), but because he is,
perhaps, the _only man_ who, under the relations in which he and I
stand, or stood, with regard to each other, would have had the
liberality to act thus; none but a great soul dared hazard it. The
height on which he stands has not made him giddy;--a little scribbler
would have gone on cavilling to the end of the chapter. As to the
justice of his panegyric, that is matter of taste. There are plenty to
question it, and glad, too, of the opportunity.

Lord Erskine called to-day. He means to carry down his reflections on
the war--or rather wars--to the present day. I trust that he will. Must
send to Mr. Murray to get the binding of my copy of his pamphlet
finished, as Lord E. has promised me to correct it, and add some
marginal notes to it. Any thing in his handwriting will be a treasure,
which will gather compound interest from years. Erskine has high
expectations of Mackintosh's promised History. Undoubtedly it must be a
classic, when finished. [6]

Sparred with Jackson again yesterday morning, and shall to-morrow. I
feel all the better for it, in spirits, though my arms and shoulders are
very stiff from it. Mem. to attend the pugilistic dinner:--Marquess
Huntley [7] is in the chair.

Lord Erskine thinks that ministers must be in peril of going out. So
much the better for him. To me it is the same who are in or out;--we
want something more than a change of ministers, and some day we will
have it.

I remember, in riding from Chrisso to Castri (Delphos), along the sides
of Parnassus, I saw six eagles in the air. It is uncommon to see so many
together; and it was the number--not the species, which is common
enough--that excited my attention.

The last bird I ever fired at was an _eaglet_, on the shore of the Gulf
of Lepanto, near Vostitza. It was only wounded, and I tried to save it,
the eye was so bright; but it pined, and died in a few days; and I never
did since, and never will, attempt the death of another bird. I wonder
what put these two things into my head just now? I have been reading
Sismondi, and there is nothing there that could induce the recollection.

I am mightily taken with Braccio di Montone, Giovanni Galeazzo, and
Eccelino. But the last is _not_ Bracciaferro (of the same name), Count
of Ravenna, whose history I want to trace. There is a fine engraving in
Lavater, from a picture by Fuseli, of _that_ Ezzelin, over the body of
Meduna, punished by him for a _hitch_ in her constancy during his
absence in the Crusades. He was right--but I want to know the story. [8]



[Footnote 1: Philip Yorke, third Earl of Hardwicke, married, in 1782,
Elizabeth, daughter of the fifth Earl of Balcarres.]


[Footnote 2: Louisa Emma, daughter of the second Earl of Ilchester, was
married, in 1808, to the Marquis of Lansdowne, at that time Lord Henry
Petty.]


[Footnote 3: Katherine Sophia, daughter of John Manners, of Grantham
Grange, co. Lincoln, was married, in 1793, to Sir Gilbert Heathcote.]


[Footnote 4: Machiavelli's 'Opere', 13 vols., 'in russia, Milan' (1804);
Sismondi's 'De la Litterature du Midi', 4 vols., 'in russia', Paris
(1813); and Chardin's 'Voyages en Perse', 10 vols. and Atlas (1811),
appear in the Catalogue of Sale.]


[Footnote 5:

  "It is no slight consolation to us, while suffering under alternate
  reproaches for ill-timed severity, and injudicious praise, to reflect
  that no very mischievous effects have as yet resulted to the
  literature of the country, from this imputed misbehaviour on our part.
  Powerful genius, we are persuaded, will not be repressed even by
  unjust castigation; nor will the most excessive praise that can be
  lavished by sincere admiration ever abate the efforts that are fitted
  to attain to excellence. Our alleged severity upon a youthful
  production has not prevented the noble author from becoming the first
  poet of his time."

'Edinburgh Review', vol. xxii. p. 416.]


[Footnote 6: Mackintosh wrote (1) a 'History of England' for Lardner's
'Cabinet Cyclopaedia' (1830); (2) a 'History of the Revolution in
England' (1834).]


[Footnote 7: Afterwards fifth, and last, Duke of Gordon. He died in May,
1836.]


[Footnote 8:

  "Fuseli's picture of Ezzelin Bracciaferro musing over Meduna, slain by
  him for disloyalty during his absence in the Holy Land, was exhibited
  at the Royal Academy in 1780. Mr. Knowles, in his 'Life' of the
  painter, relates the following anecdote: 'Fuseli frequently invented
  the subject of his pictures without the aid of the poet or historian,
  as in his composition of Ezzelin, Belisaire, and some others: these he
  denominated "philosophical ideas intuitive, or sentiment personified."
  On one occasion he was much amused by the following inquiry of Lord
  Byron: "I have been looking in vain, Mr. Fuseli, for some months, in
  the poets and historians of Italy, for the subject of your picture of
  Ezzelin: pray where is it to be found?" "Only in my brain, my Lord,"
  was the answer: "for I invented it"' (vol. i. p. 403)" (Moore).]





       *       *       *       *       *





Tuesday, March 22.


Last night, _party_ at Lansdowne House. To-night, _party_ at Lady
Charlotte Greville's [1]--deplorable waste of time, and something of
temper. Nothing imparted--nothing acquired--talking without ideas:--if
any thing like _thought_ in my mind, it was not on the subjects on which
we were gabbling. Heigho!--and in this way half London pass what is
called life. To-morrow there is Lady Heathcote's--shall I go? yes--to
punish myself for not having a pursuit.

Let me see--what did I see? The only person who much struck me was Lady
S--d's [Stafford's] eldest daughter, Lady C. L. [2] [Charlotte Leveson].
They say she is _not_ pretty. I don't know--every thing is pretty that
pleases; but there is an air of _soul_ about her--and her colour
changes--and there is that shyness of the antelope (which I delight in)
in her manner so much, that I observed her more than I did any other
woman in the rooms, and only looked at any thing else when I thought she
might perceive and feel embarrassed by my scrutiny. After all, there may
be something of association in this. She is a friend of Augusta's, and
whatever she loves I can't help liking.

Her mother, the Marchioness, talked to me a little; and I was twenty
times on the point of asking her to introduce me to _sa fille_, but I
stopped short. This comes of that affray with the Carlisles.

Earl Grey told me laughingly of a paragraph in the last _Moniteur_,
which has stated, among other symptoms of rebellion, some particulars of
the _sensation_ occasioned in all our government gazettes by the "tear"
lines,--_only_ amplifying, in its re-statement, an epigram (by the by,
no epigram except in the _Greek_ acceptation of the word) into a
_roman_. I wonder the _Couriers_, etc., etc., have not translated that
part of the _Moniteur_, with additional comments. [3]

The Princess of Wales has requested Fuseli to paint from 'The
Corsair'--leaving to him the choice of any passage for the subject: so
Mr. Locke tells me. Tired, jaded, selfish, and supine--must go to bed.

_Roman_, at least _Romance_, means a song sometimes, as in the Spanish.
I suppose this is the _Moniteur's_ meaning, unless he has confused it
with 'The Corsair'.



[Footnote 1: Daughter of William Henry Cavendish, third Duke of
Portland, married, in 1793, to Charles Greville.]


[Footnote 2: Afterwards Countess of Surrey.]


[Footnote 3:

  "Londres le 9 Mars... On vient de publier une caricature insolente et
  grossiere centre le mariage projete (de la Princesse de Galles) et
  centre le Prince d'Orange. En commentant cette gravure, le 'Town Talk'
  a ose avancer que la Princesse Charlotte detestait son epoux futur, et
  que ses veritables affections etaient sacrifices a des vues
  politiques. Le Lord Byron a fait de ce bruit populaire le sujet d'une
  romance."

'Moniteur', 17 Mars, 1814.]





       *       *       *       *       *





Albany, March 28.

This night got into my new apartments, [1] rented of Lord Althorpe, on a
lease of seven years. Spacious, and room for my books and sabres. _In_
the _house_, too, another advantage. The last few days, or whole week,
have been very abstemious, regular in exercise, and yet very _un_well.

Yesterday, dined _tete-a-tete_ at the Cocoa with Scrope Davies--sat from
six till midnight--drank between us one bottle of champagne and six of
claret, neither of which wines ever affect me. Offered to take Scrope
home in my carriage; but he was tipsy and pious, and I was obliged to
leave him on his knees praying to I know not what purpose or pagod. No
headach, nor sickness, that night nor to-day. Got up, if any thing,
earlier than usual--sparred with Jackson _ad sudorem_, and have been
much better in health than for many days. I have heard nothing more from
Scrope. Yesterday paid him four thousand eight hundred pounds, a debt of
some standing, and which I wished to have paid before. My mind is much
relieved by the removal of that _debit_.

Augusta wants me to make it up with Carlisle. I have refused _every_
body else, but I can't deny her any thing;--so I must e'en do it, though
I had as lief "drink up Eisel--eat a crocodile." [2] Let me see--Ward,
the Hollands, the Lambs, Rogers, etc., etc.,--every body, more or less,
have been trying for the last two years to accommodate this _couplet_
quarrel, to no purpose. I shall laugh if Augusta succeeds.

Redde a little of many things--shall get in all my books to-morrow.
Luckily this room will hold them--with "ample room and verge, etc., the
characters of hell to trace." [3] I must set about some employment soon;
my heart begins to eat _itself_ again.



[Footnote 1: In 1804 Albany House, in Piccadilly, long occupied by the
Duke of York and Albany, was converted into sets of bachelor chambers,
and the gardens behind were also built over with additional suites of
rooms. Byron's were in the original house on the ground floor, No. 2.
Moore, writing to Rogers, April 12, 1814 ('Memoirs, etc'., vol. viii. p.
176), says,

  "Lord Byron, as you know, has removed into Albany, and lives in an
  apartment, I should think thirty by forty feet."]


[Footnote 2: 'Hamlet', act v. sc. 1, line 299.]


[Footnote 3:

  "Give ample room, and verge enough
   The characters of hell to trace."

Gray, 'The Bard', lines 51, 52.]





       *       *       *       *       *





April 8.


Out of town six days. On my return, found my poor little pagod,
Napoleon, pushed off his pedestal;--the thieves are in Paris. It is his
own fault. Like Milo, he would rend the oak; [1] but it closed again,
wedged his hands, and now the beasts--lion, bear, down to the dirtiest
jackal--may all tear him. That Muscovite winter _wedged_ his arms;--ever
since, he has fought with his feet and teeth. The last may still leave
their marks; and "I guess now" (as the Yankees say) that he will yet
play them a pass. He is in their rear--between them and their homes.
Query--will they ever reach them?



[Footnote 1: He adopted this thought afterwards in his 'Ode to
Napoleon', as well as most of the historical examples in the following
paragraph:

  "He who of old would rend the oak,
   Dream'd not of the rebound;
  Chain'd by the trunk he vainly broke--
   Alone--how look'd he round?"]





        *       *       *       *       *





Saturday, April 9, 1814.


I mark this day!

Napoleon Buonaparte has abdicated the throne of the world. "Excellent
well." Methinks Sylla did better; for he revenged and resigned in the
height of his sway, red with the slaughter of his foes--the finest
instance of glorious contempt of the rascals upon record. Dioclesian did
well too--Amurath not amiss, had he become aught except a
dervise--Charles the Fifth but so so--but Napoleon, worst of all. What!
wait till they were in his capital, and then talk of his readiness to
give up what is already gone!! "What whining monk art thou--what holy
cheat?" [1] 'Sdeath!--Dionysius at Corinth was yet a king to this. The
"Isle of Elba" to retire to!--Well--if it had been Caprea, I should have
marvelled less. "I see men's minds are but a parcel of their fortunes."
[2] I am utterly bewildered and confounded.

I don't know--but I think _I_, even _I_ (an insect compared with this
creature), have set my life on casts not a millionth part of this man's.
But, after all, a crown may be not worth dying for. Yet, to outlive
_Lodi_ for this!!!

Oh that Juvenal or Johnson could rise from the dead! _Expende--quot
libras in duce summo invenies_? [3] I knew they were light in the
balance of mortality; but I thought their living dust weighed more
_carats_. [4] Alas! this imperial diamond hath a flaw in it, and is now
hardly fit to stick in a glazier's pencil:--the pen of the historian
won't rate it worth a ducat.

Psha! "something too much of this." [5] But I won't give him up even
now; though all his admirers have, "like the thanes, fallen from him."
[6]



[Footnote 1: In Otway's 'Venice Preserved' (act iv. sc. 2), Pierre says
to Jaffier, who had betrayed him:

  "What whining monk art thou? What holy cheat?
  That would'st encroach upon my credulous ears,
  And cant'st thus vilely! Hence! I know thee not!"]


[Footnote 2:

  "I see, men's judgements are a parcel of their fortunes."

'Antony and Cleopatra', act iii. sc. II, line 32.]


[Footnote 3:

  "Expende Hannibalem: quot libras in duce summo
  Invenies?"

Juvenal, 'Sat'. x. 147.


  "Produce the urn that Hannibal contains,
  And weigh the mighty dust which yet remains:
  'And is this all?'"

Gifford's 'Juvenal' (ed. 1802), vol. ii. pp. 338, 339.]


[Footnote 4:

  "In the Statistical Account of Scotland, I find that Sir John Paterson
  had the curiosity to collect, and weigh, the ashes of a person
  discovered a few years since in the parish of Eccles. Wonderful to
  relate, he found the whole did not exceed in weight one ounce and a
  half! 'And is this all'!"

Gifford's 'Juvenal, ut supra'.]


[Footnote 5: 'Hamlet', act iii. sc. 2.]


[Footnote 6: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 3,

  "Doctor, the thanes fly from me!"]





       *       *       *       *       *





April 10.


I do not know that I am happiest when alone; but this I am sure of, that
I never am long in the society even of _her_ I love, (God knows too
well, and the devil probably too,) without a yearning for the company of
my lamp and my utterly confused and tumbled-over library. Even in the
day, I send away my carriage oftener than I use or abuse it. _Per
esempio_,--I have not stirred out of these rooms for these four days
past: but I have sparred for exercise (windows open) with Jackson an
hour daily, to attenuate and keep up the ethereal part of me. The more
violent the fatigue, the better my spirits for the rest of the day; and
then, my evenings have that calm nothingness of languor, which I most
delight in. To-day I have boxed an hour--written an ode to Napoleon
Buonaparte--copied it--eaten six biscuits--drunk four bottles of soda
water [1]--redde away the rest of my time--besides giving poor [?
Webster] a world of advice about this mistress of his, who is plaguing
him into a phthisic and intolerable tediousness. I am a pretty fellow
truly to lecture about "the sect." No matter, my counsels are all thrown
away.



[Footnote 1: The following is one of Byron's bills for soda water:

    Lord Byron to R. Shipwash, 27 St. Albans St.

    1814--                           s.  d.
     4 Octr.  2 Doz. Soda Water       11   0
     7  "     2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
    13  "     2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
    20  "     2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
    25        2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
    30  "     2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
     9 Decr.  2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
    14  "     2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
    17  "     2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
    22  "     2 Doz.  do.  do.        11   0
                                    6  1   0
                        [overstrike 1  7   6]
                        [overstrike 4 13   6]
    25th Decr. 1814
    Recd. R. Shipwash.





       *       *       *       *       *





April 19, 1814.


There is ice at both poles, north and south--all extremes are the
same--misery belongs to the highest and the lowest only, to the emperor
and the beggar, when unsixpenced and unthroned. There is, to be sure, a
damned insipid medium--an equinoctial line--no one knows where, except
upon maps and measurement.

  "And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
  The way to dusty death." [1]

I will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch-light; and,
to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear
out the remaining leaves of this volume, and write, in _Ipecacuanha_,
--"that the Bourbons are restored!!!"--"Hang up philosophy." [2] To be
sure, I have long despised myself and man, but I never spat in the face
of my species before--"O fool! I shall go mad." [3]



[Footnote 1: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5, line 22.]


[Footnote 2: 'Romeo and Juliet', act iii. sc. 3.]


[Footnote 3: 'King Lear', act ii. sc. 4.]





       *       *       *       *       *





APPENDIX I.


ARTICLES FROM 'THE MONTHLY REVIEW'.


1. 'POEMS', BY W. R. SPENCER. (VOL. 67, 1812, PP. 54-60.)

Art. VII. Poems by William Robert Spencer. 8vo. 10s. Boards. Cadell and
Davies. 1811.

The author of this well-printed volume has more than once been
introduced to our readers, and is known to rank among that class of
poetical persons who have never been highly favoured by stern criticism.
The "mob of gentlemen who write with ease" has indeed of late years
(like other mobs) become so importunate, as to threaten an alarming
rivalry to the regular body of writers who are not fortunate enough to
be either easy or genteel. Hence the jaundiced eye with which the real
author regards the red Morocco binding of the presumptuous
"Litterateur;" we say, _the binding_, for into the book itself he cannot
condescend to look, at least not beyond the frontispiece.--Into Mr.
Spencer's volume, however, he may dip farther, and will find sufficient
to give him pleasure or pain, in proportion to his own candour. It
consists chiefly of "_Vers de Societe_," calculated to prove very
delightful to a large circle of fashionable acquaintance, and pleasing
to a limited number of vulgar purchasers. These last, indeed, may be
rude enough to expect something more for their specie during the present
scarcity of change, than lines to "Young Poets and Poetesses," "Epitaphs
upon Years," Poems "to my Grammatical Niece," "Epistle from Sister Dolly
in Cascadia to Sister Tanny in Snowdonia," etc.: but we doubt not that a
long list of persons of quality, wit, and honour, "in town and country,"
who are here addressed, will be highly pleased with themselves and with
the poet who has _shewn them off_ in a very handsome volume: as will
doubtless the "Butterfly at the end of Winter," provided that he is
fortunate enough to survive the present inclemencies. We are, however,
by no means convinced that the Bellman will relish Mr. S.'s usurpation
of a "Christmas Carol;" which looks so very like his own, that we advise
him immediately to put in his claim, and it will be universally allowed.

With the exception of these and similar productions, the volume contains
poems eminently beautiful; some which have been already published, and
others that are well worthy of present publication. Of "Leonora," with
which it opens, we made our report many years ago (in vol. xx. N.S. p.
451): but our readers, perhaps, will not be sorry to see another short
extract. We presume that they are well acquainted with the story, and
therefore select one of the central passages:

  "See, where fresh blood-gouts mat the green,
    Yon wheel its reeking points advance;
  There, by the moon's wan light half seen,
    Grim ghosts of tombless murderers dance.
  'Come, spectres of the guilty dead,
    With us your goblin morris ply,
  Come all in festive dance to tread,
    Ere on the bridal couch we lie.'

  "Forward th' obedient phantoms push,
    Their trackless footsteps rustle near,
  In sound like autumn winds that rush
    Through withering oak or beech-wood sere.
  With lightning's force the courser flies,
    Earth shakes his thund'ring hoofs beneath,
  Dust, stones, and sparks, in whirlwind rise,
    And horse and horseman heave for breath.

  "Swift roll the moon-light scenes away,
    Hills chasing hills successive fly;
  E'en stars that pave th' eternal way,
    Seem shooting to a backward sky.
  'Fear'st thou, my love? the moon shines clear;
    Hurrah! how swiftly speed the dead!
  The dead does Leonora fear?
    Oh God! oh leave, oh leave the dead!'"

Such a specimen of "the Terrible" will place the merit of the poem in a
proper point of view: but we do not think that some of the alterations
in this copy of Leonora are altogether so judicious as Mr. S.'s
well-known taste had led us to expect. "Reviving Friendship" (p. 5) is
perhaps less expressive than "Relenting," as it once stood; and the
phrase, "ten thousand _furlowed_ heroes" ('ibid'.), throws a new light
on the heroic character. It is extremely proper that heroes should have
"furlows," since school-boys have holidays, and lawyers have long
vacations: but we very much question whether young gentlemen of the
scholastic, legal, or heroic calling, would be flattered by any epithet
derived from the relaxation of their respectable pursuits. We should
feel some hesitation in telling an interesting youth, of any given
battalion from Portugal, that he was a "furlowed hero," lest he should
prove to us that his "furlow" had by no means impaired his "heroism."
The old epithet, "war-worn," was more adapted to heroism and to poetry;
and, if we mistake not, it has very recently been superseded by an
epithet which precludes "otium cum dignitate" from the soldier, without
imparting either ease or dignity to the verse. Why is "horse and
horsemen _pant_ for breath" changed to "_heave_ for breath," unless for
the alliteration of the too tempting aspirate? "Heaving" is appropriate
enough to coals and to sighs, but "panting" _belongs_ to successful
lovers and spirited horses; and why should Mr. S.'s horse and horseman
not have panted as heretofore?

The next poem in arrangement as well as in merit is the "Year of
Sorrow;" to which we offered a tribute of praise in our 45th vol. N.S.
p. 288.--We are sorry to observe that the compliment paid to Mr.
Wedgewood by a "late traveller" (see note, p. 50), viz. that "an
Englishman in journeying from Calais to Ispahan may have his dinner
served every day on Wedgewood's ware," is no longer a matter of fact. It
has lately been the good or evil fortune of one of our travelling
department to pass near to Calais, and to have journeyed through divers
Paynim lands to no very remote distance from Ispahan; and neither in the
palace of the Pacha nor in the caravanserai of the traveller, nor in the
hut of the peasant, was he so favoured as to masticate his pilaff from
that fashionable service. Such is, in this and numerous other instances,
the altered state of the continent and of Europe, since the annotation
of the "late traveller;" and on the authority of a _later_, we must
report that the ware has been all broken since the former passed that
way. We wish that we could efficiently exhort Mr. Wedgewood to send out
a fresh supply, on all the _turnpike roads_ by the route of Bagdad, for
the convenience of the "latest travellers."

Passing over the "Chorus from Euripides," which might as well have slept
in quiet with the rest of the author's school-exercises, we come to "the
Visionary," which we gladly extract as a very elegant specimen of the
lighter poems:

  "When midnight o'er the moonless skies
    Her pall of transient death has spread,
  When mortals sleep, when spectres rise,
    And nought is wakeful but the dead!

  "No bloodless shape my way pursues,
    No sheeted ghost my couch annoys.
  Visions more sad my fancy views,
    Visions of long departed joys!

  "The shade of youthful hope is there,
    That linger'd long, and latest died;
  Ambition all dissolved to air,
    With phantom honours at her side.

  "What empty shadows glimmer nigh!
    They once were friendship, truth, and love!
  Oh, die to thought, to mem'ry die,
    Since lifeless to my heart ye prove!"

We cannot forbear adding the beautiful stanzas in pages 166, 167:

  "To THE LADY ANNE HAMILTON.

  "Too late I staid, forgive the crime,
    Unheeded flew the hours;
  How noiseless falls the foot of Time,
    That only treads on flow'rs!

  "What eye with clear account remarks
    The ebbing of his glass,
  When all its sands are di'mond sparks,
    That dazzle as they pass?

  "Ah! who to sober measurement
    Time's happy swiftness brings,
  When birds of Paradise have lent
    Their plumage for his wings?"

The far greater part of the volume, however, contains pieces which can
be little gratifying to the public:--some are pretty; and all are
besprinkled with "gems," and "roses," and "birds," and "diamonds," and
such like cheap poetical adornments, as are always to be obtained at no
great expense of thought or of metre.--It is happy for the author that
these _bijoux_ are presented to persons of high degree; countesses,
foreign and domestic; "Maids of Honour to Louisa Landgravine of Hesse
D'Armstadt;" Lady Blank, and Lady Asterisk, besides---, and---, and
others anonymous; who are exactly the kind of people to be best pleased
with these sparkling, shining, fashionable trifles. We will solace our
readers with three stanzas of the soberest of these odes:

  "ADDRESSED TO LADY SUSAN FINCASTLE, NOW COUNTESS OF DUNMORE.

  "What ails you, Fancy? you're become
    Colder than Truth, than Reason duller!
  Your wings are worn, your chirping's dumb,
    And ev'ry plume has lost its colour.

  "You droop like geese, whose cacklings cease
    When dire St. Michael they remember,
  Or like some _bird_ who just has heard
    That Fin's preparing for September?

  "Can you refuse your sweetest spell
    When I for Susan's praise invoke you?
  What, sulkier still? you pout and swell
    As if that lovely name would choke you."

We are to suppose that "Fin preparing for September" is the lady with
whose "lovely name" Fancy runs some risk of being "choked;" and, really,
if _killing partridges_ formed a part of her Ladyship's accomplishments,
both "Fancy" and Feeling were in danger of a quinsey. Indeed, the whole
of these stanzas are couched in that most exquisite irony, in which Mr.
S. has more than once succeeded. All the songs to "persons of quality"
seem to be written on that purest model, "the song by a person of
quality;" whose stanzas have not been fabricated in vain. This sedulous
imitation extends even to the praise of things inanimate:

  "When an Eden zephyr hovers
    O'er a slumb'ring cherub's lyre,
  Or when sighs of seraph lovers
    Breathe upon th' unfinger'd wire."

If namby-pamby still leads to distinction, Mr. S., like Ambrose
Phillips, will be "preferred for wit."

  "Heav'n must hear--a bloom more tender
    Seems to tint the wreath of May,
  Lovelier beams the noon-day splendour,
    Brighter dew-drops gem the spray!

  "Is the breath of angels moving
    O'er each flow'ret's heighten'd hue?
  Are their smiles the day improving,
    Have their tears enrich'd the dew?"

Here we have "angels' tears," and "breath," and "smiles," and "Eden
zephyrs," "sighs of seraph lovers," and "lyres of slumbering cherubs,"
dancing away to "the Pedal Harp!" How strange it is that Thomson, in his
stanzas on the AEolian lyre (see the 'Castle of Indolence'), never
dreamed of such things, but left all these prettinesses to the last of
the Cruscanti!

One of the best pieces in the volume is an "Epistle to T. Moore, Esq.,"
which though disfigured with "Fiends on sulphur nurst," and "_Hell's
chillest Winter_" ("poor Tom's a'-cold!"), and some other vagaries of
the same sort, forms a pleasant specimen of poetical friendship.--We
give the last ten lines:

  "The triflers think your varied powers
  Made only for life's gala bow'rs,
  To smooth Reflection's mentor-frown,
  Or Pillow joy on softer down.--
  Fools!--yon blest orb not only glows
  To chase the cloud, or paint the rose;
  _These_ are the pastimes of his might,
  Earth's torpid bosom drinks his light;
  Find there his wondrous pow'r's true measure,
  Death turn'd to life, and dross to treasure!"

We have now arrived at Mr. Spencer's French and Italian poesy; the
former of which is written sometimes in new and sometimes in old French,
and, occasionally, in a kind of tongue neither old nor new. We offer a
sample of the two former:

  "'QU'EST CE QUE C'EST QUE LE GENIE?'

  "Brillant est cet esprit prive de sentiment;
  Mais ce n'est qu'un soleil trop vif et trop constant,
  Tendre est ce sentiment qu' aucun esprit n'anime,
  Mais ce n'est qu'un jour doux, que trop de pluie abime!
  Quand un brillant esprit de ses rares couleurs,
  Orne du sentiment les aimables douleurs,
  Un _Phenomene_ en nait, le plus beau de la vie!
  C'est alors que les ris en se melant aux pleurs,
  Font ces _Iris de l'ame_, appelle le Genie!"

  "C'y gist un povre menestrel,
  Occis par maint ennuict cruel--
  Ne plains pas trop sa destinee--
  N'est icy que son corps mortel:
  Son ame est toujours a Gillwell,
  Et n'est ce pas la l'Elysee?"

We think that Mr. Spencer's Italian rhymes are better finished than his
French; and indeed the facility of composing in that most poetical of
all languages must be obvious: but, as a composer in Italian, he and all
other Englishmen are much inferior to Mr. Mathias. It is very
perceptible in many of Mr. S.'s smaller pieces that he has suffered his
English versification to be vitiated with Italian 'concetti'; and we
should have been better pleased with his compositions in a foreign
language, had they not induced him to corrupt his mother-tongue. Still
we would by no means utterly proscribe these excursions into other
languages; though they remind us occasionally of that aspiring Frenchman
who placed in his grounds the following inscription in honour of
Shenstone and the Leasowes:

  "See this stone
  For William Shenstone--
  Who planted groves rural,
  And wrote verse natural!"

The above lines were displayed by the worthy proprietor, in the pride of
his heart, to all English travellers, as a tribute of respect for the
resemblance of his paternal chateau to the Leasowes, and a striking
coincidence between Shenstone's versification and his own.--We do not
mean to insinuate that Mr. Spencer's French verses ("_Cy gist un povre
menestrel,"_ with an Urn inscribed W. R. S. at the top) are _precisely_
a return in kind for the quatrain above quoted: but we place it as a
beacon to all young gentlemen of poetical propensities on the French
Parnassus. Few would proceed better on the Gallic Pegasus, than the
Anglo-troubadour on ours.

We now take our leave of Mr. Spencer, without being blind to his errors
or insensible to his merits. As a poet, he may be placed rather below
Mr. Moore and somewhat above Lord Strangford; and if his volume meet
with half their number of purchasers, he will have no reason to complain
either of our judgment or of his own success.





       *       *       *       *       *





ARTICLES FROM THE MONTHLY REVIEW.


2. NEGLECTED GENIUS, BY W.H. IRELAND.

(VOL. 70, 1813, PP. 203-205.)


Art. XV. 'Neglected Genius:' a Poem. Illustrating the untimely and
unfortunate Fall of many British Poets; from the Period of Henry VIII.
to the AEra of the unfortunate Chatterton. Containing Imitations of their
different Styles, etc., etc. By W.H. Ireland, Author of the
'Fisher-Soy', 'Sailor-Boy', 'Cottage-Girl', etc., etc., etc. 8vo. pp.
175. 8s. Boards. Sherwood & Co. 1812.


This volume, professing in a moderately long title-page to be
"illustrative of the untimely and unfortunate fate of _many_ British
Poets," might with great propriety include the author among the number;
for if his "imitations of their different styles" resemble the
originals, the consequent starvation of "many British poets" is a doom
which is calculated to excite pity rather than surprize. The book opens
with a dedication to the present, and a Monody on the late Duke of
Devonshire (one of the neglected bards, we presume, on whom the author
holds his inquest), in which it were difficult to say whether the
"enlightened understanding" of the living or the "intellect" of the
deceased nobleman is more justly appreciated or more elegantly
eulogized. Lest the Monody should be mistaken for anything but itself,
of which there was little danger, it is dressed in marginal mourning,
like a dying speech, or an American Gazette after a defeat. The
following is a specimen--the poet is addressing the Duchess:

  "Chaste widow'd Mourner, still with tears bedew
    That sacred Urn, which can imbue
  Thy worldly thoughts, thus kindling mem'ry's glow:
  Each retrospective virtue, fadeless beam,
    Embalms thy _Truth_ in heavenly dream,
  To soothe the bosom's agonizing woe.

  "Yet soft--more poignantly to wake the soul,
    And ev'ry pensive thought controul,
  Truth shall with energy his worth proclaim;
  Here I'll record his _philanthropic mind_,
    Eager to bless all human kind,
  Yet _modest shrinking_ from the voice of _Fame_.

  "As _Patriot_ view him shun the courtly crew,
    And dauntless ever keep in view
  That bright palladium, England's dear renown.
  The people's Freedom and the Monarch's good,
    Purchas'd with Patriotic blood,
  The surest safeguard of the state and crown.

  "Or now behold his glowing soul extend,
    To shine the polish'd social _friend_;
  His country's _matchless Prince_ his worth rever'd;
  _Gigantic Fox_, true Freedom's darling child,
    By kindred excellence beguil'd,
  To lasting _amity_ the temple rear'd.

  "As _Critic_ chaste, his judgment could explore
    The beauties of poetic lore,
  Or classic strains mellifluent infuse;
  Yet glowing genius and expanded sense
    Were crown'd with _innate diffidence_,
  The sure attendant of a genuine muse."

Page 9 contains, forsooth, a very correct imitation of Milton:

  "To thee, gigantic genius, next I'll sound;
  The clarion string, and fill fame's vasty round;
  'Tis _Milton_ beams upon the wond'ring sight,
  Rob'd in the splendour of Apollo's light;
  As when from ocean bursting on the view,
  His orb dispenses ev'ry brilliant hue,
  Crowns with resplendent gold th' horizon wide,
  And cloathes with countless gems the buoyant tide;
  While through the boundless realms of aether blaze,
  On spotless azure, streamy saffron rays:--
  So o'er the world of genius _Milton_ shone,
  Profound in science--as the bard--alone."

We must not pass over the imitative specimen of "Nahum Tate," because in
this the author approximates nearest to the style of his original:

  "Friend of great _Dryden_, though of humble fame,
  The Laureat Tate, shall here record his name;
  Whose sorrowing numbers breath'd a nation's pain,
  When death from mortal to immortal reign
  Translated royal _Anne_, our island's boast,
  Victorious sov'reign, dread of Gallia's host;
  Whose arms by land and sea with fame were crown'd,
  Whose statesmen grave for wisdom were renown'd,
  Whose reign with science dignifies the page;
  Bright noon of genius--_great Augustan age_.
  Such was thy Queen, and such th' illustrious time
  That nurs'd thy muse, and tun'd thy soul to rhyme;
  Yet wast thou fated sorrow's shaft to bear,
  Augmenting still this catalogue of care;
  The gripe of penury thy bosom knew,
  A gloomy jail obscur'd bright freedom's view;
  So life's gay visions faded to thy sight,
  Thy brilliant hopes enscarf'd in sorrow's night."

Where did Mr. Ireland learn that _hold fast_ and _ballast_, _stir_ and
_hunger_, _please_ and _kidneys_, _plane_ and _capstane_, _expose_ and
_windows_, _forgot_ and _pilot_, _sail on_ _and Deucalon!_ (Lempriere
would have saved him a scourging at school by telling him that there was
an _i_ in the word), were legitimate Hudibrastic rhymes? (see pp. 116,
etc.). Chatterton is a great favourite of this imitative gentleman; and
Bristol, where he appears to have been held in no greater estimation
than Mr. Ireland himself deserves, is much vituperated in some sad
couplets, seemingly for this reason, "All for love, and a little for the
bottle," as Bannister's song runs,--"All for Chatterton, and a little
for myself," thinks Mr. Ireland.

The notes communicate, among other novelties, the new title of "Sir
Horace" to the Honourable H. Walpole: surely a perusal of the life of
the unfortunate boy, whose fate Mr. I. deplores, might have prevented
this piece of ignorance, twice repeated in the same page; and we wonder
at the malicious fun of the printer's devil in permitting it to stand,
for _he_ certainly knew better. We must be excused from a more detailed
notice of Mr. Ireland for the present; and indeed we hope to hear no
more of his lamentations, very sure that none but reviewers ever will
peruse them: unless, perhaps, the unfortunate persons of quality whom he
may henceforth single out as proper victims of future dedication. Though
his dedications are enough to kill the living, his anticipated monodies,
on the other hand, must add considerably to the natural dread of death
in such of his patrons as may be liable to common sense or to chronic
diseases.





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APPENDIX II.

PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES.

1. DEBATE ON THE FRAME-WORK BILL, IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS, FEBRUARY 27,
1812.

The order of the day for the second reading of this Bill being read,

Lord BYRON rose, and (for the first time) addressed their Lordships as
follows:

My Lords,--The subject now submitted to your Lordships for the first
time, though new to the House, is by no means new to the country. I
believe it had occupied the serious thoughts of all descriptions of
persons, long before its introduction to the notice of that legislature,
whose interference alone could be of real service. As a person in some
degree connected with the suffering county, though a stranger not only
to this House in general, but to almost every individual whose attention
I presume to solicit, I must claim some portion of your Lordships'
indulgence, whilst I offer a few observations on a question in which I
confess myself deeply interested.

To enter into any detail of the riots would be superfluous: the House is
already aware that every outrage short of actual bloodshed has been
perpetrated, and that the proprietors of the frames obnoxious to the
rioters, and all persons supposed to be connected with them, have been
liable to insult and violence. During the short time I recently passed
in Nottinghamshire, not twelve hours elapsed without some fresh act of
violence; and on the day I left the county I was informed that forty
frames had been broken the preceding evening, as usual, without
resistance and without detection.

Such was then the state of that county, and such I have reason to
believe it to be at this moment. But whilst these outrages must be
admitted to exist to an alarming extent, it cannot be denied that they
have arisen from circumstances of the most unparalleled distress: the
perseverance of these miserable men in their proceedings tends to prove
that nothing but absolute want could have driven a large, and once
honest and industrious, body of the people, into the commission of
excesses so hazardous to themselves, their families, and the community.
At the time to which I allude, the town and county were burdened with
large detachments of the military; the police was in motion, the
magistrates assembled; yet all the movements, civil and military, had
led to--nothing. Not a single instance had occurred of the apprehension
of any real delinquent actually taken in the fact, against whom there
existed legal evidence sufficient for conviction. But the police,
however useless, were by no means idle: several notorious delinquents
had been detected,--men, liable to conviction, on the clearest
evidence, of the capital crime of poverty; men, who had been nefariously
guilty of lawfully begetting several children, whom, thanks to the
times! they were unable to maintain. Considerable injury has been done
to the proprietors of the improved frames. These machines were to them
an advantage, inasmuch as they superseded the necessity of employing a
number of workmen, who were left in consequence to starve. By the
adoption of one species of frame in particular, one man performed the
work of many, and the superfluous labourers were thrown out of
employment. Yet it is to be observed, that the work thus executed was
inferior in quality; not marketable at home, and merely hurried over
with a view to exportation. It was called, in the cant of the trade, by
the name of "Spider-work." The rejected workmen, in the blindness of
their ignorance, instead of rejoicing at these improvements in arts so
beneficial to mankind, conceived themselves to be sacrificed to
improvements in mechanism. In the foolishness of their hearts they
imagined that the maintenance and well-doing of the industrious poor
were objects of greater consequence than the enrichment of a few
individuals by any improvement, in the implements of trade, which threw
the workmen out of employment, and rendered the labourer unworthy of his
hire. And it must be confessed that although the adoption of the
enlarged machinery in that state of our commerce which the country once
boasted might have been beneficial to the master without being
detrimental to the servant; yet, in the present situation of our
manufactures, rotting in warehouses, without a prospect of exportation,
with the demand for work and workmen equally diminished, frames of this
description tend materially to aggravate the distress and discontent of
the disappointed sufferers. But the real cause of these distresses and
consequent disturbances lies deeper. When we are told that these men are
leagued together not only for the destruction of their own comfort, but
of their very means of subsistence, can we forget that it is the bitter
policy, the destructive warfare of the last eighteen years, which has
destroyed their comfort, your comfort, all men's comfort? that policy,
which, originating with "great statesmen now no more," has survived the
dead to become a curse on the living, unto the third and fourth
generation! These men never destroyed their looms till they were become
useless, worse than useless; till they were become actual impediments to
their exertions in obtaining their daily bread. Can you, then, wonder
that in times like these, when bankruptcy, convicted fraud, and imputed
felony are found in a station not far beneath that of your Lordships,
the lowest, though once most useful portion of the people, should forget
their duty in their distresses, and become only less guilty than one of
their representatives? But while the exalted offender can find means to
baffle the law, new capital punishments must be devised, new snares of
death must be spread for the wretched mechanic, who is famished into
guilt. These men were willing to dig, but the spade was in other hands:
they were not ashamed to beg, but there was none to relieve them: their
own means of subsistence were cut off, all other employments
pre-occupied; and their excesses, however to be deplored and condemned,
can hardly be subject of surprise.

It has been stated that the persons in the temporary possession of
frames connive at their destruction; if this be proved upon inquiry, it
were necessary that such material accessories to the crime should be
principals in the punishment. But I did hope, that any measure proposed
by his Majesty's government for your Lordships' decision, would have had
conciliation for its basis; or, if that were hopeless, that some
previous inquiry, some deliberation, would have been deemed requisite;
not that we should have been called at once, without examination and
without cause, to pass sentences by wholesale, and sign death-warrants
blindfold. But, admitting that these men had no cause of complaint; that
the grievances of them and their employers were alike groundless; that
they deserved the worst;--what inefficiency, what imbecility has been
evinced in the method chosen to reduce them! Why were the military
called out to be made a mockery of, if they were to be called out at
all? As far as the difference of seasons would permit, they have merely
parodied the summer campaign of Major Sturgeon; and, indeed, the whole
proceedings, civil and military, seemed on the model of those of the
mayor and corporation of Garratt.--Such marchings and countermarchings!
--from Nottingham to Bullwell, from Bullwell to Banford, from Banford to
Mansfield! And when at length the detachments arrived at their
destination, in all "the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war,"
they came just in time to witness the mischief which had been done, and
ascertain the escape of the perpetrators, to collect the "'spolia
opima'" in the fragments of broken frames, and return to their quarters
amidst the derision of old women, and the hootings of children. Now,
though, in a free country, it were to be wished that our military should
never be too formidable, at least to ourselves, I cannot see the policy
of placing them in situations where they can only be made ridiculous. As
the sword is the worst argument that can be used, so should it be the
last. In this instance it has been the first; but providentially as yet
only in the scabbard. The present measure will, indeed, pluck it from
the sheath; yet had proper meetings been held in the earlier stages of
these riots, had the grievances of these men and their masters (for they
also had their grievances) been fairly weighed and justly examined, I do
think that means might have been devised to restore these workmen to
their avocations, and tranquillity to the county. At present the county
suffers from the double infliction of an idle military and a starving
population. In what state of apathy have we been plunged so long, that
now for the first time the House has been officially apprised of these
disturbances? All this has been transacting within 130 miles of London;
and yet we, "good easy men, have deemed full sure our greatness was
a-ripening," and have sat down to enjoy our foreign triumphs in the
midst of domestic calamity. But all the cities you have taken, all the
armies which have retreated before your leaders, are but paltry subjects
of self-congratulation, if your land divides against itself, and your
dragoons and your executioners must be let loose against your
fellow-citizens.--You call these men a mob, desperate, dangerous, and
ignorant; and seem to think that the only way to quiet the "'Bellua
multorum capitum'" is to lop off a few of its superfluous heads. But
even a mob may be better reduced to reason by a mixture of conciliation
and firmness, than by additional irritation and redoubled penalties. Are
we aware of our obligations to a mob? It is the mob that labour in your
fields and serve in your houses,--that man your navy, and recruit your
army,--that have enabled you to defy all the world, and can also defy
you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair! You may call
the people a mob; but do not forget that a mob too often speaks the
sentiments of the people. And here I must remark, with what alacrity you
are accustomed to fly to the succour of your distressed allies, leaving
the distressed of your own country to the care of Providence or--the
parish. When the Portuguese suffered under the retreat of the French,
every arm was stretched out, every hand was opened, from the rich man's
largess to the widow's mite, all was bestowed, to enable them to rebuild
their villages and replenish their granaries. And at this moment, when
thousands of misguided but most unfortunate fellow-countrymen are
struggling with the extremes of hardships and hunger, as your charity
began abroad it should end at home. A much less sum, a tithe of the
bounty bestowed on Portugal, even if those men (which I cannot admit
without inquiry) could not have been restored to their employments,
would have rendered unnecessary the tender mercies of the bayonet and
the gibbet. But doubtless our friends have too many foreign claims to
admit a prospect of domestic relief; though never did such objects
demand it. I have traversed the seat of war in the Peninsula, I have
been in some of the most oppressed provinces of Turkey; but never under
the most despotic of infidel governments did I behold such squalid
wretchedness as I have seen since my return in the very heart of a
Christian country. And what are your remedies? After months of inaction,
and months of action worse than inactivity, at length comes forth the
grand specific, the never-failing nostrum of all state physicians, from
the days of Draco to the present time. After feeling the pulse and
shaking the head over the patient, prescribing the usual course of warm
water and bleeding,--the warm water of your mawkish police, and the
lancets of your military,--these convulsions must terminate in death,
the sure consummation of the prescriptions of all political Sangrados.
Setting aside the palpable injustice and the certain inefficiency of the
Bill, are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes? Is
there not blood enough upon your penal code, that more must be poured
forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against you? How will you carry
the Bill into effect? Can you commit a whole county to their own
prisons? Will you erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like
scarecrows? or will you proceed (as you must to bring this measure into
effect) by decimation? place the county under martial law? depopulate
and lay waste all around you? and restore Sherwood Forest as an
acceptable gift to the crown, in its former condition of a royal chase
and an asylum for outlaws? Are these the remedies for a starving and
desperate populace? Will the famished wretch who has braved your
bayonets be appalled by your gibbets? When death is a relief, and the
only relief it appears that you will afford him, will he be dragooned
into tranquillity? Will that which could not be effected by your
grenadiers be accomplished by your executioners? If you proceed by the
forms of law, where is your evidence?

Those who have refused to impeach their accomplices when transportation
only was the punishment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them
when death is the penalty. With all due deference to the noble lords
opposite, I think a little investigation, some previous inquiry, would
induce even them to change their purpose. That most favourite state
measure, so marvellously efficacious in many and recent instances,
temporising, would not be without its advantages in this. When a
proposal is made to emancipate or relieve, you hesitate, you deliberate
for years, you temporise and tamper with the minds of men; but a
death-bill must be passed off-hand, without a thought of the
consequences. Sure I am, from what I have heard, and from what I have
seen, that to pass the Bill under all the existing circumstances,
without inquiry, without deliberation, would only be to add injustice to
irritation, and barbarity to neglect. The framers of such a bill must be
content to inherit the honours of that Athenian law-giver whose edicts
were said to be written not in ink but in blood. But suppose it passed;
suppose one of these men, as I have seen them,--meagre with famine,
sullen with despair, careless of a life which your Lordships are perhaps
about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame;
--suppose this man surrounded by the children for whom he is unable to
procure bread at the hazard of his existence, about to be torn for ever
from a family which he lately supported in peaceful industry, and which
it is not his fault that he can no longer so support;--suppose this
man--and there are ten thousand such from whom you may select your
victims--dragged into court, to be tried for this new offence, by this
new law; still, there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him;
and these are, in my opinion,--twelve butchers for a jury, and a
Jeffreys for a judge!





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2. DEBATE ON THE EARL OF DONOUGHMORE'S MOTION FOR A COMMITTEE ON THE
ROMAN CATHOLIC CLAIMS, APRIL 21, 1812.

[Byron's notes for a portion of his speech are in the possession of Mr.
Murray.]

Lord BYRON rose and said:

My Lords,--The question before the House has been so frequently, fully,
and ably discussed, and never perhaps more ably than on this night, that
it would be difficult to adduce new arguments for or against it. But
with each discussion difficulties have been removed, objections have
been canvassed and refuted, and some of the former opponents of Catholic
emancipation have at length conceded to the expediency of relieving the
petitioners. In conceding thus much, however, a new objection is
started; it is not the time, say they, or it is an improper time, or
there is time enough yet. In some degree I concur with those who say it
is not the time exactly; that time is past; better had it been for the
country that the Catholics possessed at this moment their proportion of
our privileges, that their nobles held their due weight in our councils,
than that we should be assembled to discuss their claims. It had indeed
been better:

  "Non tempore tali
  Cogere concilium cum muros obsidet hostis."

The enemy is without, and distress within. It is too late to cavil on
doctrinal points, when we must unite in defence of things more important
than the mere ceremonies of religion. It is indeed singular, that we are
called together to deliberate, not on the God we adore, for in that we
are agreed; not about the king we obey, for to him we are loyal; but how
far a difference in the ceremonials of worship, how far believing not
too little, but too much (the worst that can be imputed to the
Catholics), how far too much devotion to their God may incapacitate our
fellow-subjects from effectually serving their king.

Much has been said, within and without doors, of church and state; and
although those venerable words have been too often prostituted to the
most despicable of party purposes, we cannot hear them too often: all, I
presume, are the advocates of church and state,--the church of Christ,
and the state of Great Britain; but not a state of exclusion and
despotism; not an intolerant church; not a church militant, which
renders itself liable to the very objection urged against the Romish
communion, and in a greater degree, for the Catholic merely withholds
its spiritual benediction (and even that is doubtful), but our church,
or rather our churchmen, not only refuse to the Catholic their spiritual
grace, but all temporal blessings whatsoever. It was an observation of
the great Lord Peterborough, made within these walls, or within the
walls where the Lords then assembled, that he was for a "parliamentary
king and a parliamentary constitution, but not a parliamentary God and a
parliamentary religion." The interval of a century has not weakened the
force of the remark. It is indeed time that we should leave off these
petty cavils on frivolous points, these Lilliputian sophistries, whether
our "eggs are best broken at the broad or narrow end."

The opponents of the Catholics may be divided into two classes; those
who assert that the Catholics have too much already, and those who
allege that the lower orders, at least, have nothing more to require. We
are told by the former, that the Catholics never will be contented: by
the latter, that they are already too happy. The last paradox is
sufficiently refuted by the present as by all past petitions: it might
as well be said, that the negroes did not desire to be emancipated; but
this is an unfortunate comparison, for you have already delivered them
out of the house of bondage without any petition on their part, but many
from their taskmasters to a contrary effect; and for myself, when I
consider this, I pity the Catholic peasantry for not having the good
fortune to be born black. But the Catholics are contented, or at least
ought to be, as we are told; I shall, therefore, proceed to touch on a
few of those circumstances which so marvellously contribute to their
exceeding contentment. They are not allowed the free exercise of their
religion in the regular army; the Catholic soldier cannot absent himself
from the service of the Protestant clergyman; and unless he is quartered
in Ireland, or in Spain, where can he find eligible opportunities of
attending his own? The permission of Catholic chaplains to the Irish
militia regiments was conceded as a special favour, and not till after
years of remonstrance, although an Act, passed in 1793, established it
as a right. But are the Catholics properly protected in Ireland? Can the
church purchase a rood of land whereon to erect a chapel? No! all the
places of worship are built on leases of trust or sufferance from the
laity, easily broken, and often betrayed. The moment any irregular wish,
any casual caprice of the benevolent landlord meets with opposition, the
doors are barred against the congregation. This has happened
continually, but in no instance more glaringly than at the town of
Newton Barry, in the county of Wexford. The Catholics enjoying no
regular chapel, as a temporary expedient hired two barns; which, being
thrown into one, served for public worship. At this time, there was
quartered opposite to the spot an officer whose mind appears to have
been deeply imbued with those prejudices which the Protestant petitions
now on the table prove to have been fortunately eradicated from the more
rational portion of the people; and when the Catholics were assembled on
the Sabbath as usual, in peace and good-will towards men, for the
worship of their God and yours, they found the chapel door closed, and
were told that if they did not immediately retire (and they were told
this by a yeoman officer and a magistrate), the Riot Act should be read,
and the assembly dispersed at the point of the bayonet! This was
complained of to the middle-man of government, the secretary at the
Castle in 1806, and the answer was (in lieu of redress), that he would
cause a letter to be written to the colonel, to prevent, if possible,
the recurrence of similar disturbances. Upon this fact no very great
stress need be laid; but it tends to prove that while the Catholic
church has not power to purchase land for its chapels to stand upon, the
laws for its protection are of no avail. In the mean time, the Catholics
are at the mercy of every "pelting petty officer," who may choose to
play his "fantastic tricks before high heaven," to insult his God, and
injure his fellow-creatures.

Every schoolboy, any footboy (such have held commissions in our
service), any footboy who can exchange his shoulder-knot for an
epaulette, may perform all this and more against the Catholic by virtue
of that very authority delegated to him by his sovereign for the express
purpose of defending his fellow-subjects to the last drop of his blood,
without discrimination or distinction between Catholic and Protestant.

Have the Irish Catholics the full benefit of trial by jury? They have
not; they never can have until they are permitted to share the privilege
of serving as sheriffs and under-sheriffs. Of this a striking example
occurred at the last Enniskillen assizes. A yeoman was arraigned for the
murder of a Catholic named Macvournagh; three respectable,
uncontradicted witnesses, deposed that they saw the prisoner load, take
aim, fire at, and kill the said Macvournagh. This was properly commented
on by the judge; but, to the astonishment of the bar, and indignation of
the court, the Protestant jury acquitted the accused. So glaring was the
partiality, that Mr. Justice Osborne felt it his duty to bind over the
acquitted, but not absolved assassin, in large recognizances; thus for a
time taking away his licence to kill Catholics.

Are the very laws passed in their favour observed? They are rendered
nugatory in trivial as in serious cases. By a late Act, Catholic
chaplains are permitted in gaols; but in Fermanagh county the grand jury
lately persisted in presenting a suspended clergyman for the office,
thereby evading the statute, notwithstanding the most pressing
remonstrances of a most respectable magistrate named Fletcher to the
contrary. Such is law, such is justice, for the happy, free, contented
Catholic!

It has been asked, in another place, Why do not the rich Catholics endow
foundations for the education of the priesthood? Why do you not permit
them to do so? Why are all such bequests subject to the interference,
the vexatious, arbitrary, peculating interference of the Orange
commissioners for charitable donations?

As to Maynooth college, in no instance, except at the time of its
foundation, when a noble Lord (Camden), at the head of the Irish
administration, did appear to interest himself in its advancement, and
during the government of a noble Duke (Bedford), who, like his
ancestors, has ever been the friend of freedom and mankind, and who has
not so far adopted the selfish policy of the day as to exclude the
Catholics from the number of his fellow-creatures; with these
exceptions, in no instance has that institution been properly
encouraged. There was indeed a time when the Catholic clergy were
conciliated, while the Union was pending, that Union which could not be
carried without them, while their assistance was requisite in procuring
addresses from the Catholic counties; then they were cajoled and
caressed, feared and flattered, and given to understand that "the Union
would do every thing"; but the moment it was passed, they were driven
back with contempt into their former obscurity.

In the conduct pursued towards Maynooth college, every thing is done to
irritate and perplex--every thing is done to efface the slightest
impression of gratitude from the Catholic mind; the very hay made upon
the lawn, the fat and tallow of the beef and mutton allowed, must be
paid for and accounted upon oath. It is true, this economy in
miniature cannot sufficiently be commended, particularly at a time when
only the insect defaulters of the Treasury, your Hunts and your
Chinnerys, when only those "gilded bugs" can escape the microscopic eye
of ministers. But when you come forward, session after session, as your
paltry pittance is wrung from you with wrangling and reluctance, to
boast of your liberality, well might the Catholic exclaim, in the words
of Prior:

  "To John I owe some obligation,
    But John unluckily thinks fit
  To publish it to all the nation,
    So John and I are more than quit."

Some persons have compared the Catholics to the beggar in 'Gil Blas':
who made them beggars? Who are enriched with the spoils of their
ancestors? And cannot you relieve the beggar when your fathers have made
him such? If you are disposed to relieve him at all, cannot you do it
without flinging your farthings in his face? As a contrast, however, to
this beggarly benevolence, let us look at the Protestant Charter
Schools; to them you have lately granted L41,000: thus are they
supported; and how are they recruited? Montesquieu observes on the
English constitution, that the model may be found in Tacitus, where the
historian describes the policy of the Germans, and adds, "This beautiful
system was taken from the woods;" so in speaking of the charter schools,
it may be observed, that this beautiful system was taken from the
gipsies. These schools are recruited in the same manner as the
Janissaries at the time of their enrolment under Amurath, and the
gipsies of the present day, with stolen children, with children decoyed
and kidnapped from their Catholic connections by their rich and powerful
Protestant neighbours: this is notorious, and one instance may suffice
to show in what manner:--The sister of a Mr. Carthy (a Catholic
gentleman of very considerable property) died, leaving two girls, who
were immediately marked out as proselytes, and conveyed to the charter
school of Coolgreny; their uncle, on being apprised of the fact, which
took place during his absence, applied for the restitution of his
nieces, offering to settle an independence on these his relations; his
request was refused, and not till after five years' struggle, and the
interference of very high authority, could this Catholic gentleman
obtain back his nearest of kindred from a charity charter school. In
this manner are proselytes obtained, and mingled with the offspring of
such Protestants as may avail themselves of the institution. And how are
they taught? A catechism is put into their hands, consisting of, I
believe, forty-five pages, in which are three questions relative to the
Protestant religion; one of these queries is, "Where was the Protestant
religion before Luther?" Answer: "In the Gospel." The remaining
forty-four pages and a half regard the damnable idolatry of Papists!

Allow me to ask our spiritual pastors and masters, is this training up a
child in the way which he should go? Is this the religion of the Gospel
before the time of Luther? that religion which preaches "Peace on earth,
and glory to God"? Is it bringing up infants to be men or devils? Better
would it be to send them any where than teach them such doctrines;
better send them to those islands in the South Seas, where they might
more humanely learn to become cannibals; it would be less disgusting
that they were brought up to devour the dead, than persecute the living.
Schools do you call them? call them rather dung-hills, where the viper
of intolerance deposits her young, that when their teeth are cut and
their poison is mature, they may issue forth, filthy and venomous, to
sting the Catholic. But are these the doctrines of the Church of
England, or of churchmen? No, the most enlightened churchmen are of a
different opinion. What says Paley?

  "I perceive no reason why men of different religious persuasions
  should not sit upon the same bench, deliberate in the same council, or
  fight in the same ranks, as well as men of various religious opinions
  upon any controverted topic of natural history, philosophy, or ethics."

It may be answered, that Paley was not strictly orthodox; I know nothing
of his orthodoxy, but who will deny that he was an ornament to the
church, to human nature, to Christianity?

I shall not dwell upon the grievance of tithes, so severely felt by the
peasantry; but it may be proper to observe, that there is an addition to
the burden, a percentage to the gatherer, whose interest it thus becomes
to rate them as highly as possible, and we know that in many large
livings in Ireland the only resident Protestants are the tithe proctor
and his family.

Amongst many causes of irritation, too numerous for recapitulation,
there is one in the militia not to be passed over,--I mean the existence
of Orange lodges amongst the privates. Can the officers deny this? And
if such lodges do exist, do they, can they tend to promote harmony
amongst the men, who are thus individually separated in society,
although mingled in the ranks? And is this general system of persecution
to be permitted; or is it to be believed that with such a system the
Catholics can or ought to be contented? If they are, they belie human
nature; they are then, indeed, unworthy to be any thing but the slaves
you have made them. The facts stated are from most respectable
authority, or I should not have dared in this place, or any place, to
hazard this avowal. If exaggerated, there are plenty as willing, as I
believe them to be unable, to disprove them. Should it be objected that
I never was in Ireland, I beg leave to observe, that it is as easy to
know something of Ireland, without having been there, as it appears with
some to have been born, bred, and cherished there, and yet remain
ignorant of its best interests.

But there are who assert that the Catholics have already been too much
indulged. See (cry they) what has been done: we have given them one
entire college; we allow them food and raiment, the full enjoyment of
the elements, and leave to fight for us as long as they have limbs and
lives to offer; and yet they are never to be satisfied!--Generous and
just declaimers! To this, and to this only, amount the whole of your
arguments, when stript of their sophistry. Those personages remind me of
a story of a certain drummer, who, being called upon in the course of
duty to administer punishment to a friend tied to the halberts, was
requested to flog high, he did--to flog low, he did--to flog in the
middle, he did,--high, low, down the middle, and up again, but all in
vain; the patient continued his complaints with the most provoking
pertinacity, until the drummer, exhausted and angry, flung down his
scourge, exclaiming, "The devil burn you, there's no pleasing you, flog
where one will!" Thus it is, you have flogged the Catholic high, low,
here, there, and every where, and then you wonder he is not pleased. It
is true that time, experience, and that weariness which attends even the
exercise of barbarity, have taught you to flog a little more gently; but
still you continue to lay on the lash, and will so continue, till
perhaps the rod may be wrested from your hands, and applied to the backs
of yourselves and your posterity.

It was said by somebody in a former debate, (I forget by whom, and am
not very anxious to remember,) if the Catholics are emancipated, why not
the Jews? If this sentiment was dictated by compassion for the Jews, it
might deserve attention, but as a sneer against the Catholic, what is it
but the language of Shylock transferred from his daughter's marriage to
Catholic emancipation:

  "Would any of the tribe of Barabbas
  Should have it rather than a Christian!"

I presume a Catholic is a Christian, even in the opinion of him whose
taste only can be called in question for his preference of the Jews.

It is a remark often quoted of Dr. Johnson, (whom I take to be almost as
good authority as the gentle apostle of intolerance, Dr. Duigenan,) that
he who could entertain serious apprehensions of danger to the church in
these times, would have "cried fire in the deluge." This is more than a
metaphor; for a remnant of these antediluvians appear actually to have
come down to us, with fire in their mouths and water in their brains, to
disturb and perplex mankind with their whimsical outcries. And as it is
an infallible symptom of that distressing malady with which I conceive
them to be afflicted (so any doctor will inform your Lordships), for the
unhappy invalids to perceive a flame perpetually flashing before their
eyes, particularly when their eyes are shut (as those of the persons to
whom I allude have long been), it is impossible to convince these poor
creatures that the fire against which they are perpetually warning us
and themselves is nothing but an 'ignis fatuus' of their own drivelling
imaginations. What rhubarb, senna, or "what purgative drug can scour
that fancy thence?"--It is impossible, they are given over,--theirs is
the true

  "Caput insanabile tribus Anticyris."

These are your true Protestants. Like Bayle, who protested against all
sects whatsoever, so do they protest against Catholic petitions,
Protestant petitions, all redress, all that reason, humanity, policy,
justice, and common sense can urge against the delusions of their absurd
delirium. These are the persons who reverse the fable of the mountain
that brought forth a mouse; they are the mice who conceive themselves in
labour with mountains.

To return to the Catholics: suppose the Irish were actually contented
under their disabilities; suppose them capable of such a bull as not to
desire deliverance,--ought we not to wish it for ourselves? Have we
nothing to gain by their emancipation? What resources have been wasted?
What talents have been lost by the selfish system of exclusion? You
already know the value of Irish aid; at this moment the defence of
England is intrusted to the Irish militia; at this moment, while the
starving people are rising in the fierceness of despair, the Irish are
faithful to their trust. But till equal energy is imparted throughout by
the extension of freedom, you cannot enjoy the full benefit of the
strength which you are glad to interpose between you and destruction.
Ireland has done much, but will do more. At this moment the only triumph
obtained through long years of continental disaster has been achieved by
an Irish general: it is true he is not a Catholic; had he been so, we
should have been deprived of his exertions: but I presume no one will
assert that his religion would have impaired his talents or diminished
his patriotism; though, in that case, he must have conquered in the
ranks, for he never could have commanded an army.

But he is fighting the battles of the Catholics abroad; his noble
brother has this night advocated their cause, with an eloquence which I
shall not depreciate by the humble tribute of my panegyric; whilst a
third of his kindred, as unlike as unequal, has been combating against
his Catholic brethren in Dublin, with circular letters, edicts,
proclamations, arrests, and dispersions;--all the vexatious implements
of petty warfare that could be wielded by the mercenary guerillas of
government, clad in the rusty armour of their obsolete statutes. Your
Lordships will doubtless divide new honours between the Saviour of
Portugal, and the Disperser of Delegates. It is singular, indeed, to
observe the difference between our foreign and domestic policy; if
Catholic Spain, faithful Portugal, or the no less Catholic and faithful
king of the one Sicily, (of which, by the by, you have lately deprived
him,) stand in need of succour, away goes a fleet and an army, an
ambassador and a subsidy, sometimes to fight pretty hardly, generally to
negotiate very badly, and always to pay very dearly for our Popish
allies. But let four millions of fellow-subjects pray for relief, who
fight and pay and labour in your behalf, they must be treated as aliens;
and although their "father's house has many mansions," there is no
resting-place for them. Allow me to ask, are you not fighting for the
emancipation of Ferdinand VII, who certainly is a fool, and,
consequently, in all probability a bigot? and have you more regard for a
foreign sovereign than your own fellow-subjects, who are not fools, for
they know your interest better than you know your own; who are not
bigots, for they return you good for evil; but who are in worse durance
than the prison of an usurper, inasmuch as the fetters of the mind are
more galling than those of the body?

Upon the consequences of your not acceding to the claims of the
petitioners, I shall not expatiate; you know them, you will feel them,
and your children's children when you are passed away. Adieu to that
Union so called, as "'Lucus a non lucendo'" an Union from never uniting,
which in its first operation gave a death-blow to the independence of
Ireland, and in its last may be the cause of her eternal separation from
this country. If it must be called an Union, it is the union of the
shark with his prey; the spoiler swallows up his victim, and thus they
become one and indivisible. Thus has great Britain swallowed up the
Parliament, the constitution, the independence of Ireland, and refuses
to disgorge even a single privilege, although for the relief of her
swollen and distempered body politic.

And now, my Lords, before I sit down, will his Majesty's ministers
permit me to say a few words, not on their merits, for that would be
superfluous, but on the degree of estimation in which they are held by
the people of these realms? The esteem in which they are held has been
boasted of in a triumphant tone on a late occasion within these walls,
and a comparison instituted between their conduct and that of noble
lords on this side of the House.

What portion of popularity may have fallen to the share of my noble
friends (if such I may presume to call them), I shall not pretend to
ascertain; but that of his Majesty's ministers it were vain to deny. It
is, to be sure, a little like the wind, "no one knows whence it cometh
or whither it goeth;" but they feel it, they enjoy it, they boast of it.
Indeed, modest and unostentatious as they are, to what part of the
kingdom, even the most remote, can they flee to avoid the triumph which
pursues them? If they plunge into the midland counties, there will they
be greeted by the manufacturers, with spurned petitions in their hands,
and those halters round their necks recently voted in their behalf,
imploring blessings on the heads of those who so simply, yet
ingeniously, contrived to remove them from their miseries in this to a
better world. If they journey on to Scotland, from Glasgow to John o'
Groat's, every where will they receive similar marks of approbation. If
they take a trip from Portpatrick to Donaghadee, there will they rush at
once into the embraces of four Catholic millions, to whom their vote of
this night is about to endear them for ever. When they return to the
metropolis, if they can pass under Temple Bar without unpleasant
sensations at the sight of the greedy niches over that ominous gateway,
they cannot escape the acclamations of the livery, and the more
tremulous, but not less sincere, applause, the blessings, "not loud, but
deep," of bankrupt merchants and doubting stock-holders. If they look to
the army, what wreaths, not of laurel, but of nightshade, are preparing
for the heroes of Walcheren! It is true, there are few living deponents
left to testify to their merits on that occasion; but a "cloud of
witnesses" are gone above from that gallant army which they so
generously and piously despatched, to recruit the "noble army of
martyrs."

What if in the course of this triumphal career (in which they will
gather as many pebbles as Caligula's army did on a similar triumph, the
prototype of their own,) they do not perceive any of those memorials
which a grateful people erect in honour of their benefactors; what
although not even a sign-post will condescend to depose the Saracen's
head in favour of the likeness of the conquerors of Walcheren, they will
not want a picture who can always have a caricature, or regret the
omission of a statue who will so often see themselves exalted into
effigy. But their popularity is not limited to the narrow bounds of an
island; there are other countries where their measures, and, above all,
their conduct to the Catholics, must render them pre-eminently popular.
If they are beloved here, in France they must be adored. There is no
measure more repugnant to the designs and feelings of Bonaparte than
Catholic emancipation; no line of conduct more propitious to his
projects than that which has been pursued, is pursuing, and, I fear,
will be pursued towards Ireland. What is England without Ireland, and
what is Ireland without the Catholics? It is on the basis of your
tyranny Napoleon hopes to build his own. So grateful must oppression of
the Catholics be to his mind, that doubtless (as he has lately permitted
some renewal of intercourse) the next cartel will convey to this country
cargoes of Sevres china and blue ribands, (things in great request, and
of equal value at this moment,) blue ribands of the Legion of Honour for
Dr. Duigenan and his ministerial disciples. Such is that well-earned
popularity, the result of those extraordinary expeditions, so expensive
to ourselves, and so useless to our allies; of those singular inquiries,
so exculpatory to the accused, and so dissatisfactory to the people; of
those paradoxical victories, so honourable, as we are told, to the
British name, and so destructive to the best interests of the British
nation: above all, such is the reward of the conduct pursued by
ministers towards the Catholics.

I have to apologise to the House, who will, I trust, pardon one not
often in the habit of intruding upon their indulgence, for so long
attempting to engage their attention. My most decided opinion is, as my
vote will be, in favour of the motion.





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3. DEBATE ON MAJOR CARTWRIGHT'S PETITION. JUNE 1,1813.


Lord BYRON rose and said:

My Lords,--he petition which I now hold for the purpose of presenting to
the House is one which, I humbly conceive, requires the particular
attention of your Lordships, inasmuch as, though signed but by a single
individual, it contains statements which (if not disproved) demand most
serious investigation. The grievance of which the petitioner complains
is neither selfish nor imaginary. It is not his own only, for it has
been and is still felt by numbers. No one without these walls, nor
indeed within, but may to-morrow be made liable to the same insult and
obstruction, in the discharge of an imperious duty for the restoration
of the true constitution of these realms, by petitioning for reform in
Parliament. The petitioner, my Lords, is a man whose long life has been
spent in one unceasing struggle for the liberty of the subject, against
that undue influence which has increased, is increasing, and ought to be
diminished; and whatever difference of opinion may exist as to his
political tenets, few will be found to question the integrity of his
intentions. Even now oppressed with years, and not exempt from the
infirmities attendant on his age, but still unimpaired in talent, and
unshaken in spirit--"'frangas non flectes'"--he has received many a
wound in the combat against corruption; and the new grievance, the fresh
insult, of which he complains, may inflict another scar, but no
dishonour. The petition is signed by John Cartwright; and it was in
behalf of the people and Parliament, in the lawful pursuit of that
reform in the representation which is the best service to be rendered
both to Parliament and people, that he encountered the wanton outrage
which forms the subject-matter of his petition to your Lordships. It is
couched in firm, yet respectful language--in the language of a man, not
regardless of what is due to himself, but at the same time, I trust,
equally mindful of the deference to be paid to this House. The
petitioner states, amongst other matter of equal, if not greater
importance, to all who are British in their feelings, as well as blood
and birth, that on the 21st January, 1813, at Huddersfield, himself and
six other persons, who, on hearing of his arrival, had waited on him
merely as a testimony of respect, were seized by a military and civil
force, and kept in close custody for several hours, subjected to gross
and abusive insinuation from the commanding officer, relative to the
character of the petitioner; that he (the petitioner) was finally
carried before a magistrate, and not released till an examination of his
papers proved that there was not only no just, but not even statutable
charge against him; and that, notwithstanding the promise and order from
the presiding magistrates of a copy of the warrant against your
petitioner, it was afterwards withheld on divers pretexts, and has never
until this hour been granted. The names and condition of the parties
will be found in the petition. To the other topics touched upon in the
petition I shall not now advert, from a wish not to encroach upon the
time of the House; but I do most sincerely call the attention of your
Lordships to its general contents--it is in the cause of the Parliament
and people that the rights of this venerable freeman have been violated,
and it is, in my opinion, the highest mark of respect that could be paid
to the House, that to your justice, rather than by appeal to any
inferior court, he now commits himself. Whatever may be the fate of his
remonstrance, it is some satisfaction to me, though mixed with regret
for the occasion, that I have this opportunity of publicly stating the
obstruction to which the subject is liable, in the prosecution of the
most lawful and imperious of his duties, the obtaining by petition
reform in Parliament. I have shortly stated his complaint; the
petitioner has more fully expressed it. Your Lordships will, I hope,
adopt some measure fully to protect and redress him, and not him alone,
but the whole body of the people, insulted and aggrieved in his person,
by the interposition of an abused civil and unlawful military force
between them and their right of petition to their own representatives.

His Lordship then presented the petition from Major Cartwright, which
was read, complaining of the circumstances at Huddersfield, and of
interruptions given to the right of petitioning in several places in the
northern parts of the kingdom, and which his Lordship moved should be
laid on the table.

Several lords having spoken on the question,

Lord BYRON replied, that he had, from motives of duty, presented this
petition to their Lordships' consideration. The noble Earl had contended
that it was not a petition, but a speech; and that, as it contained no
prayer, it should not be received. What was the necessity of a prayer?
If that word were to be used in its proper sense, their Lordships could
not expect that any man should pray to others. He had only to say, that
the petition, though in some parts expressed strongly perhaps, did not
contain any improper mode of address, but was couched in respectful
language towards their Lordships; he should therefore trust their
Lordships would allow the petition to be received.





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APPENDIX III.


LADY CAROLINE LAMB AND BYRON.


1. The following letter is one of the first which Lady Caroline wrote to
Byron, in the spring of 1812:


"The Rose Lord Byron gave Lady Caroline Lamb died in despight of every
effort made to save it; probably from regret at its fallen Fortunes.
Hume, at least, who is no great believer in most things, says that many
more die of broken hearts than is supposed. When Lady Caroline returns
from Brocket Hall, she will dispatch the _Cabinet Maker_ to Lord Biron,
with the Flower she wishes most of all others to resemble, as, however
deficient its beauty and even use, it has a noble and aspiring mind,
and, having once beheld in its full lustre the bright and unclouded sun
that for one moment condescended to shine upon it, never while it exists
could it think any lower object worthy of its worship and Admiration.
Yet the sunflower was punished for its temerity; but its fate is more to
be envied than that of many less proud flowers. It is still permitted to
gaze, though at the humblest distance, on him who is superior to every
other, and, though in this cold foggy atmosphere it meets no doubt with
many disappointments, and though it never could, never will, have reason
to boast of any peculiar mark of condescension or attention from the
bright star to whom it pays constant homage, yet to behold it sometimes,
to see it gazed at, to hear it admired, will repay all. She hopes,
therefore, when brought by the little Page, it will be graciously
received without any more Taunts and cuts about 'Love of what is New.'

"Lady Caroline does not plead guilty to this most unkind charge, at
least no further than is laudable, for that which is rare and is
distinguished and singular ought to be more prized and sought after than
what is commonplace and disagreeable. How can the other accusation, of
being easily pleased, agree with this? The very circumstance of seeking
out that which is of high value shows at least a mind not readily
satisfied. But to attempt excuses for faults would be impossible with
Lady Caroline. They have so long been rooted in a soil suited to their
growth that a far less penetrating eye than Lord Byron's might perceive
them--even on the shortest acquaintance. There is not one, however,
though long indulged, that shall not be instantly got rid of, if L'd
Byron thinks it worth while to name them. The reproof and abuse of some,
however severe and just, may be valued more than the easily gained
encomiums of the rest of the world.

"Miss Mercer, were she here, would join with Lady Caroline in a last
request during their absence, that, besides not forgetting his new
acquaintances, he would eat and drink like an English man till their
return. The lines upon the only dog ever loved by L'd Byron are
beautiful. What wrong then, that, having such proof of the faith and
friendship of this animal, L'd Byron should censure the whole race by
the following unjust remarks:

  "'Perchance my dog will whine in vain
   Till fed by stranger hands;
  But long e'er I come back again,
   He'd tear me where he stands.'

"March 27th, 1812, _Good Friday_."





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2. The following are the lines written by Lady Caroline when she burned
Byron in effigy at Brocket Hall (endorsed, in Mrs. Leigh's handwriting,
"December, 1812"):


"ADDRESS SPOKEN BY THE PAGE AT BROCKET HALL, BEFORE THE BONFIRE.

  "Is this Guy Faux you burn in effigy?
  Why bring the Traitor here? What is Guy Faux to me?
  Guy Faux betrayed his country, and his laws.
  England revenged the wrong; his was a public cause.
  But I have private cause to raise this flame.
  Burn also those, and be their fate the same.
      [_Puts the Basket in the fire under the figure_.
  See here are locks and braids of coloured hair
  Worn oft by me, to make the people stare;
  Rouge, feathers, flowers, and all those tawdry things,
  Besides those Pictures, letters, chains, and rings--
  All made to lure the mind and please the eye,
  And fill the heart with pride and vanity--
  Burn, fire, burn; these glittering toys destroy.
  While thus we hail the blaze with throats of joy.
  Burn, fire, burn, while wondering Boys exclaim,
  And gold and trinkets glitter in the flame.
  Ah! look not thus on me, so grave, so sad;
  Shake not your heads, nor say the Lady's mad.
  Judge not of others, for there is but one
  To whom the heart and feelings can be known.
  Upon my youthful faults few censures cast.
  Look to the future--and forgive the past.
  London, farewell; vain world, vain life, adieu!
  Take the last tears I e'er shall shed for you.
  Young tho' I seem, I leave the world for ever,
  Never to enter it again--no, never--never!"





       *       *       *       *       *





3. The following letter was apparently written in the summer of 1812:


"You have been very generous and kind if you have not betray'd me, and I
do _not think you have_. My remaining in Town and seeing you thus is
sacrificing the last chance I have left. I expose myself to every eye,
to every unkind observation. You think me weak, and selfish; you think I
do not struggle to withstand my own feelings, but indeed it is exacting
more than human nature can bear, and when I came out last night, which
was of itself an effort, and when I heard your name announced, the
moment after I saw nothing more, but seemed in a dream. Miss Berry's
very loud laugh and penetrating eyes did not restore me. She, however,
[was] good natur'd and remain'd near me, and Mr. Moor (_sic_), though he
really does not approve one feeling I have, had kindness of heart to
stay near me. Otherwise I felt so ill I could not have struggled longer.
Lady Cahir said, 'You are ill; shall we go away?' which I [was] very
glad to accept; but we could not get through, and so I fear it caus'd
you pain to see me intrude again. I sent a groom to Holmes twice
yesterday morning, to prevent his going to you, or giving you a letter
full of flippant jokes, written in one moment of gaiety, which is quite
gone since. I am so afraid he has been to you; if so, I entreat you to
forgive it, and to do just what you think right about the Picture.

"I have been drawing you Mad. de Stael, as the last I sent was not like.
If you do not approve this, give it Murray, and pray do not be angry
with me.

"Do not marry yet, or, if you do, let me know it first. I shall not
suffer, if she you chuse be worth you, but she will never love you as I
did. I am going to the Chapple Royal at St. James. Do you ever go there?
It begins at 1/2 past 5, and lasts till six; it is the most beautiful
singing I ever heard; the choristers sing 'By the waters of Babylon.'

"The Peers sit below; the Women quite apart. But for the evening service
very few go; I wonder that more do not,--it is really most beautiful,
for those who like that style of music. If you never heard it, go there
some day, but not when it is so cold as this. How very pale you are!
What a contrast with Moore! '_Mai io l'ho veduto piu bello che jeri, ma
e la belta della morte_,' or a statue of white marble so colourless, and
the dark brow and hair such a contrast. I never see you without wishing
to cry; if any painter could paint me that face as it is, I would give
them any thing I possess on earth,--not one has yet given the
countenance and complexion as it is. I only could, if I knew how to draw
and paint, because one must feel it to give it the real expression."





       *       *       *       *       *





4. The following letter was evidently written at the time when the
separation of Lord and Lady Byron was first rumoured:


"Melbourne House, Thursday.

"When so many wiser and better surround you, it is not for me to presume
to hope that anything I can say will find favour in your sight; but yet
I must venture to intrude upon you, even though your displeasure against
me be all I gain for so doing. All others may have some object or
interest in their's; I have none, but the wish to save you. Will you
generously consent to what is for the peace of both parties? and will
you act in a manner worthy of yourself? I am sure in the end you will
consent. Even were everything now left to your own choice, you never
could bring yourself to live with a person who felt desirous of being
separated from you. I know you too well to believe this possible, and I
am sure that a separation nobly and generously arranged by you will at
once silence every report spread against either party. Believe me, Lord
Byron, you will feel happier when you act thus, and all the world will
approve your conduct, which I know is not a consideration with you, but
still should in some measure be thought of. They tell me that you have
accused me of having spread injurious reports against you. Had you the
heart to say this? I do not greatly believe it; but it is affirmed and
generally thought that you said so. You have often been unkind to me,
but never as unkind as this.

"Those who are dear to you cannot feel more anxious for your happiness
than I do. They may fear to offend you more than I ever will, but they
cannot be more ready to serve you. I wish to God that I could see one so
superior in mind and talents and every grace and power that can
fascinate and delight, happier. You might still be so, Lord Byron, if
you would believe what some day you will find true. Have you ever
thought for one moment seriously? Do you wish to heap such misery upon
yourself that you will no longer be able to endure it? Return to virtue
and happiness, for God's sake, whilst it is yet time. Oh, Lord Byron,
let one who has loved you with a devotion almost profane find favour so
far as to incline you to hear her. Sometimes from the mouth of a sinner
advice may be received that a proud heart disdains to take from those
who are upon an equality with themselves. If this is so, may it now,
even now, have some little weight with you. Do not drive things to
desperate extremes. Do not, even though you may have the power, use it
to ill. God bless and sooth you, and preserve you. I cannot see all that
I once admired and loved so well ruining himself and others without
feeling it deeply. If what I have said is unwise, at least believe the
motive was a kind one; and would to God it might avail.

"I cannot believe that you will not act generously in this instance.

"Yours, unhappily as it has proved for me,

"CAROLINE.

"Those of my family who have seen Lady Byron have assured me that,
whatever her sorrow, she is the last in the world to reproach or speak
ill of you. She is most miserable. What regret will yours be evermore if
false friends or resentment impel you to act harshly on this occasion?
Whatever my feelings may be towards you or her, I have, with the most
scrupulous care for both your sakes, avoided either calling, or sending,
or interfering. To say that I have spread reports against either is,
therefore, as unjust as it is utterly false. I fear no enquiry."






       *       *       *       *       *





5. The following letter probably refers to the publication of the lines,
"Fare thee Well," in April, 1816:


"At a moment of such deep agony, and I may add shame--when utterly
disgraced, judge, Byron, what my feelings must be at Murray's shewing me
some beautiful verses of yours. I do implore you for God sake not to
publish them. Could I have seen you one moment, I would explain why. I
have only time to add that, however those who surround you may make you
disbelieve it, you will draw ruin on your own head and hers if at this
moment you shew these. I know not from what quarter the report
originates. You accused _me_, and falsely; but if you could hear all
that is said at this moment, you would believe one, who, though your
enemy, though for ever alienated from you, though resolved never more,
whilst she lives, to see or speak to or forgive you, yet would perhaps
die to save you.

"Byron, hear me. My own misery I have scarce once thought of. What is
the loss of one like me to the world? But when I see such as you are
ruined for ever, and utterly insensible of it, I must [speak out]. Of
course, I cannot say to Murray what I think of those verses, but to you,
to you alone, I will say I think they will prove your ruin."





       *       *       *       *       *





6. In 1824, after the death of Byron, and after the publication of
Captain Medwin's 'Recollections of Lord Byron', Lady Caroline Lamb sent
a letter to Mr. Henry Colburn, the publisher, enclosing one to be given
to Medwin and published. Both are given here, and the latter should be
read in substantiation or correction of what is stated in the notes. The
letter is printed 'verbatim et literati'.


(1) Lady Caroline Lamb to Henry Colburn.

"[November (?), 1824.]

"MY DEAR SIR,--Walter who takes this will explain my wishes. Will you
enable him to deliver my letter to Captain Medwin, and will you publish
it? you are to give him ten pound for it; I will settle it with you. I
am on my death bed, do not fail to obey my wishes. I send you my
journals but do not publish them until I am dead.

"Yours,

"CAROLINE LAMB."





(2) Lady Caroline Lamb to Captain Thomas Medwin.

[Endorsed, "This copy to be carefully preserved." Hy. Cn. (Henry
Colburn?).]

"[November (?), 1824.]

"SIR,--I hope you will excuse my intruding upon your time, with the most
intense interest I have just finished your book which does you credit as
to the manner in which it is executed and after the momentary pain in
part which it excites in many a bosom, will live in despight of
censure--and be gratefully accepted by the Public as long as Lord
Byron's name is remembered--yet as you have left to one who adored him a
bitter legacy, and as I feel secure the lines 'remember thee--thou false
to him thou fiend to me'--were his--and as I have been very ill & am not
likely to trouble any one much longer--you will I am sure grant me one
favour--let me to you at least confide the truth of the past--you owe it
to me--you will not I know refuse me.

"It was when the first Child Harold came out upon Lord Byron's return
from Greece that I first had the misfortune to be acquainted with
him--at that time I was the happiest and gayest of human beings I do
believe without exception--_I had married for love_ and love the most
romantic and ardent--my husband and I were so fond of each other that
false as I too soon proved he never would part with me. Devonshire House
was at that time closed from my Uncle's death for one year--at Melbourne
House where I lived the Waltzes and Quadrilles were being daily
practised, Lady Jersey, Lady Cowper, the Duke of Devonshire, Miss
Milbanke and a number of foreigners coming there to learn--You may
imagine what forty or fifty people dancing from 12 in the morning until
near dinner time all young gay and noisy were--in the evenings we either
had opposition suppers or went out to Balls and routs--such was the life
I then led when Moore and Rogers introduced Lord Byron to me--What you
say of his falling upstairs and of Miss Milbanke is all true. Lord Byron
3 days after this brought me a Rose and Carnation and used the very
words I mentioned in Glenarvon--with a sort of half sarcastic
smile--saying, 'Your Ladyship I am told likes all that is new and rare
for a moment'--I have them still, and the woman who through many a trial
has kept these relics with the romance of former ages--deserves not that
you should speak of her as you do. Byron never never could say I had no
heart. He never could say, either, that I had not loved my husband. In
his letters to me he is perpetually telling me I love him the best of
the two; and my only charm, believe me, in his eyes was, that I was
innocent, affectionate, and enthusiastic.

Recall those words, and let me not go down with your book as heartless.
Tell the truth; it is bad enough; but not what is worse. It makes me so
nervous to write that I must stop--will it tire you too much if I
continue? I was not a woman of the world. Had I been one of that sort,
why would he have devoted nine entire months almost entirely to my
society; have written perhaps ten times in a day; and lastly have
press'd me to leave all and go with him--and this at the very moment
when he was made an Idol of, and when, as he and you justly observe, I
had few personal attractions. Indeed, indeed I tell the truth. Byron did
not affect--but he loved me as never woman was loved. I have had one of
his letters copied in the stone press for you; one just before we
parted. See if it looks like a mere lesson. Besides, he was then very
good, to what he grew afterwards; &, his health being delicate, he liked
to read with me & stay with me out of the crowd. Not but what we went
about everywhere together, and were at last invited always as if we had
been married--It was a strange scene--but it was not vanity misled me. I
grew to love him better than virtue, Religion--all prospects here. He
broke my heart, & still I love him--witness the agony I experienced at
his death & the tears your book has cost me. Yet, sir, allow me to say,
although you have unintentionally given me pain, I had rather have
experienced it than not have read your book. Parts of it are beautiful;
and I can vouch for the truth of much, as I read his own Memoirs before
Murray burnt them. Keep Lord Byron's letter to me (I have the original)
& some day add a word or two to your work from his own words, not to let
every one think I am heartless. The cause of my leaving Lord Byron was
this; my dearest Mother, now dead, grew so terrified about us--that upon
hearing a false report that we were gone off together she was taken
dangerously ill & broke a blood vessel. Byron would not believe it, but
it was true. When he was convinced, we parted. I went to Ireland, &
remained there 3 months. He wrote, every day, long kind entertaining
letters; it is these he asked Murray to look out, and extract from, when
he published the journal; but I would not part with them--I have them
now--they would only burn them, & nothing of his should be burnt. At
Dublin, God knows why, he wrote me the cruel letter part of which he
acknowledges in Glenarvon (the 9th of November, 1812)--He knew it would
destroy my mind and all else--it did so--Lady Oxford was no doubt the
instigator. What will not a woman do to get rid of a rival? She knew
that he still loved me--I need not tire you with every particular. I was
brought to England a mere wreck; & in due time, Lady Melbourne & my
mother being seriously alarmed for me, brought me to town, and allowed
me to see Lord Byron. Our meeting was not what he insinuates--he asked
me to forgive him; he looked sorry for me; he cried. I adored him still,
but I felt as passionless as the dead may feel.--Would I had died
there!--I should have died pitied, & still loved by him, & with the
sympathy of all. I even should have pardoned myself--so deeply had I
suffered. But, unhappily, we continued occasionally to meet. Lord Byron
liked others, I only him--The scene at Lady Heathcote's is nearly
true--he had made me swear I was never to Waltz. Lady Heathcote said,
Come, Lady Caroline, you must begin, & I bitterly answered--oh yes! I am
in a merry humour. I did so--but whispered to Lord Byron 'I conclude I
may waltz _now_' and he answered sarcastically, 'with every body in
turn--you always did it better than any one. I shall have a pleasure in
seeing you."--I did so you may judge with what feelings. After this,
feeling ill, I went into a small inner room where supper was prepared;
Lord Byron & Lady Rancliffe entered after; seeing me, he said, 'I have
been admiring your dexterity.' I clasped a knife, not intending
anything. 'Do, my dear,' he said. 'But if you mean to act a Roman's
part, mind which way you strike with your knife--be it at your own
heart, not mine--you have struck there already.' 'Byron,' I said, and
ran away with the knife. I never stabbed myself. It is false. Lady
Rancliffe & Tankerville screamed and said I would; people pulled to get
it from me; I was terrified; my hand got cut, & the blood came over my
gown. I know not what happened after--but this is the very truth. After
this, long after, Ld. Byron abused by every one, made the theme of every
one's horror, yet pitied me enough to come & see me; and still, in
spight of every one, William Lamb had the generosity to retain me. I
never held my head up after--never could. It was in all the papers, and
put not truly. It is true I burnt Lord Byron in Effigy, & his book, ring
& chain. It is true I went to see him as a Carman, after all that! But
it is also true, that, the last time we parted for ever, as he pressed
his lips on mine (it was in the Albany) he said 'poor Caro, if every one
hates me, you, I see, will never change--No, not with ill usage!' & I
said, 'yes, I _am_ changed, & shall come near you no more.'--For then he
showed me letters, & told me things I cannot repeat, & all my attachment
went. This was our last parting scene--well I remember it. It had an
effect upon me not to be conceived--3 years I had _worshipped_ him.

"Shortly after he married, once, Lady Melbourne took me to see his Wife
in Piccadilly. It was a cruel request, but Lord Byron himself made it.
It is to this wedding visit he alludes. Mrs. Leigh, myself, Lady
Melbourne, Lady Noel, & Lady Byron, were in the room. I never looked up.
Annabella was very cold to me. Lord Byron came in & seemed agitated--his
hand was cold, but he seemed kind. This was the last time upon this
earth I ever met him. Soon after, the battle of Waterloo took place. My
Brother was wounded, & I went to Brussels. I had one letter while at
Paris from Ld. Byron; a jesting one; hoping I was as happy with the
regiment as he was with his 'Wife Bell.' When I returned, the parting
between them occurred--& my page affair--& Glenarvon. I wrote it in a
month under circumstances would surprise every body, but which I am not
at liberty to mention. Besides, it has nothing to do with your book and
would only tire you. Previous to this, I once met, & once only, Lady
Byron. It was just after the separation occurred. She was so altered I
could hardly know her--she appeared heart broken. What she then said to
me _I may not repeat_--she was however sent away, she did not go
willingly.

"She accused me of knowing every thing, & reproached me for not having
stopped the marriage. How could I! She had been shewn my letters, and
every one else. It is utterly false that she ever opened the desk--the
nurse had nothing to do with the separation--

"From that hour, Lady Byron & I met no more, & it was after this, that,
indignant & miserable, I wrote Glenarvon. Lady B. was more angry at it
than he was--From that time, I put the whole as much as I could from my
mind. Ld. Byron never once wrote to me--and always spoke of me with
contempt. I was taken ill in March this year--Mrs. Russell Hunter & a
nurse sat up with me. In the middle of the night I fancied I saw Ld.
Byron--I screamed, jumped out of bed & desired them to save me from him.
He looked horrible, & ground his teeth at me; he did not speak; his hair
was straight; he was fatter than when I knew him, & not near so
handsome. I felt convinced I was to die. This dream took possession of
my mind. I had not dreamed of him since we had parted. It was, besides,
like no other dream except one of my Mother that I ever had. I am glad
to think it occurred before his death as I never did & hope I never
shall see a Ghost. I have even avoided enquiring about the exact day for
fear I should believe it--it made enough impression as it was. I told
William, and my Brother & Murray at the time. Judge what my horror was,
as well as grief, when, long after, the news came of his death, it was
conveyed to me in two or 3 words--'Caroline, behave properly, I know it
will shock you--Lord Byron is dead'--This letter I received when
laughing at Brockett Hall. Its effect or some other cause produced a
fever from which I never yet have recovered--It was also singular that
the first day I could go out in an open Carriage, as I was slowly
driving up the hill here,--Lord Byron's Hearse was at that moment
passing under these very walls, and rested at Welwyn. William Lamb, who
was riding on before me, met the procession at the Turnpike, & asked
whose funeral it was. He was very much affected and shocked--I of course
was not told; but, as I kept continually asking where & when he was to
be buried, & had read in the papers it was to be at Westminster Abbey, I
heard it too soon, & it made me very ill again."





       *       *       *       *       *





APPENDIX IV.


LETTERS OF BERNARD BARTON.

The two following letters were written to Byron in 1814, by Bernard
Barton, the Quaker poet (see Letter 238, [Foot]note 1):--


I


"Woodbridge, Suffolk, Apl. 14th, 1814.

"MY LORD,--I received this morning the reply with which your Lordship
honour'd my last, and now avail myself of the permission you have so
kindly granted to state as briefly as I can the circumstances which have
induced me to make this application, and the extent of my wishes
respecting your Lordship's interference.

"Eight years since, I went into business in this place as a Merchant. I
was then just of age, and, shortly after, married. The business in which
I was engaged was of a very precarious Nature; and after vainly trying
for 4 Years to make the best of it, I was compell'd to relinquish it
altogether. Just then, to add to my distress, I lost my best, my
firmest, my tenderest friend--the only being for whose sake I ever
desir'd wealth, and the only one who could have cheer'd the gloom of
Poverty. My Capital being a borrow'd one, I returned it as far as I
could to the person who had lent it. Since that time, my Lord, I have
been struggling to make the best of a Clerkship of L80 per ann., out of
which I have to meet every expence, and still to maintain a respectable
appearance in a Place where I have resided under different
circumstances. Had I enter'd my present Situation free of all debts, I
should have made it an inviolable rule to have limited my expenditure to
my Income; but beginning in debt, compell'd by peculiar circumstances to
mix with those much superior to myself, I have gone on till I find it
quite impossible to go on any longer, and I am compelled to seek for
some asylum where, by rigid frugality and indefatigable exertion, I may
free myself from my present humiliating embarrassments; but while I am
here the thing seems impracticable. Your Lordship will naturally inquire
why I do not avail myself of the influence of those friends by whom I am
known. As you have, my Lord, done me the honour to encourage me to state
my position frankly, I will, without hesitation, inform you. I am,
nominally at least, a Quaker. The persons to whom I should, in my
present difficulties, naturally look for assistance are among the most
respectable of that body; but my attachments to literary and
metaphysical studies, and a line of conduct not compatible with the
strictness of Quaker discipline, have, I am afraid, brought me into
disrepute with those to whom I should otherwise have confided my
situation. Were I to disclose it, it would only be consider'd as a fit
judgment on me for my scepticism and infidelity.

"This, my Lord, is a brief but faithful statement of my present
situation; it is, as I before told your Lordship, in every respect an
untenable one. I must relinquish it, and throw myself an outcast on
society. _Can you, will you_, my Lord, exert _your influence_ to save me
from irretrievable ruin? Can you, my Lord, in any possible way, afford
employment to me? Can you take me into your service--a young man, not
totally destitute of talents, eager to exert them, and willing to do
anything or be anything in his power? If you can, my Lord, I will
promise to serve you not servilely, but faithfully in any manner you
shall point out. Do not, I beg of you, my Lord, refuse my application
the moment you peruse it. The mouse, you know, once was able to show its
gratitude to the lion; and it may be in my power, if your Lordship will
but give me the opportunity, to evince my deep gratitude for any
kindness you may show me, not by _words_, but _deeds_. Be assur'd you
will not have cause to repent any interest you have taken or may take in
my concerns. For the civility you shewed me on a former occasion, my
Lord, I felt, as I ought, much indebted; but infinitely more for the
generosity of feeling and soundness of judgment which dictated the
letter you then did me the honour to address to me. Ever since then I
have entertain'd the highest opinion both of your head and your heart.
Is it, then, strange, my Lord, that, surrounded by difficulties,
perplexed at every step I take, I should look up to your Lordship for
_advice_, and, if possible, for assistance? Be the consequences what
they may, I have ventur'd on the presumption of doing so. If I have
taken too great a liberty, I beg you, my Lord, to forgive me, and let
the tale of my perplexities and my misfortunes, my impertinence and its
punishment, be alike forgotten; it can, at any rate, only give your
Lordship the trouble of reading a letter. If, on the other hand, your
Lordship can in any way realize the hopes I have long enthusiastically
cherished, why, the 'blessing of him who is ready to perish shall fall
on you.' Be the event what it may, '_Crede Byron_' is, your Lordship
sees, my motto.

"I am, my Lord,

"Your Lordship's very obt. servt,

"B. BARTON.

"P. S.--I shall wait with no common anxiety to see whether your Lordship
will so far forgive this intrusion as to answer it."





       *       *       *       *       *





2.


"Woodbridge, April 15th, 1814.

"My Lord,--I should be truly sorry if my importunity should defeat its
own purpose, and, instead of interesting your Lordship on my behalf,
should make you regret the indulgence you have already granted me; but I
really feel as if I had staked every remaining hope on the cast of the
die, and, therefore, before it is thrown, I wish, my Lord, to make one
or two more observations.

"Although in my last, which, as I before observed, was hastily written,
I express'd my wish to be allow'd, _in some capacity or other_, to serve
your Lordship, yet I am not so foolish as to think of fastening myself
on you, my Lord, _bon gre ou malgre_. One reason for my expressing that
wish, was an idea that your Lordship might go abroad before long; and,
added to my own wish to see something of the world on which fate has
thrown me, it occurred to me at the moment, that on such an occasion the
services of one who is warmly attach'd to you, perhaps _romantically_,
for I know nothing of your Lordship but by your writings, might be
acceptable.

"But, my Lord, although I have thus alluded to what would most gratify my
own wishes, it was not intended to dictate to you the manner in which
you might promote my interest. If your Lordship's superior judgment and
greater knowledge of the world can suggest anything else for my
consideration, it shall receive every attention.

"One more remark, my Lord, and I have done. I am very sensible that in
this application to your Lordship I have been guilty of what would be
term'd by some a piece of great impertinence, and by most an act of
consummate folly. Will you allow me, my Lord, frankly to state to you
the arguments on which my resolutions were founded?

"I have not address'd you, my Lord, on the impulse of the moment,
dictated by desperation, and adopted without reflection. No, my Lord; I
had, or, at least, I thought I had, better reasons. I remembered that
you had once condescended to address me _'candidly, not critically,'_
that you had even kindly interested yourself on my behalf. I thought
that, amid all the keenness and poignancy of your habitual feelings, as
powerfully pourtrayed in your writings, I could discern the workings of
a heart _truly noble_. I imagin'd that what to a superficial observer
appear'd only the overflowings of misanthropy, were, in reality, the
effusions of deep sensibility. I convinc'd myself, by repeated perusals
of your different productions, that though disappointments the most
painful, and sensations the most acute, might have stung your heart to
its very core, it had yet many feelings of the most exalted kind. From
these I hoped everything. Those hopes may be disappointed, but the
opinions which gave rise to them have not been hastily form'd, nor will
any selfish feeling of mortification be able to alter them.

"I do not, my Lord, intend the above as any idle complimentary apology
for what I have done. I am not, God knows, just now in a complimentary
mood; and if I were, you, my Lord, are one of the last persons on earth
on whom I should be tempted to play off such trash as idle panegyrics. I
esteem you, my Lord, not merely for your rank, still less for your
personal qualities. The former I respect as I ought; of the latter I
know nothing. But I feel something more than mere respect for your
genius and your talents; and from your past conduct towards myself I
cannot be insensible to your kindness. For these reasons, my Lord, I
acted as I have done. I before told you that I consider'd you _no common
character_, and I think your Lordship will admit that I have not treated
you as such.

"Permit me once more, my Lord, to take my leave by assuring you that I
am,

"With the truest esteem,
"Your very obt. and humble servt.,
"BERNARD BARTON.

"P. S.--I hope your Lordship will find no difficulty in making out this
scrawl; but really, not being able to mend my pen, I am forced to write
with it backwards. When I have the good luck to find my pen-knife, I
will endeavour to furnish myself with a better tool."





       *       *       *       *       *





Part of the draft of Byron's answer to these two letters is in
existence, and runs as follows:


"Albany, April 16th, 1814.

"Sir,--All offence is out of the question. My principal regret is that
it is not in my power to be of service. My own plans are very unsettled,
and at present, from a variety of circumstances, embarrassed, and, even
were it otherwise, I should be both to offer anything like dependence to
one, who, from education and acquirements, must doubly feel sensible of
such a situation, however I might be disposed to render it tolerable.

"As an adviser I am rather qualified to point out what should be avoided
than what may be pursued, for my own life has been but a series of
imprudences and conflicts of all descriptions. From these I have only
acquired experience; if repentance were added, perhaps it might be all
the better, since I do not find the former of much avail without it."





       *       *       *       *       *





APPENDIX V.


CORRESPONDENCE WITH WALTER SCOTT.


The following is Walter Scott's reply to Byron's letter of July 6, 1812:


"Abbotsford, near Melrose, 16th July, 1812.

"MY LORD,--I am much indebted to your Lordship for your kind and
friendly letter; and much gratified by the Prince Regent's good opinion
of my literary attempts. I know so little of courts or princes, that any
success I may have had in hitting off the Stuarts is, I am afraid, owing
to a little old Jacobite leaven which I sucked in with the numerous
traditionary tales that amused my infancy. It is a fortunate thing for
the Prince himself that he has a literary turn, since nothing can so
effectually relieve the ennui of state, and the anxieties of power.

"I hope your Lordship intends to give us more of 'Childe Harold'. I was
delighted that my friend Jeffrey--for such, in despite of many a feud,
literary and political, I always esteem him--has made so handsomely the
'amende honorable' for not having discovered in the bud the merits of
the flower; and I am happy to understand that the retractation so
handsomely made was received with equal liberality. These circumstances
may perhaps some day lead you to revisit Scotland, which has a maternal
claim upon you, and I need not say what pleasure I should have in
returning my personal thanks for the honour you have done me. I am
labouring here to contradict an old proverb, and make a silk purse out
of a sow's ear, namely, to convert a bare 'haugh' and 'brae', of about
100 acres, into a comfortable farm. Now, although I am living in a
gardener's hut, and although the adjacent ruins of Melrose have little
to tempt one who has seen those of Athens, yet, should you take a tour
which is so fashionable at this season, I should be very happy to have
an opportunity of introducing you to anything remarkable in my
fatherland. My neighbour, Lord Somerville, would, I am sure, readily
supply the accommodations which I want, unless you prefer a couch in a
closet, which is the utmost hospitality I have at present to offer. The
fair, or shall I say the sage, Apreece that was, Lady Davy that is, is
soon to show us how much science she leads captive in Sir Humphrey; so
your Lordship sees, as the citizen's wife says in the farce,
'Thread-needle Street has some charms,' since they procure us such
celebrated visitants. As for me, I would rather cross-question your
Lordship about the outside of Parnassus, than learn the nature of the
contents of all the other mountains in the world. Pray, when under 'its
cloudy canopy' did you hear anything of the celebrated Pegasus? Some say
he has been brought off with other curiosities to Britain, and now
covers at Tattersal's. I would fain have a cross from him out of my
little moss-trooper's Galloway, and I think your Lordship can tell one
how to set about it, as I recognise his true paces in the high-mettled
description of Ali Pacha's military court.

"A wise man said--or, if not, I, who am no wise man, now say--that there
is no surer mark of regard than when your correspondent ventures to
write nonsense to you. Having, therefore, like Dogberry, bestowed all my
tediousness upon your Lordship, you are to conclude that I have given
you a convincing proof that I am very much

"Your Lordship's obliged and very faithful servant,

"WALTER SCOTT."





       *       *       *       *       *





APPENDIX VI.

"THE GIANT AND THE DWARF."


The reply of Leigh Hunt's friends to Moore's squib, "The 'Living Dog'
and the 'Dead Lion'" (see Letter 291, p. 205, note 1 [Footnote 2]), ran
as follows:


"THE GIANT AND THE DWARF.

"Humbly inscribed to T. Pidcock, Esq., of Exeter 'Change.

  "A Giant that once of a Dwarf made a friend,
    (And their friendship the Dwarf took care shouldn't be hid),
  Would now and then, out of his glooms, condescend
    To laugh at his antics,--as every one did.

  "This Dwarf-an extremely diminutive Dwarf,--
    In birth unlike G--y, though his pride was as big,
  Had been taken, when young, from the bogs of Clontarf,
    And though born quite a Helot, had grown up a Whig.

  "He wrote little verses--and sung them withal,
    And the Giant's dark visions they sometimes could charm,
  Like the voice of the lute which had pow'r over Saul,
    And the song which could Hell and its legions disarm.

  "The Giant was grateful, and offered him gold,
    But the Dwarf was indignant, and spurn'd at the offer:
  'No, never!' he cried, 'shall _my_ friendship be sold
    For the sordid contents of another man's coffer!

  "'What would Dwarfland, and Ireland, and every land say?
    To what would so shocking a thing be ascribed?
  _My Lady_ would think that I was in your pay,
    And the _Quarterly_ say that I must have been bribed.

  "'You see how I'm puzzled; I don't say it wouldn't
    Be pleasant just now to have just that amount:
  But to take it in gold or in bank-notes!--I couldn't,
    I _wouldn't_ accept it--on any account.

  "'But couldn't you just write your Autobiography,
    All fearless and personal, bitter and stinging?
  Sure _that_, with a few famous heads in lithography,
    Would bring me far more than my Songs or my singing.

  "'You know what I did for poor Sheridan's Life;
    _Your's_ is sure of my very best superintendence;
  I'll expunge what might point at your sister or wife,--
    And I'll thus keep my priceless, unbought independence!'

  "The Giant smiled grimly: he couldn't quite see
    What diff'rence there was on the face of the earth,
  Between the Dwarf's taking the money in fee,
    And his taking the same thing _in that money's worth_.

  "But to please him he wrote; and the business was done:
    The Dwarf went immediately off to 'the Row;'
  And ere the next night had pass'd over the sun,
    The MEMOIRS were purchas'd by Longman and Co.

"W. GYNGELL, Showman, Bartholomew Fair."





       *       *       *       *       *





APPENDIX VII.


ATTACKS UPON BYRON IN THE NEWSPAPERS FOR FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1814.


I. 'THE COURIER'.

(1) LORD BYRON ('The Courier', February 1, 1814).


A new Poem has just been published by the above Nobleman, and the
'Morning Chronicle' of to-day has favoured its readers with his
Lordship's Dedication of it to THOMAS MOORE, Esq., in what that paper
calls "an elegant eulogium." If the elegance of an eulogium consist in
its extravagance, the 'Chronicle's' epithet is well chosen. But our
purpose is not with the Dedication, nor the main Poem, 'The Corsair',
but with one of the pieces called Poems, published at the end of the
'Corsair'. Nearly two years ago (in March, 1812), when the REGENT was
attacked with a bitterness and rancour that disgusted the whole country;
when attempts were made day after day to wound every feeling of the
heart; there appeared in the 'Morning Chronicle' an anonymous 'Address
to a Young Lady weeping', upon which we remarked at the time ('Courier
of March' 7, 1812), considering it as tending to make the Princess
CHARLOTTE of WALES view the PRINCE REGENT her father as an object of
suspicion and disgrace. Few of our readers have forgotten the disgust
which this address excited. The author of it, however, unwilling that it
should sleep in the oblivion to which it had been consigned with the
other trash of that day, has republished it, and, placed the first of
what are called Poems at the end of this newly published work the
Corsair, we find this very address:

  "Weep daughter of a _royal_ line,
  A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;"

_Lord Byron thus avows himself to be the Author._

To be sure the Prince has been extremely _disgraced_ by the policy he
has adopted, and the events which that policy has produced; and the
realm has experienced _great decay_, no doubt, by the occurrences in the
Peninsula, the resistance of Russia, the rising in Germany, the
counter-revolution in Holland, and the defeat, disgrace, and shame of
BUONAPARTE. But, instead of continuing our observations, suppose we
parody his Lordship's Address, and apply it to February 1814:


TO A YOUNG LADY.

February, 1814.

  "View! daughter of a royal line,
     A father's fame, a realm's renown:
   Ah! happy that that realm is thine,
     And that its father is thine own!

  "View, and exulting view, thy fate,
     Which dooms thee o'er these blissful Isles
   To reign, (but distant be the date!)
     And, like thy Sire, deserve thy People's smiles."





       *       *       *       *       *





(2) 'The Courier', February 2, 1814.


Lord BYRON, as we stated yesterday, has discovered and promulgated to
the world, in eight lines of choice doggrel, that the realm of England
is in decay, that her Sovereign is disgraced, and that the situation of
the country is one which claims the tears of all good patriots. To this
very indubitable statement, the 'Morning Chronicle' of this day exhibits
an admirable companion picture, a _genuine_ letter from _Paris_, of the
25th ult.





       *       *       *       *       *





(3) 'The Courier', February 3, 1814.


  "'The Courier' is indignant," says the 'Morning Chronicle', "at the
  discovery now made by Lord BYRON, that he was the author of 'the
  Verses to a Young Lady weeping,' which were inserted about a
  twelvemonth ago in the 'Morning Chronicle'. The Editor thinks it
  audacious in a hereditary Counsellor of the KING to admonish the 'Heir
  Apparent'. It may not be 'courtly' but it is certainly 'British', and
  we wish the kingdom had more such honest advisers."

The discovery of the author of the verses in question was not made by
Lord BYRON. How could it be? When he sent them to the 'Chronicle,
without' his name, he was just as well informed about the author as he
is now that he has published them in a pamphlet, 'with' his name. The
discovery was made to the public. They did not know in March, 1812, what
they know in February, 1814. They did not suspect then what they now
find avowed, that a Peer of the Realm was the Author of the attack upon
the PRINCE; of the attempt to induce the Princess CHARLOTTE of WALES to
think that her father was an object not of reverence and regard, but of
disgrace.

But we "think it audacious in an hereditary Counsellor of the KING to
admonish the Heir Apparent." No! we do not think it audacious: it is
constitutional and proper. But are anonymous attacks the constitutional
duty of a Peer of the Realm? Is that the mode in which he should
admonish the Heir Apparent? If Lord BYRON had desired to admonish the
PRINCE, his course was open, plain, and known--he could have demanded an
audience of the PRINCE; or, he could have given his admonition in
Parliament. But to level such an attack--What!--"Kill men i' the dark!"
This, however, is called by the 'Chronicle' "certainly 'British',"
though it might not be 'courtly', and a strong wish is expressed that
"the country had many more such honest advisers" or admonishers.
--Admonishers indeed! A pretty definition of admonition this, which
consists not in giving advice, but in imputing blame, not in openly
proffering counsel, but in secretly pointing censure.





       *       *       *       *       *





(4) BYRONIANA NO. I ('The Courier', February 5, 1814).


The Lord BYRON has assumed such a poetico-political and such a
politico-poetical air and authority, that in our double capacity of men
of letters and politicians, he forces himself upon our recollection. We
say 'recollection' for reasons which will bye and by, be obvious to our
readers, and will lead them to wonder why this young Lord, whose
greatest talent it is to forget, and whose best praise it would be to be
forgotten, should be such an enthusiastic admirer of Mr. SAM ROGERS'S
'Pleasures of Memory'.

The most virulent satirists have ever been the most nauseous
panegyrists, and they are for the most part as offensive by the praise
as by the abuse which they scatter.

His Lordship does not degenerate from the character of those worthy
persons, his poetical ancestors:

  "The mob of Gentlemen who wrote with ease"

who of all authors dealt the most largely in the alternation of flattery
and filth. He is the severest satirical and the civilest dedicator of
our day; and what completes his reputation for candour, good feeling,
and honesty, is that the persons whom he most reviles, and to whom he
most fulsomely dedicates, are identically the same.

We shall indulge our readers with a few instances:--the most obvious
case, because the most recent, is that of Mr. THOMAS MOORE, to whom he
has dedicated, as we have already stated, his last pamphlet; but as we
wish to proceed orderly, we shall postpone this and revert to some
instances prior in order of time; we shall afterwards show that his
Lordship strictly adheres to HORACE'S rule, in maintaining to the end
the ill character in which he appeared at the outset. His Lordship's
first dedication was to his guardian and relative, the Earl of CARLISLE.
So late as the year 1808, we find that Lord BYRON was that noble Lord's
"most affectionate kinsman, etc., etc."

Hear how dutifully and affectionately this ingenuous young man
celebrates, in a few months after (1809), the praises of his friend:

  "No Muse will cheer with renovating smile,
  The _paralytic puling_ of CARLISLE;
  What heterogeneous honours deck the Peer,
  Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer!
  So _dull_ in youth, so _drivelling_ in age,
  _His_ scenes alone had damn'd our sinking stage.
  But Managers, for once, cried 'hold, enough,'
  Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff.
  Yet at their judgment let his Lordship laugh,
  And case his volumes in _congenial calf_:
  Yes! doff that covering where Morocco shines,
  And hang a calf-skin on those recreant lines."

And in explanation of this affectionate effusion, our lordly dedicator
subjoins a note to inform us that Lord CARLISLE'S works are splendidly
bound, but that "the rest is all but leather and prunella," and a little
after, in a very laborious note, in which he endeavours to defend his
consistency, he out-Herods Herod, or to speak more forcibly, out-Byrons
Byron, in the virulence of his invective against "his guardian and
relative, to whom he dedicated his volume of puerile poems." Lord
CARLISLE has, it seems, if we are to believe his word, for a series of
years, beguiled "the public with reams of most orthodox, imperial
_nonsense_," and Lord BYRON concludes by asking,

  "What can ennoble knaves, or _fools_, or cowards?
   Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards."

"So says POPE," adds Lord BYRON. But POPE does not say so; the words
"_knaves and fools_," are not in POPE, but interpolated by Lord BYRON,
in favour of his "guardian and relative." Now, all this might have slept
in oblivion with Lord CARLISLE'S Dramas, and Lord BYRON'S Poems; but if
this young Gentleman chooses to erect himself into a spokesman of the
public opinion, it becomes worth while to consider to what notice he is
entitled; when he affects a tone of criticism and an air of candour, he
obliges us to enquire whether he has any just pretensions to either, and
when he arrogates the high functions of public praise and public
censure, we may fairly inquire what the praise or censure of such a
being is worth:

  "Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind."





       *       *       *       *       *





(5) BYRONIANA NO. 2 ('The Courier', February 8, 1814).


"_Crede Byron_" is Lord Byron's armorial motto; 'Trust Byron' is the
translation in the Red-book. We cannot but admire the ingenuity with
which his Lordship has converted the good faith of his ancestors into a
sarcasm on his own duplicity.

  "Could nothing but your chief reproach,
  Serve for a motto on your coach?"

Poor Lord Carlisle; he, no doubt, _trusted_ in his affectionate ward and
kinsman, and we have seen how the affectionate ward and kinsman
acknowledged, like _Macbeth_, "_the double trust_" only to abuse it. We
shall now show how much another Noble Peer, Lord Holland, has to trust
to from his _ingenuous_ dedicator.

Some time last year Lord Byron published a Poem, called _The Bride of
Abydos_, which was inscribed to Lord Holland, "_with every sentiment of
regard and respect by his gratefully obliged and sincere friend_,
BYRON." "_Grateful and sincere!_" Alas! alas; 'tis not even so good as
what Shakespeare, in contempt, calls "the sincerity of a cold heart."
"_Regard and respect!"_ Hear with what regard, and how much respect, he
treats this identical Lord Holland. In a tirade against literary
assassins (a class of men which Lord Byron may well feel entitled to
describe), we have these lines addressed to the Chief of the Critical
Banditti:

  "Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway,
   Thy _Holland's_ banquets shall each toil repay,
   While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes,
   _To Hollands hirelings_, and to _learnings foes!_"

By which it appears, that

  "--These wolves that still in darkness prowl;
   This coward brood, which mangle, as their prey,
   By hellish instinct, all that cross their way;"

are hired by Lord Holland, and it follows, very naturally, that the
"_hirelings_" of Lord Holland must be the "_foes of learning_."

This seems sufficiently caustic; but hear, how our dedicator proceeds:

  "Illustrious Holland! hard would be his lot,
   His hirelings mention'd, and himself forgot!
   Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House,
   Where Scotchmen feed, and Critics may carouse!
   Long, long, beneath that hospitable roof
   Shall _Grub-street_ dine, while duns are kept aloof,
   And _grateful_ to the founder of the feast
   Declare the Landlord can _translate_, at least!"

Lord Byron has, it seems, very accurate notions of _gratitude_, and the
word "_grateful_" in these lines, and in his dedication of 'The Bride of
Abydos', has a delightful similarity of meaning. His Lordship is pleased
to add, in an explanatory note to this passage, that Lord Holland's life
of Lopez de Vega, and his translated specimens of that author, are much
"BEPRAISED _by these disinterested guests_." Lord Byron well knows that
_bepraise_ and _bespatter_ are almost synonimous. There was but one
point on which he could have any hope of touching Lord Holland more
nearly; and of course he avails himself, in the most gentlemanly and
generous manner, of the golden opportunity.

When his club of literary assassins is assembled at Lord Holland's
table, Lord Byron informs us

  "That lest when heated with the unusual grape,
   Some _glowing_ thoughts should to the press escape,
   And tinge with red the _female_ reader's cheek,
   My LADY skims the _cream_ of each critique;
   Breathes o'er each page _her purity_ of soul,
   Reforms each error, and refines the whole."

Our readers will, no doubt, duly appreciate the manliness and generosity
of these lines; but, to encrease their admiration, we beg to remind them
that the next time Lord Byron addresses Lord Holland, it is to dedicate
to him, in all friendship, _sincerity_, and gratitude, the story of a
young, a pure, an amiable, and an affectionate bride!

The verses were bad enough, but what shall be said, after _such_ verses,
of the insult of _such_ a dedication!

We forbear to extract any further specimens of this peculiar vein of
Lord Byron's satire; our "gorge rises at it," and we regret to have been
obliged to say so much. And yet Lord Byron is, "with all regard and
_respect_, Lord Holland's sincere and grateful friend!" It reminds us
of the _respect_ which Lear's daughters shewed their father, and which
the poor old king felt to be "worse than murder."

Some of our readers may perhaps observe that, personally, Lord Holland
was not so ill-treated as Lord Carlisle; but let it be recollected, that
Lord Holland is only an acquaintance, while Lord Carlisle was "guardian
and relation," and had therefore _peculiar_ claims to the ingratitude of
a mind like Lord Byron's.

_Trust Byron_, indeed! "him," as Hamlet says

   "_Him_, I would trust as I would _adders_ fang'd."





       *       *       *       *       *





(6) BYRONIANA No. 3 ('The Courier', February 12, 1814). "Crede
Byron"--"Trust Byron."

We have seen Lord Byron's past and present opinions of two Noble Persons
whom he has honoured with his satire, and vilified by his dedications;
let us now compare the evidence which he has given at different and yet
not distant times, on the merits of his third _Dedicatee_, Mr. Thomas
Moore. To him Lord Byron has inscribed his last poem as a person "of
unshaken _public principle_, and the most undoubted and various talents;
as the firmest of Irish _patriots_, and the first of Irish bards."

Before we proceed to give Lord Byron's own judgment of this "firmest of
patriots," and this "best of poets," we must be allowed to say, that
though we consider Mr. Moore as a very good writer of songs, we should
very much complain of the poetical supremacy assigned to him, if Lord
Byron had not qualified it by calling him the first only of _Irish_
poets, and, as we suppose his Lordship must mean, of _Irish_ poets of
the _present_ day. The title may be, for aught we know to the contrary,
perfectly appropriate; but we cannot conceive how Mr. Moore comes by the
high-sounding name of "_patriot_;" what pretence there is for such an
appellation; by what effort of intellect or of courage he has placed his
name above those idols of Irish worship, Messrs. Scully, Connell, and
Dromgoole. Mr. Moore has written words to Irish tunes; so did Burns for
_his_ national airs; but who ever called Burns the "firmest of patriots"
on the score of his contributions to the _Scots Magazine_?

Mr. Moore, we are aware, has been accused of tuning his harpsichord to
the key-note of a faction, and of substituting, wherever he could, a
party spirit for the spirit of poetry: this, in the opinion of most
persons, would derogate even from his _poetical_ character, but we hope
that Lord Byron stands alone in considering that such a prostitution of
the muse entitles him to the name of patriot. Mr. Moore, it seems, is an
Irishman, and, we believe, a Roman Catholic; he appears to be, at least
in his poetry, no great friend to the connexion of Ireland with England.
One or two of his ditties are quoted in Ireland as _laments_ upon
certain worthy persons whose lives were terminated by the hand of the
law, in some of the unfortunate disturbances which have afflicted that
country; and one of his most admired songs begins with a stanza, which
we hope the Attorney-General will pardon us for quoting:

  "Let Erin remember the days of old,
    Ere her _faithless sons betrayed her_,
  When Malachy wore the collar of gold,
    Which he won from her proud Invader;
  When her Kings, with standard of green unfurl'd,
    Led the Red Branch Knights to danger,
  Ere, the emerald gem of the western world,
    _Was set in the crown of a Stranger_."

This will pretty well satisfy an English reader, that, if it be any
ingredient of patriotism to promote the affectionate connexion of the
English isles under the constitutional settlement made at the revolution
and at the union; and if the foregoing verses speak Mr. Moore's
sentiments, he has the same claims to the name of "_patriot_" that Lord
Byron has to the title of "trustworthy;" but if these and similar verses
do not speak Mr. Moore's political sentiments, then undoubtedly he has
never written, or at least published any thing relating to public
affairs; and Lord Byron has no kind of pretence for talking of the
political character and public principles of an humble individual who is
only known as the translator of Anacreon, and the writer, composer, and
singer of certain songs, which songs do not (_ex-hypothesi_) speak the
sentiments even of the writer himself.

But, hold--we had forgot one circumstance: Mr. Moore has been said to be
one of the authors of certain verses on the highest characters of the
State, which appeared from time to time in the 'Morning Chronicle', and
which were afterwards collected into a little volume; this may,
probably, be in Lord Byron's opinion, a clear title to the name of
_patriot_, in which case, his Lordship has also his claim to the same
honour; and, indeed that sagacious and loyal person, the Editor of the
'Morning Chronicle', seems to be of this notion; for when some one
ventured to express some, we think not unnatural, indignation at Lord
Byron's having been the author of some impudent doggrels, of the same
vein, which appeared anonymously in that paper reflecting on his Royal
Highness the Prince Regent, and her Royal Highness his daughter, the
Editor before-mentioned exclaimed--"What! and is not a Peer, an
hereditary councillor of the Crown, to be permitted to give his
constitutional advice?!!!"

If writing such vile and anonymous stuff as one sometimes reads in the
'Morning Chronicle' be the duty of a good subject, or the privilege of a
Peer of Parliament, then indeed we have nothing to object to Mr. Moore's
title of Patriot, or Lord Byron's open, honourable, manly, and
constitutional method of advising the Crown.

To return, however, to our main object, Lord Byron's _consistency,
truth_, and trustworthiness.

His Lordship is pleased to call Mr. Moore not only Patriot and Poet, but
he acquaints us also, that "he is the delight alike of his readers and
his friends; the poet of all circles, and the idol of his own."

Let us now turn to Lord Byron's thrice-recorded opinion of "_this Poet
of all Circles_." We shall quote from a Poem which was republished,
improved, amended, and reconsidered, not more than _three_ years ago;
since which time Mr. Moore has published no Poem whatsoever; therefore,
Lord Byron's former and his present opinions are founded upon the same
data, and if they do not agree, it really is no fault of Mr. Moore's,
who has published nothing to alter them.

  "Now look around and turn each _trifling_ page,
  Survey the _precious_ works that please the age,
  While Little's lyrics shine in hot-pressed twelves."

Here, by no great length of induction, we find Little's, _i.e._ Mr.
Thomas Moore's lyrics, are _trifling, "precious_ works," his Lordship
ironically adds, that "please times from which," as his Lordship says,
"taste and reason are passed away!"

Bye and by his Lordship delivers a still more plain opinion on Mr.
Moore's fitness to be the "_Poet of ALL circles_."

  "Who in soft guise, surrounded by a quire
  Of virgins _melting_, not to _Vesta's_ fire,
  With sparkling eyes, and cheek by _passion_ flush'd,
  Strikes his wild lyre, while listening dames are hush'd?
  'Tis Little, young Catullus of his day,
  As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay;
  Griev'd to condemn, the Muse must yet be just,
  Nor spare melodious _advocates of lust!_"

"_O calum et terra!_" as _Lingo_ says. What! this purest of Patriots is
_immoral?_ What! "the Poet of _all_ circles" is "the advocate of lust"?
Monstrous! But who can doubt Byron? And his Lordship, in a subsequent
passage, does not hesitate to speak still more plainly, and to declare,
in plain round terms (we shudder while we copy) that Moore, the Poet,
the Patriot "Moore, is lewd"!!!

After this, we humbly apprehend that if we were to "trust Byron," Mr.
Moore, however he may be the idol of his own circle, would find some
little difficulty in obtaining admittance into any other.

Lord Byron having thus disposed, as far as depended upon him, of the
moral character of the first of Patriots and Poets, takes an early
opportunity of doing justice to the personal honour of this dear
"friend;" one, as his Lordship expresses it, of "the magnificent and
fiery spirited" sons of Erin.

"In 1806," says Lord Byron, "Messrs. Jeffery and Moore met at Chalk
Farm--the duel was prevented by the interference of the Magistracy, and
on examination, the balls of the pistols, _like the courage of the
combatants_, were found to have _evaporated!_"

"Magnificent and fiery spirit," with a vengeance!

We are far from thinking of Mr. Moore as Lord Byron either did or does;
not so degradingly as his Lordship did in 1810; not so extravagantly as
he does in 1813. But we think that Mr. Moore has grave reason of
complaint, and almost just cause, to exert "his fiery spirit" against
Lord Byron, who has the effrontery to drag him twice before the public,
and overwhelm him, one day with odium, and another with ridicule.

We regret that Lord Byron, by obliging us to examine the value of his
censures, has forced us to contrast his past with his present judgments,
and to bring again before the public the objects of his lampoons and his
flatteries. We have, however, much less remorse in quoting his satire
than his dedications; for, by this time, we believe, the whole world is
inclined to admit that his Lordship can pay no compliment so valuable as
his censure, nor offer any insult so intolerable as his praise.




       *       *       *       *       *



(7) BYRONIANA No. 4 ('The Courier', February 17, 1814).


  "'Don Pedro.'   What offence have these men done?

  "'Dogberry.'    Many, Sir; they have committed false reports; moreover
                  they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are
                  slanders; sixthly and lastly, they have belied a Lady;
                  thirdly, they have verified unjust things, and, to
                  conclude, they are lying knaves."

'Much  Ado about Nothing.'


We have already seen how scurvily Lord Byron has treated _three_ of the
four persons to whom he has successively dedicated his Poems; but for
the fourth he reserved a species of contumely, which we are confident
our readers will think more degrading than all the rest. _He has
uniformly praised him! and him alone!!!_--The exalted rank, the gentle
manners, the polished taste of his guardian and relation, Lord Carlisle;
the considerations due to Lord Holland, from his family, his personal
character, and his love of letters; the amiability of Mr. Moore's
society, the sweetness of his versification, and the vivacity of his
imagination;--all these could not save their possessors from the
_brutality_ of Lord Byron's personal satire.

It was, then, for a person only, who should have _none_ of these titles
to his envy that his Lordship could be expected to reserve the fullness
and steadiness of his friendship; and if we had any respect or regard
for that small poet and very disagreeable person, Mr. Sam Rogers, we
should heartily pity him for being "_damned_" to such "_fame_" as Lord
Byron's uninterrupted praise can give.

But Mr. Sam Rogers has another cause of complaint against Lord Byron,
and which he is of a taste to resent more. His Lordship has not deigned
to call _him_ "the firmest of patriots," though we have heard that his
claims to that title are not much inferior to Mr. Moore's. Mr. Sam
Rogers is reported to have clubb'd with the Irish Anacreon in that
scurrilous collection of verses, which we have before mentioned, and
which were published under the title of the _Twopenny Post-bag_, and the
assumed name of "Thomas Brown." The rumour may be unfounded; if it be,
Messrs. Rogers and Moore will easily forgive us for saying that, much as
we are astonished at the effrontery with which Lord Byron has
acknowledged his lampoon, we infinitely prefer it to the cowardly
prudence of the author or authors of the _Twopenny Post-bag_ lurking
behind a fictitious name, and "devising impossible slanders," which he
or they have not the spirit to avow.

But, to return to the more immediate subject of our lucubrations: It
seems almost like a fatality, that Lord Byron has hardly ever praised
any thing that he has not at some other period censured, or censured any
thing that he has not, by and bye, praised or _practised_.

It does not often happen that booksellers are assailed for their too
great liberality to authors; yet, in Lord Byron's satire, while Mr.
Scott is abused, his publisher, Mr. Murray, is sneered at, in the
following lines:

  "And think'st them, Scott, by vain conceit perchance,
  On public taste to foist thy stale romance;
  Though _Murray_ with his Miller may combine,
  _To yield thy Muse just_ HALF-A-CROWN A LINE?
  No! when the sons of song descend to trade,
  Their bays are sear, their former _laurels fade_.
  Let such forego the poet's sacred name,
  Who _rack_ their _brains_ for _lucre_, not for fame:
  Low may they sink to _merited contempt_,
  And _scorn_ remunerate the _mean_ attempt."

Now, is it not almost incredible that this very Murray (the only
remaining one of the booksellers whom his Lordship had attacked; Miller
has left the trade)--is it not, we say, almost incredible that this very
Murray should have been soon after selected, by this very Lord Byron, to
be his own publisher? But what will our readers say, when we assure
them, that not only was Murray so selected, but that this magnanimous
young Lord has actually _sold_ his works to this same Murray? and, what
is a yet more singular circumstance, has received and pocketted, for one
of his own "stale romances," a sum amounting, not to "_half-a-crown_,"
but to _a whole crown, a line!!!_

This fact, monstrous as it seems in the author of the foregoing lines,
is, we have the fullest reason to believe, accurately true. And the
"_faded laurel_," "_the brains rac'd for lucre_," "_the merited
contempt_," "_the scorn_," and the "_meanness_," which this impudent
young man dared to attribute to Mr. Scott, appear to have been a mere
anticipation of his own future proceedings; and thus,

          "--Even-handed Justice
  Commends the ingredients of his _poison'd_ chalice
  To his own lips."

How he now likes the taste of it we do not know; about as much, we
suspect, as the "incestuous, murderous, damned Dane" did, when _Hamlet_
obliged him to "_drink off the potion_" which he had treacherously
drugged for the destruction of others.





       *       *       *       *       *





(8) BYRONIANA No. 5 ('The Courier', February 19, 1814).


  "He professes no keeping oaths; in breaking them he is stronger than
  Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think
  truth were a fool."

'All's Well that ends Well'.


We have, we should hope, sufficiently exposed the audacious levity and
waywardness of Lord Byron's mind, and yet there are a few touches which
we think will give a finish to the portrait, and add, if it be at all
wanting, to the strength of the resemblance.

*       *       *       *       *

It must be amusing to those who know anything of Lord Byron in the
circles of London, to find him magnanimously defying in very stout
heroics,

          "--all the din of _Melbourne_ House
And _Lambes'_ resentment--"

and adding that he is "_unscared_" even by "_Holland's spouse_."

*       *       *       *       *

To those who may be in the habit of hearing his Lordship's political
descants, the following extract will appear equally curious:

  "Mr. Brougham, in No. 25 of the 'Edinburgh Review', throughout the
  article concerning Don Pedro Cevallos, has displayed more politics
  than policy; many of the worthy burgesses of Edinburgh being so
  _incensed at the_ INFAMOUS _principles it evinces_, as to have
  withdrawn their subscriptions;" and in the text of this poem, to which
  the foregoing is a note, he advises the Editor of the Review to

    "Beware, lest _blundering Brougham_ destroy the sale;
    Turn beef to bannacks, cauliflower to kail."

Those who have attended to his Lordship's progress as an author, and
observed that he has published _four_ poems, in little more than two
years, will start at the following lines:

                  "--Oh cease thy song!
    A bard may chaunt too often and too long;
    As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare;
    A FOURTH, alas, were more than we could bear."

And as the scene of each of these _four_ Poems is laid in the Levant, it
is curious to recollect, that when his Lordship informed the world that
he was about to visit "Afric's coast," and "Calpe's height," and
"Stamboul's minarets," and "Beauty's native clime," he enters into a
voluntary and solemn engagement with the public,

    "That should he back return, no letter'd rage
    Shall drag _his_ common-place book on the stage;
    Of Dardan tours let Dilettanti tell,
    He'll leave topography to classic Cell,
    And, _quite content_, no more shall interpose,
    To _stun_ mankind with _poetry or prose_."

And yet we have already had, growing out of this "Tour," four volumes of
_poetry_, enriched with copious notes in _prose_, selected from his
"_common-place book_." The whole interspersed every here and there with
the most convincing proofs that instead of being "_quite content_," his
Lordship has returned, as he went out, the most discontented and peevish
thing that breathes.

But the passage of all others which gives us the most delight is that in
which his Lordship attacks his critics, and declares that

    "Our men in buckram shall have blows enough,
    And feel they _too_ are penetrable stuff."

and adds,

                "--I have--
    Learn'd to deride the Critic's stern decree,
    And _break him on the wheel he meant for me_."

We should now, with all humility, ask his Lordship whether _he_ yet
feels that "he _too_ is penetrable stuff;" and we should further wish to
know how he likes being "_broken on the wheel he meant for others?_"

When his Lordship shall have sufficiently pondered on those questions,
we may perhaps venture to propound one or two more.





       *       *       *       *       *





(9) From 'The Courier' (March 15, 1814).


The republication of some _Satires_, which the humour of the moment now
disposes the writer to recall, was strenuously censured, the other day,
in a Morning Paper. It was there said, amongst other things, that such a
republication "contributes to exasperate and perpetuate the divisions of
those whom _nature_ and friendship have joined!" This is within six
weeks after the deliberate _republication_ of "Weep, daughter," etc.,
etc.; and thus we are informed of the exact moment at which all retort
is to cease; at which misrepresentation towards the public and outrage
towards the Personages much more than insulted in those lines, is to be
no longer remembered. What privileges does this writer claim for his
friends! They are to live in all "the swill'd insolence" of attack upon
those on whose character, union, and welfare, the public prosperity
mainly depends; they are to instruct the DAUGHTER to hold the FATHER
disgraced, because he does not surrender the prime Offices of the State
to their ambition. And if, after this, public disgust make the author
feel, in the midst of the little circle of flatterers that remains to
him, what an insight he has given into the guilt of satire _before_
maturity, _before_ experience, _before_ knowledge; if the original
unprovoked intruder upon the peace of others be thus taught a love of
privacy and a facility of retraction; if Turnus have found the time,

      "magno cum optaverit emptum
  Intactum Pallanta, et cum spolia ista, diemque
  Oderit;"

if triumphing arrogance be changed into a sentimental humility, O! then
'Liberality' is to call out for him in the best of her hacknied tones;
the contest is to cease at the instant when his humour changes from
mischief to melancholy; 'affetuoso' is to be the only word; and he is to
be allowed his season of sacred torpidity, till the venom, new formed in
the shade, make him glisten again in the sunshine he envies!





       *       *       *       *       *





II. MORNING POST.


(1) VERSES ('Morning Post', February 5, 1814).


Suggested by reading some lines of Lord Byron's at the end of his newly
published work, entitled "_The Corsair_" which begin:

"_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line._"

  "'Far better be the thing that crawls, [1]
  Disgustful on a dungeon's walls;
  Far better be the worm that creeps,
  In icy rings o'er him who sleeps;'"


"Far better be the reptile scorn'd,
Unseen, unheeded, unadorn'd,
Than him, to whom indulgent heav'n,
Has talents and has genius giv'n;
If stung by envy, warp'd by pride,
Such gifts, alas! are misapplied;
Not all by nature's bounty blest
In beauty's dazzling hues are drest;
But who shall play the critic's part,
If for the form atones the heart?
But if the gloomiest thoughts prevail,
And Atheist doctrines stain the tale;
If calumny to pow'r addrest,
Attempts to wound its Sovereign's breast;
If impious it shall try to part,
The Father from the Daughter's heart;
If it shall aim to wield a brand,
To fire our fair and native land;
If hatred for the world and men,
Shall dip in gall the ready pen:

  "'Oh then far better 'tis to crawl,
  Harmless upon a dungeon's wall;
  And better far the worm that creeps,
  In icy rings o'er him who sleeps.'"



[Footnote 1: 'Vide' Lord Byron's works.]





       *       *       *       *       *





(2) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 7, 1814).


  "Bard of ungentle wayward mood!
    'Tis said of thee, when in the lap,
  Thy nurse to tempt thee to thy food,
    Would squeeze a _lemon_ in thy pap.

  "At _vinegar_ how danc'd thine eyes,
    Before thy tongue a want could utter,
  And oft the dame to stop thy cries,
    Strew'd _wormwood_ on thy bread and butter.

  "And when in childhood's frolic hour,
    Thou'dst plait a garland for thy hair;
  The _nettle_ bloom'd a chosen flow'r,
    And native thistles flourish'd there.

  "For _sugar-plum_ thou ne'er did'st pine,
    Thy teeth no _sweet-meat_ ever hurt--
  The _sloe's juice_ was thy favourite wine,
    And _bitter almonds_ thy desert.

  "Mustard, how strong so e'er the sort is,
    Can draw no moisture from thine eye;
  Not vinegar nor aqua-fortis
    Could ever set thy face awry.

  "Thus train'd a Satirist--thy mind
    Soon caught the bitter, sharp, and sour,
  And all their various pow'rs combin'd,
    Produc'd 'Childe Harold', and the 'Giaour'."





       *       *       *       *       *





(3) LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 8, 1814).

We are very much surprized, and we are not the only persons who feel
disgust as well as astonishment, at the uncalled for avowal Lord Byron
has made of being the Author of some insolent lines, by inserting them
at the end of his new Poem, entitled "_The Corsair_." The lines we
allude to begin "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_." Nothing can be more
repugnant to every good heart, as well as to the moral and religious
feelings of a country, which we are proud to say still cherishes every
right sentiment, than an attempt to lower a father in the eyes of his
child. Lord Byron is a young man, and from the tenor of his writings,
has, we fear, adopted principles very contrary to those of Christianity.
But as a man of honour and of _feeling_, which latter character he
affects _outrageously_, he ought never to have been guilty of so
unamiable and so unprovoked an attack. Should so gross an insult to her
Royal Father ever meet the eyes of the illustrious young Lady, for whose
perusal it was intended, we trust her own good sense and good heart will
teach her to consider it with the contempt and abhorrence it so well
merits. Will she _weep for the disgrace of a Father_ who has saved
Europe from bondage, and has accumulated, in the short space of two
years, more glory than can be found in any other period of British
history? Will she "_weep for a realm's decay_," when that realm is
hourly emerging under the Government of her father, from the complicated
embarrassments in which he found it involved? But all this is too
evident to need being particularised. What seems most surprising is,
that Lord Byron should chuse to avow Irish trash at a moment when every
thing conspires to give it the lie. It is for the _organ of the Party_
alone, or a few insane admirers of Bonaparte and defamers of their own
country and its rulers, to applaud him. We know it is now the fashion
for our young Gentlemen to become Poets, and a very innocent amusement
it is, while they confine themselves to putting their travels into
verse, like _Childe Harolde_, and Lord Nugent's _Portugal_. Nor is there
any harm in Turkish tales, nor wonderful ditties, of ghosts and
hobgoblins. We cannot say so much for all Mr. Moore's productions,
admired as he is by Lord Byron. In short, the whole galaxy of minor
poets, Lords Nugent and Byron, with Messrs. Rogers, Lewis, and Moore,
would do well to keep to rhyme, and not presume to meddle with politics,
for which they seem mighty little qualified. We must repeat, that it is
innocent to write tales and travels in verse, but calumny can never be
so, whether written by poets in St. James's-street, Albany, or
Grub-street.





       *       *       *       *       *





(4) LINES ('Morning Post', February 8, 1814).


Written on reading the insolent verses published by Lord Byron at the
end of his new poem, "_The Corsair_" beginning

  "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."


  "Unblest by nature in thy mien,
    Pity might still have play'd her part,
  For oft compassion has been seen,
    To soften into love the heart.

  But when thy gloomy lines we read,
    And see display'd without controul,
  Th' ungentle thought, the Atheist creed,
    And all the rancour of the soul.

  When bold and shameless ev'ry tie,
    That GOD has twin'd around the heart,
  Thy malice teaches to defy,
    And act on earth a Demon's part.

  Oh! then from misanthropic pride
    We shrink--but pity too the fate
  Of youth and talents misapplied,
    Which, _if admired_, [1] we still must hate."



[Footnote 1: We say, _if admired_, as there is a great variety of
opinions respecting Lord Byron's Poems. Some certainly extol them much,
but most of the best judges place his Lordship rather low in the list of
our minor Poets.]





       *       *       *       *       *





(5) LINES ('Morning Post', February 11, 1814).


Suggested by perusing Lord Byron's small Poem, at the end of his
"_Corsair_" addressed to a Lady weeping, beginning:


  "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."



"To LORD BYRON.

  "Were he the man thy verse would paint,
    '_A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay_;'
  Art thou the meek, the pious saint,
    That _prates_ of feeling night and day?

  "Stern as the Pirate's [1] heart is thine,
    Without one ray to cheer its gloom;
  And shall that Daughter once repine,
  Because thy rude, unhallow'd line,
    Would on her virtuous cause presume?

  "Hide, BYRON! in the shades of night--
    Hide in thy own congenial cell
  The mind that would a fiend affright,
    _And shock the dunnest realms of hell!_

  "No; she will never weep the tears
    Which thou would'st Virtue's deign to call;
  Nor will they, in remoter years,
    Molest her Father's heart at all.

  "Dark-vision'd man! thy moody vein
  Tends only to thy mental pain,
  And cloud the talents Heav'n had meant
  To prove the source of true content;
  Much better were it for thy soul,
    Both here and in the realms of bliss,
  To check the glooms that now controul
  Those talents, which might still repay
  The wrongs of many a luckless day,
    In such a _cheerless_[2] clime as this.

  "But never strive to lure the heart
    From _one_ to which 'tis ever nearest,
  Lest from its duty it depart,
    And shun the Pow'r which should be dearest:
  For heav'n may sting thy heart in turn,
    And rob thee of thy sweetest treasure
  But, BYRON! thou hast yet to learn,
    _That Virtue is the source of pleasure!_"

TYRTAEUS.

G--n-street, Feb. 9, 1814.



[Footnote 1: 'The Corsair'.]


[Footnote 2: In allusion to the general melancholy character of his
Lordship's poetical doctrines.]





       *       *       *       *       *





(6) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 15, 1814).


Occasioned by reading his Poem, at the end of 'The Corsair', beginning:


  "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."



  Shame on the verse that dares intrude
    On Virtue's uncorrupted way--
  That smiles upon Ingratitude,
    And charms us only to betray!

  For this does BYRON'S muse employ
    The calm unbroken hours of night?
  And wou'd she basely thus destroy
    The source of all that's just-upright?

  Traitor to every moral law!
    Think what thy own cold heart wou'd feel,
  If some insidious mind should draw
    Thy daughter [1] from her filial zeal.

  And dost thou bid the offspring shun
    Its father's fond, incessant care?
  Why, every sister, sire, and son,
    Must loathe thee as the poison'd air!

  BYRON! thy dark, unhallow'd mind,
    Stor'd as it is with Atheist writ,
  Will surely, never, never find,
    One convert to admire its wit!

  Thou art a planet boding woe,
    Attractive for thy novel mien--
  A calm, but yet a deadly foe,
    Most baneful when thou'rt most serene!

  Tho' fortune on thy course may shine,
    Strive not to lead the mind astray,
  Nor let one impious verse of thine,
    The unsuspecting heart betray!

  But rather let thy talents aim
    To lead incautious youth aright;
  Thus shall thy works acquire that fame,
    Which ought to be thy chief delight.

  "The verse, however smooth it flow,
     Must be abhorr'd, abjur'd, despis'd,
   When Virtue feels a secret blow,
     And order finds her course surpris'd."

HORATIO.

Fitzroy-square, Feb. 13.



[Footnote 1: Supposing LORD BYRON to have a daughter.]





       *       *       *       *       *





(7) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 16, 1814).


  "Bard of the pallid front, and curling hair,
    To London taste, and northern critics dear,
   Friend of the dog, companion of the bear,
    APOLLO drest in trimmest Turkish gear.

  "'Tis thine to eulogize the fell Corsair,
     Scorning all laws that God or man can frame;
   And yet so form'd to please the gentle fair,
     That reading misses wish their Loves the same.

  "Thou prov'st that laws are made to aid the strong,
     That murderers and thieves alone are brave,
   That all religion is an idle song,
     Which troubles life, and leaves us at the grave.

  "That men and dogs have equal claims on Heav'n,
     Though dogs but bark, and men more wisely prate,
   That to thyself one friend alone was giv'n,
     That Friend a Dog, now snatch'd away by Fate.

  "And last can tell how daughters best may shew
     Their love and duty to their fathers dear,
   By reckoning up what stream of filial woe
     Will give to every crime a cleansing tear.

  "Long may'st thou please this wonder-seeking age,
     By MURRAY purchas'd, and by MOORE admir'd;
   May fashion never quit thy classic page,
     Nor e'er be with thy Turkomania tir'd."

UNUS MULTORUM.





       *       *       *       *       *





(8) VERSES ADDRESSED TO LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 16, 1814).


 "Lord _Byron_! Lord _Byron_!
   Your heart's made of iron,
  As hard and unfeeling as cold.
   Half human, half bird,
   From _Virgil_ we've heard,
  Were form'd the fam'd harpies of old.

  "Like those monsters you chatter,
    Friends and foes you bespatter,
  And dirty, like them, what you eat:
    The _Hollands_, your muse
    Does most grossly abuse,
  Tho' you feed on their wine and their meat.

  "Your friend, little _Moore_,
    You have dirtied before,
  But you know that in safety you write:
    You've declared in your lines,
    That revenge he declines,
  For the poor little man will not fight.

  "At _Carlisle_ you sneer,
    That worthy old Peer,
  Though united by every tie;
    But you act as you preach,
    And do what you teach,
  And your _God_ and your duty defy.

  "As long as your aim
    Was alone to defame,
  The nearest relation you own;
    At your malice he smil'd,
    But he won't see defil'd,
  By your harpy bespatt'rings, the Throne."





         *       *       *       *       *





(9) PATRONAGE EXTRAORDINARY ('Morning Post', February 17, 1814).


  "Procul este profani--!"


  "A friendship subsisted, no friendship was closer,
  'Twixt the heir of a Peer and the son of a Grocer;
  'Tis _true_, though so wide was their difference of station,
  For, we _always_ find _truth_ in a _long dedication_.
  Atheistical doctrines in verse we are told,
  The former sold _wholesale_, was daring and bold;
  While the latter (whatever _he_ offer'd for sale)
  Like papa, he disposed of--of course by _retail!_
  First--_scraps_ of _indecency_, next _disaffection_,
  Disguised by the knave from his fear of detection;
  To court _party favour_, then, sonnets he wrote;
  Set political squibs to the harpsichord's note.
  One, as _patron_ was chosen by his brother Poet,
  The Peer, to be sure, from his rank we may know it;
  Not the low and indecent composer of jigs--
  Yes! yes! 'twas the son of the seller of Figs!!
  Did the Peer then possess _no respectable friend_
  To add weight to his name, and his works recommend?!
  Atheistical writings we well may believe,
  None of _worth_ from the Author would deign to receive;
  So--to cover the faults of his friend he essays,
  By _daubing_ him _thickly all over with praise_.
  But, _parents_, attend! if your _daughters_ you _love_,
  The works of _these serpents_ take _care_ to remove:
  Their _infernal attacks_ from your _mansions_ repel,
  Where _filial affection_ and _modesty_ dwell."

VERAX.





       *       *       *       *       *





(10) LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 18, 1814).


If it was the object of Lord BYRON to stamp his character, and to bring
his name forward by a single act of his life into general notoriety, it
must be confessed that he has completely succeeded. We do not recollect
any former instance in which a Peer has stood forth as the libeller of
his Sovereign. If he disapproves the measures of his Ministers, the
House of Parliament, in which he has an hereditary right to sit, is the
place where his opinions may with propriety be uttered. If he thinks he
can avert any danger to his country by a personal conference with his
Sovereign, he has a right to demand it. The Peers are the natural
advisers of the Crown, but the Constitution which has granted them such
extraordinary privileges, makes it doubly criminal in them to attack the
authority from which it is derived, and to insult the power which it is
their peculiar province to uphold and protect. What then must we think
of the foolish vanity, or the bad taste of a titled Poet, who is the
first to proclaim himself the Author of a Libel, because he is fearful
it will not be sufficiently read without his avowal. We perfectly
remember having read the verses in question a year ago; but we could not
then suppose them the offspring of patrician bile, nor should we now
believe it without the Author's special authority. It seems by some late
quotations from his Lordship's works, which have been rescued from that
oblivion to which they were hastening with a rapid step, by one of our
co-equals, that this peerless Peer has already gone through a complete
course of private ingratitude. The inimitable Hogarth has traced the
gradual workings of an unfeeling heart in his progress of cruelty. He
has shewn, that malevolence is progressive in its operation, and that a
man who begins life by impaling flies, will find a delight in torturing
his fellow creatures before he closes it. We have heard that even at
school these poetical propensities were strongly manifested in Lord
BYRON, and that he began his satirical career against those persons to
whom the formation of his mind was entrusted. From his schoolmaster he
turned the oestrum of his opening genius to his guardian and uncle, the
Earl of CARLISLE. We cannot believe that the Noble Person's conduct has
in this instance been a perfect contrast to the general tenor of his
life. We have heard, that during his guardianship he tripled the amount
of his nephew's fortune. If the Earl of CARLISLE was satisfied with his
own 'conscia mens recti', if he wanted no thanks, he must at least have
been much surprised to find such attentions and services rewarded with a
libel, in which not only his literary accomplishments, but his bodily
infirmities, were made the subject of public ridicule. The Noble Earl
was certainly at liberty to treat such personal attacks with the
contempt which they deserve, but since his Sovereign is become the
object of a vile and unprovoked libel, he will no doubt draw the
attention of his Peers to a new case of outrage to good order and
government, which has been unfortunately furnished by his own nephew.





       *       *       *       *       *





III. THE SUN.


(1) LORD BYRON AND THE 'MORNING CHRONICLE'

('The Sun', February 4, 1814).

That poetical Peer, Lord BYRON, knowing full well that anything
insulting to his Prince or injurious to his country would be most
thankfully received and published by the 'Morning Chronicle', did in
March, 1812, send the following loyal and patriotic lines to that loyal
and patriotic Paper, in which of course they appeared:


  "To A LADY WEEPING.

  "Weep, daughter of a Royal line,
    _A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay:_
  Ah! happy! if each tear of thine
    Could wash a father's _fault_ away!

  "Weep--for thy tears are Virtue's tears--
    Auspicious to these suffering isles:
  And be each drop, in future years,
    Repaid thee by thy people's smiles!"


These lines the 'Morning Chronicle', in the following paragraph of
yesterday, informs us were aimed at the PRINCE REGENT, and addressed to
the Princess CHARLOTTE:

  "'The Courier' is indignant at the discovery now made by Lord BYRON,
  that he was the author of 'the Verses to a Young Lady weeping,' which
  were inserted about a twelvemonth ago in 'the Morning Chronicle'. The
  Editor thinks it audacious in a hereditary Counsellor of the King to
  admonish the 'Heir Apparent'. It may not be 'courtly', but it is
  certainly 'British', and we wish the kingdom had more such honest
  advisers."

No wonder the 'Courier', and every loyal man, should be indignant at the
discovery (made by the republication of these worthless lines, in the
Noble Lord's new Volume) that this gross insult came from the pen of "a
hereditary Counsellor of the KING! "No wonder every good subject should
execrate this novel and disagreeable mode of "'admonishing' the Heir
Apparent," which is further from being British than it is from being
Courtly; for, from Courtier baseness may be expected, but from a Briton
no such infamous dereliction of his duty as is involved in a malignant,
'anonymous' attack by a Peer of the Realm upon the person exercising the
Sovereign Authority of his Country. But the assertions of Lord BYRON are
as false as they are audacious. What was the "Sire's Disgrace" to be
thus bewept? He preferred the independence of the Crown to the arrogant
dictation of a haughty Aristocracy, who desired to hold him in
Leading-strings. It was then, amid a "Realm's (fancied) decay," because
this Faction were not admitted to supreme power, that his Royal
Highness's early friends drunk his health in contemptuous silence, while
their more vulgar partizans "at the lower end of the Hall" hissed and
hooted the royal name. But mark the reverse since March, 1812, a reverse
which it might have been thought would have induced the Noble Lord, from
prudent motives, to have withheld this ill-timed publication! How is his
Royal Highness's health toasted 'now'? With universal shouts and
acclamations. Treason itself dare not interpose a single discordant
sound save in its own private orgies! Where is 'now' the realm's decay?
oh short-sighted prognosticators of the prophecies! look around, and
dread the fate of the speakers of falsehood among the Jews of old, who
were stoned to death by the people! The wide world furnishes the answer
to your selfish croakings, and tells Lord BYRON that he is destitute of
at least one of the qualities of an inspired Bard.

Perhaps we might add another, viz. honesty in acknowledging his
plagiarisms, one of which (as we have already said more than his silly
verse above quoted deserves, except from the rank of its author) we
shall take the liberty of stating to the Public.

The 'Bride of Abydos' begins, something in the stile of an old ballad,
thus:

  "Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
  Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
  Where the rage of the vulture--the love of the turtle--
  Now melt into sorrow--now madden to crime?--
  Know ye the land of the cedar and vine?
  Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine,
  Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,
  Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom;
  Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
  And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;
  Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
  In colour though varied, in beauty may vie,
  And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye."

The whole of which passage we take to be a paraphrase, and a bad
paraphrase too, of a song of the German of Goethe, of which the following
translation was published at Berlin in 1798:

  "Know'st thou the land, where citrons scent the gale,
  Where glows the orange in the golden vale,
  Where softer breezes fan the azure skies,
  Where myrtles spring and prouder laurels rise?
  "Know'st them the pile, the colonnade sustains,
  Its splendid chambers and its rich domains,
  Where breathing statues stand in bright array,
  And seem, 'What ails thee, hapless maid?' to say?

  "Know'st thou the mount, where clouds obscure the day;
  Where scarce the mule can trace his misty way;
  Where lurks the dragon and her scaly brood;
  And broken rocks oppose the headlong flood?"





       *       *       *       *       *





(2) EPIGRAM ('The Sun', February 8, 1814).


On the Detection of Lord BYRON'S Plagiarism, in 'The Sun' of Friday last.


  "That BYRON _borrows verses_ is well known,
  But his _misanthropy_ is all his own."





       *       *       *       *       *





(3) LORD BYRON ('The Sun', February 11, 1814).


  We are informed from very good authority, that as soon as the House of
  Lords meets again, a Peer of very independent principles and character
  intends to give notice of a motion, occasioned by the late spontaneous
  avowal of a copy of verses by Lord BYRON, addressed to the Princess
  CHARLOTTE of WALES, in which he has taken the most unwarrantable
  liberties with her august Father's character and conduct; this motion
  being of a personal nature, it will be necessary to give the Noble
  Satirist some days notice, that he may prepare himself for his defence
  against a charge of so aggravated a nature, which may perhaps not be a
  fit subject for a criminal prosecution, as the laws of the country,
  not forseeing the probability of such a case ever occurring, under all
  the present circumstances, have not made a provision against it; but
  we know that each House of Parliament has a controul over its own
  members, and that there are instances on the Journals of Parliament,
  where an individual Peer has been suspended from all the privileges of
  the high situation to which his birth entitled him, when by any
  flagrant offence against good order and government, he has rendered
  himself unworthy of exercising so important a trust.

'Morning Post'.





       *       *       *       *       *





(4) PARODY ('The Sun', February 16, 1814).


"'WEEP, DAUGHTER OF A ROYAL LINE!'

"MOURN, dabbler in dull party rhyme,
  Thy mind's disease, thy name's disgrace.
Ah, lucky! if the hand of Time
  Should all thy Muse's crimes efface!

"MOURN--for thy lays are Rancour's lays--
  Disgraceful to a Briton born;
And hence each theme of factious praise
  Consigns thee to thy Country's scorn."







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Journals, Volume 2., by Lord Byron

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