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."



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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.



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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.]



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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.]



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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.]



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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."]



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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."]



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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.]



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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.



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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.



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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.]



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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"