Ink. Let us join them.

Tra. What, won't you return to the lecture? 40

Ink. Why the place is so crammed, there's not room for a spectre. Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd—[613]

Tra. How can you know that till you hear him?

Ink. I heard Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat.

Tra. I have had no great loss then?

Ink. Loss!—such a palaver! I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours To the torrent of trash which around him he pours, Pumped up with such effort, disgorged with such labour, 50 That——come—do not make me speak ill of one's neighbour.

Tra. I make you!

Ink. Yes, you! I said nothing until You compelled me, by speaking the truth——

Tra. To speak ill? Is that your deduction?

Ink. When speaking of Scamp ill, I certainly follow, not set an example. The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany.

Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool makes many. But we two will be wise.

Ink. Pray, then, let us retire.

Tra. I would, but——

Ink. There must be attraction much higher Than Scamp, or the Jew's harp he nicknames his lyre, 60 To call you to this hotbed.

Tra. I own it—'tis true— A fair lady——

Ink. A spinster?

Tra. Miss Lilac.

Ink. The Blue!

Tra. The heiress! The angel!

Ink. The devil! why, man, Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can. You wed with Miss Lilac! 'twould be your perdition: She's a poet, a chymist, a mathematician.[614]

Tra. I say she's an angel.

Ink. Say rather an angle. If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.

Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together? 70

Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science. She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning Herself in all matters connected with learning, That——

Tra. What?

Ink. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue; But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong.

Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.

Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue?

Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you—something of both. The girl's a fine girl.

Ink. And you feel nothing loth 80 To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.

Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand—that hand on the pen.

Tra. A propos—Will you write me a song now and then?

Ink. To what purpose?

Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in prose My talent is decent, as far as it goes; But in rhyme——

Ink. You're a terrible stick, to be sure.

Tra. I own it; and yet, in these times, there's no lure 90 For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two; And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few?

Ink. In your name?

Tra. In my name. I will copy them out, To slip into her hand at the very next rout.

Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this?

Tra. Why, Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye, So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?

Ink. As sublime! If i be so, no need of my Muse.

Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the "Blues."100

Ink. As sublime!—Mr. Tracy—I've nothing to say. Stick to prose—As sublime!!—but I wish you good day.

Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow—consider—I'm wrong; I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song.

Ink. As sublime!!

Tra. I but used the expression in haste.

Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damned bad taste.

Tra. I own it, I know it, acknowledge it—what Can I say to you more?

Ink. I see what you'd be at: You disparage my parts with insidious abuse, Till you think you can turn them best to your own use. 110

Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them?

Ink. Why that To be sure makes a difference.

Tra. I know what is what: And you, who're a man of the gay world, no less Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess That I never could mean, by a word, to offend A genius like you, and, moreover, my friend.

Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know what is due To a man of——but come—let us shake hands.

Tra. You knew, And you know, my dear fellow, how heartily I, Whatever you publish, am ready to buy. 120

Ink. That's my bookseller's business; I care not for sale; Indeed the best poems at first rather fail. There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays,[615] And my own grand romance—

Tra. Had its full share of praise. I myself saw it puffed in the "Old Girl's Review."[616]

Ink. What Review?

Tra. Tis the English "Journal de Trevoux;"[617] A clerical work of our Jesuits at home. Have you never yet seen it?

Ink. That pleasure's to come.

Tra. Make haste then.

Ink. Why so?

Tra. I have heard people say That it threatened to give up the ghost t'other day.[618] 130

Ink. Well, that is a sign of some spirit.

Tra. No doubt. Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout?

Ink. I've a card, and shall go: but at present, as soon As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the moon, (Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits), And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation: 'Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise. 140 And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unpleasant. Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be present.

Tra. That "metal's attractive."

Ink. No doubt—to the pocket.

Tra. You should rather encourage my passion than shock it. But let us proceed; for I think by the hum——

Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they can come, Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levee, On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy. Hark! Zounds, they'll be on us; I know by the drone Of old Botherby's spouting ex-cathedra tone.[619] 150 Aye! there he is at it. Poor Scamp! better join Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own coin.

Tra. All fair; 'tis but lecture for lecture.

Ink. That's clear. But for God's sake let's go, or the Bore will be here. Come, come: nay, I'm off. [Exit INKEL.

Tra. You are right, and I'll follow; 'Tis high time for a "Sic me servavit Apollo."[620] And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes,[621] Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand scribes, All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles With a glass of Madeira[622] at Lady Bluebottle's. 160 [Exit TRACY.



ECLOGUE THE SECOND.

An Apartment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE.—A Table prepared.

SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE solus.

Was there ever a man who was married so sorry? Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry. My life is reversed, and my quiet destroyed; My days, which once passed in so gentle a void, Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employed; The twelve, do I say?—of the whole twenty-four, Is there one which I dare call my own any more? What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining, What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and shining, In science and art, I'll be cursed if I know 10 Myself from my wife; for although we are two, Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done In a style which proclaims us eternally one. But the thing of all things which distresses me more Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore) Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue, Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost— For the bill here, it seems, is defrayed by the host— No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my pains, 20 But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains; A smatter and chatter, gleaned out of reviews, By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call "Blues;" A rabble who know not——But soft, here they come! Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be dumb.

Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUEMOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL, TRACY, MISS MAZARINE, and others, with SCAMP the Lecturer, etc., etc.

Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning: I've brought you some friends.

Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside). If friends, they're the first.

Lady Blueb. But the luncheon attends. I pray ye be seated, "sans ceremonie." Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there, next me. [They all sit.

Sir Rich. (aside). If he does, his fatigue is to come.

Lady Blueb. Mr. Tracy— Lady Bluemount—Miss Lilac—be pleased, pray, to place ye; 31 And you, Mr. Botherby—

Both. Oh, my dear Lady, I obey.

Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye: You were not at the lecture.

Ink. Excuse me, I was; But the heat forced me out in the best part—alas! And when—

Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling; but then You have lost such a lecture!

Both. The best of the ten.

Tra. How can you know that? there are two more.

Both. Because I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause. The very walls shook.

Ink. Oh, if that be the test, 40 I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best. Miss Lilac, permit me to help you;—a wing?

Miss Lil. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lectures next spring?

Both. Dick Dunder.

Ink. That is, if he lives.

Miss Lil. And why not?

Ink. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot. Lady Bluemount! a glass of Madeira?

Lady Bluem. With pleasure.

Ink. How does your friend Wordswords, that Windermere treasure? Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings,[623] And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and kings?

Lady Bluem. He has just got a place.[624]

Ink. As a footman?

Lady Bluem. For shame! Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name. 51

Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his master; For the poet of pedlers 'twere, sure, no disaster To wear a new livery; the more, as 'tis not The first time he has turned both his creed and his coat.

Lady Bluem. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George could but hear—

Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all know, my dear, 'Tis his way.

Sir Rich. But this place—

Ink. Is perhaps like friend Scamp's, A lecturer's.

Lady Bluem. Excuse me—'tis one in the "Stamps:" He is made a collector.

Tra. Collector!

Sir Rich. How?

Miss Lil. What? 60

Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat: There his works will appear—

Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges.

Ink. I sha'n't go so far—I can have them at Grange's.[625]

Lady Bluem. Oh fie!

Miss Lil. And for shame!

Lady Bluem. You're too bad.

Both. Very good!

Lady Bluem. How good?

Lady Blueb. He means nought—'tis his phrase.

Lady Bluem. He grows rude.

Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him.

Lady Bluem. Pray, Sir! did you mean What you say?

Ink. Never mind if he did; 'twill be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says.

Both. Sir!

Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise; 'Twas in your defence.

Both. If you please, with submission 70 I can make out my own.

Ink. It would be your perdition. While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend. Apropos—Is your play then accepted at last?

Both. At last?

Ink. Why I thought—that's to say—there had passed A few green-room whispers, which hinted,—you know That the taste of the actors at best is so so.[626]

Both. Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's the Committee.

Ink. Aye—yours are the plays for exciting our "pity And fear," as the Greek says: for "purging the mind,"80 I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind.

Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have prayed For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.

Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be played. Is it cast yet?

Both. The actors are fighting for parts, As is usual in that most litigious of arts.

Lady Blueb. We'll all make a party, and go the first night.

Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel.

Ink. Not quite. However, to save my friend Botherby trouble, I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double. 90

Tra. Why so?

Ink. To do justice to what goes before.

Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that score. Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are——

Ink. Never mind mine; Stick to those of your play, which is quite your own line.

Lady Bluem. You're a fugitive writer, I think, sir, of rhymes?[627]

Ink. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes. On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight, Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to flight.

Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but time and posterity Will right these great men, and this age's severity 100 Become its reproach.

Ink. I've no sort of objection, So I'm not of the party to take the infection.

Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will take?

Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake Have taken already, and still will continue To take—what they can, from a groat to a guinea, Of pension or place;—but the subject's a bore.

Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming.

Ink. Scamp! don't you feel sore? What say you to this?

Scamp. They have merit, I own; Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown, 110

Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures?

Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my strictures.

Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness;—the joy of my heart Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art. Wild Nature!—Grand Shakespeare!

Both. And down Aristotle!

Lady Bluem. Sir George[628] thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle: And my Lord Seventy-four,[629] who protects our dear Bard, And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard For the poet, who, singing of pedlers and asses, Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus. 120

Tra. And you, Scamp!—

Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrassed.

Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harassed With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, and all schools[630].

Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be fools. I should like to know who.

Ink. And I should not be sorry To know who are not:—it would save us some worry.

Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing control This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul." Oh! my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise!—I Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly, 130 I feel so elastic—"so buoyant—so buoyant!"[631]

Ink. Tracy! open the window.

Tra. I wish her much joy on't.

Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot Upon earth. Give it way: 'tis an impulse which lifts Our spirits from earth—the sublimest of gifts; For which poor Prometheus was chained to his mountain: 'Tis the source of all sentiment—feeling's true fountain; 'Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth: 'tis the gas Of the soul: 'tis the seizing of shades as they pass, 140 And making them substance: 'tis something divine:—

Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine?

Both. I thank you: not any more, sir, till I dine.[632]

Ink. Apropos—Do you dine with Sir Humphry to day?

Tra. I should think with Duke Humphry[633] was more in your way.

Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now look To the Knight, as a landlord, much more than the Duke. The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is, And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases. But 'tis now nearly five, and I must to the Park. 150

Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 'tis dark. And you, Scamp—

Scamp. Excuse me! I must to my notes, For my lecture next week.

Ink. He must mind whom he quotes Out of "Elegant Extracts."

Lady Blueb. Well, now we break up; But remember Miss Diddle[634] invites us to sup.

Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet again, For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne!

Tra. And the sweet lobster salad![635]

Both. I honour that meal; For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely—feel.

Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond question: I wish to the gods 'twas the same with digestion! 161

Lady Blueb. Pshaw!—never mind that; for one moment of feeling Is worth—God knows what.

Ink. 'Tis at least worth concealing For itself, or what follows—But here comes your carriage.

Sir Rich. (aside). I wish all these people were d——d with my marriage! [Exeunt.

FOOTNOTES:

[609] {573}[Benjamin Stillingfleet is said to have attended evening parties at Mrs. Montague's in grey or blue worsted stockings, in lieu of full dress. The ladies who excused and tolerated this defiance of the conventions were nicknamed "blues," or "blue-stockings." Hannah More describes such a club or coterie in her Bas Bleu, which was circulated in MS. in 1784 (Boswell's Life of Johnson, 1848, p. 689). A farce by Moore, entitled The M. P., or The Blue-Stocking, was played for the first time at the Lyceum, September 30, 1811. The heroine, "Lady Bab Blue, is a pretender to poetry, chemistry, etc."—Genest's Hist. of the Stage, 1832, viii. 270.]

[610] {574}[Compare the dialogue between Mr. Paperstamp, Mr. Feathernest, Mr. Vamp, etc., in Peacock's Melincourt, cap. xxxii., Works, 1875, i. 272.]

[611] [Compare—

"The last edition see by Long. and Co., Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers of the Row."

The Search after Happiness, by Sir Walter Scott.]



[612] [This phrase is said to have been first used in the Edinburgh Review—probably by Jeffrey. (See review of Rogers's Human Life, 1818, Edin. Rev., vol. 31, p. 325.)]

[613] {575}[It is possible that the description of Hazlitt's Lectures of 1818 is coloured by recollections of Coleridge's Lectures of 1811-1812, which Byron attended (see letter to Harness, December 6, 1811, Letters, 1898, ii. 76, note 1); but the substance of the attack is probably derived from Gifford's review of Lectures on the English Poets, delivered at the Surrey Institution (Quarterly Review, December, 1818, vol. xix. pp. 424-434.)]

[614] {576}["Yesterday, a very pretty letter from Annabella.... She is ... very little spoiled, which is strange in an heiress.... She is a poetess—a mathematician—a metaphysician."—Journal, November 30, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 357]

[615] {578}[The term "renegade" was applied to Southey by William Smith, M.P., in the House of Commons, March 14, 1817 (vide ante, p. 482). Sotheby's plays, Ivan, The Death of Darnley, Zamorin and Zama, were published under the title of Five Tragedies, in 1814.]

[616] [Compare—

"I've bribed my Grandmother's Review the British."

Don Juan, Canto I. stanza ccix. line 9.

And see "Letter to the Editor of 'My Grandmother's Review,'" Letters, 1900, iv. Appendix VII. pp. 465-470. The reference may be to a review of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, which appeared in the British Review, January, 1818, or to a more recent and, naturally, most hostile notice of Don Juan (No. xviii. 1819).]

[617] [The Journal de Trevoux, published under the title of Memoires de Trevoux (1701-1775, 265 vols. 12), edited by members of the Society of Jesus, was an imitation of the Journal des Savants. The original matter, the Memoires, contain a mine of information for the student of the history of French Literature; but the reviews, critical notices, etc., to which Byron refers, were of a highly polemical and partisan character, and were the subject of attack on the part of Protestant and free-thinking antagonists. In a letter to Moore, dated Ravenna, June 22, 1821, Byron says, "Now, if we were but together a little to combine our Journal of Trevoux!" (Letters, 1901, v. 309). The use of the same illustration in letter and poem is curious and noteworthy.]

[618] {579}[The publication of the British Review was discontinued in 1825.]

[619] [For "Botherby," vide ante, Beppo, stanza lxxii. line 7, p. 182, note 1; and with the "ex-cathedra tone" compare "that awful note of woe," Vision of Judgment, stanza xc. line 4, ante, p. 518.]

[620] {580}["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 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. William 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 way. 'Sic me servavit Apollo.'"—Detached Thoughts, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 433.]

[621] [For Byron's misapprehension concerning "kibes," see Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lxvii. line 5, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 64, note 3.]

[622] ["Where can the animals who write this trash have been bred, to fancy that ladies drink bumpers of Madeira at luncheon?"—Literary Register, May 3, 1823.]

[623] {582}[Wordsworth's Resolution and Independence, originally entitled The Leech-gatherer, was written in 1802, and published in 1807.]

[624] [Wordsworth was appointed Distributor of Stamps for the County of Westmoreland, in March, 1813. Lord Lonsdale and Sir George Beaumont were "suretys for the due execution of the trust."—Life of William Wordsworth, by William Knight, 1889, ii. 210.]

[625] Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly. ["Grange's" (James Grange, confectioner, No. 178, Piccadilly, see Kent's London Directory of 1820), moved farther west some fifteen years ago.]

[626] {584}["When I belonged to the Drury Lane Committee ... the number of plays upon the shelves were about five hundred.... Mr. Sotheby obligingly offered us all his tragedies, and I pledged myself; and, notwithstanding many squabbles with my Committe[e]d Brethren, did get 'Ivan' accepted, read, and the parts distributed. But lo! in the very heart of the matter, upon some tepid-ness on the part of Kean, or warmth on that of the author, Sotheby withdrew his play."—Detached Thoughts, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 442.]

[627] [Fugitive Pieces is the title of the suppressed quarto edition of Byron's juvenile poems.]

[628] {585}[Sir George Beaumont, Bart., of Coleorton, Leicestershire (1753-1827), landscape-painter, art critic, and picture-collector, one of the founders of the National Gallery, married, in 1778, Margaret Willis, granddaughter of Chief Justice Willis. She corresponded with Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy, and with Coleridge (see Memorials of Coleorton, 1888). Coleridge visited the Beaumonts for the first time at Dunmore, in 1804. "I was not received here," he tells Wordsworth, "with mere kindness; I was welcomed almost as you welcomed me when first I visited you at Racedown" (Letters of S. T. Coleridge, 1895, ii. 459). Scott (Memoirs of the life, etc., 1838, ii, II) describes Sir George Beaumont as "by far the most sensible and pleasing man I ever knew, kind, too, in his nature, and generous and gentle in society.... He was the great friend of Wordsworth, and understood his poetry."]

[629] [It was not Wordsworth's patron, William Lord Lonsdale, but his kinsman James, the first earl, who, towards the close of the American war, offered to build and man a ship of seventy-four guns.]

[630] {586}[For this harping on "schools" of poetry, see Hazlitt's Lectures "On the Living Poets" Lectures on the English Poets (No. viii.), 1818, p. 318.]

[631] Fact from life, with the words.

[632] [Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829), President of the Royal Society, received the honour of knighthood April 8, 1812. He was created a baronet January 18, 1819.]

[633] {587}[Compare "We have been for many years at a great distance from each other; we are now separated. You have combined arsenic with your gold, Sir Humphry! You are brittle, and I will rather dine with Duke Humphry than with you."—Anima Poetae, by S. T. Coleridge, 1895, p. 218.]

[634] ["Lydia White," writes Lady Morgan (Memoirs, 1862, ii. 236), "was a personage of much social celebrity in her day. She was an Irish lady of large fortune and considerable talent, noted for her hospitality and dinners in all the capitals of Europe." She is mentioned by Moore (Memoirs, 1853, in. 21), Miss Berry (Journal, 1866, ii. 484), Ticknor (Life, Letters, and Journal, 1876, i. 176), etc., etc.

Byron saw her for the last time in Venice, when she borrowed a copy of Lalla Rookh (Letter to Moore, June 1, 1818, Letters, 1900, iv. 237). Sir Walter Scott, who knew her well, records her death: "January 28, [1827]. Heard of Miss White's death—she was a woman of wit, and had a feeling and kind heart. Poor Lydia! I saw the Duke of York and her in London, when Death, it seems, was brandishing his dart over them.

'The view o't gave them little fright.'"

(Memoirs of the Life, etc., 1838, iv. 110.)]

[635] [Moore, following the example of Pope, who thought his "delicious lobster-nights" worth commemorating, gives details of a supper at Watier's, May 19, 1814, at which Kean was present, when Byron "confined himself to lobsters, and of these finished two or three, to his own share," etc.—an Ambrosian night, indeed!—Life, p. 254.]

END OF VOL. IV.